his bothersome sons a tree fort,” Freddie said, following me as I scrambled up the ladder. “My future sprog shall definitely have one. Lucky old Galahad, Murgatroyd, and Bob.”
I reached the top and found myself on a wooden platform at the mouth of the bridge, which was made largely of rope, old planks, netting, and probably a dash of chewing gum and hope.
“Are you sure this isn’t going to kill us?” Freddie asked warily.
I tested the bridge with my foot; it swayed a bit, but seemed sturdy. I darted halfway across and gave Freddie the thumbs-up.
“Man up and get your ass out here, Captain Wales,” I said.
“I’m holding precious cargo!” he protested, waving the Veuve bottle. But he took a step and then, feeling more secure, jumped up and down a bit. The bridge creaked cooperatively but did not give.
“Pretty cool,” Freddie said. “Galahad will love this. He’s going to be an architect, see. Murgatroyd is more into science, and Bob will be a third-rate stage actor.”
“Poor Bob.”
He shrugged. “Bob’s also going to be a bit of a shithead.”
I laughed, then raced the last few feet, which made the bridge quiver extra tenuously for Freddie’s final crossing; he looked relieved when he stepped onto the tree house roof. We weren’t quite high enough up to see over the lush hedges that flanked the property, but from this deep in the garden, the drunken cacophony of the party sounded more like a symphony, and the sky was starting to twinkle. As I retrieved the Veuve from Freddie, he looked at what we’d just traversed.
“Stout should never have let me do that,” Freddie said. “Wherever he is.”
Suddenly, a low moaning noise escaped from the fort underneath us. I put my finger to my lips and crept around until I spotted an open trapdoor in the roof, then lay down on my stomach and peeked through it. The moonlight bounced off a sequined dress lying in a heap on the floor, and a trail of clothes led partway behind the thick tree trunk. I shimmied further and ducked my head through the opening, and there was none other than Beatrix Larchmont-Kent-Smythe, clad only in underwear, her mouth working its passionate way down a pale leg.
A very pale, very shapely, very female leg.
I had scooted in a touch too far, and started to slip. I gasped, involuntarily, and just as I felt Freddie reach out to save me, Bea whipped around her head.
“This tree house is occupied.”
“Oh, it’s you,” Bea snapped.
“Who is it, pet?” whispered the hidden woman, who must have sat up abruptly, because her long, wavy red tresses swung into view.
Gemma Sands. Whose compelling heterosexuality I had feared was tempting Nick into all manner of disloyalties while we were dating; whose bed I’d assumed Nick took to after we ended. The notion of her and Bea as a couple didn’t hit me nearly so hard as the astonishment at how far off my paranoia had been…and the regret over whether I’d made a huge, huge mistake.
“Well, this is juicy,” Freddie said, sticking his head through the trapdoor.
Bea pursed her lips. “Yes, well, now you know,” she said. “I’m a highly erotic creature and I’m seeing a woman. Can we all close our mouths now?”
She crossed her arms over her naked chest with an impressive amount of dignity.
Gemma peeked around the tree. “Er, hello, Freddie. And you must be Bex.”
“In the flesh,” I said, still stunned. “And I’ll be honest, part of me kind of wishes we’d met this way two or three years ago.”
“No, this is much better.” Freddie wiggled his brows suggestively. “In fact, I might need a closer look. What if it’s their first time? They might need an advisor—”
“Pass,” Gemma said tartly. “Now, I haven’t seen this one in two very long weeks, so would you mind leaving us to it?”
“No, of course! I mean, yes. Good-bye,” I stammered, and pulled Freddie out of the trapdoor by the back of his collar.
“You’re no fun,” he said, pouting, as we scurried back to ground level. “But may I just say, well played, Bea!”
We cracked up, although in my own laugh I could hear a manic fringe. Bea had known Gemma wasn’t a threat. What if she’d told me? What if, what if, what if.
I grabbed the Champagne and drank deeply all the way back to the house. Our delight—Freddie’s genuine, mine distracted—morphed into a tipsy mischief, and we decided it was our mission to ferret out as many other illicit