“The dirty talking is all I’m here for,” I murmur. “Maybe another orgasm. Maybe pie.”

“No pie until you come again.” He moves fast, flipping me over, hovering over me as he settles between my legs, hitching one over his arm.

“Promises, promises,” I pant as he holds my hands above my head and thrusts inside me. We move like it’s a perfectly choreographed dance, his strokes soft and unhurried, his mouth on mine, kissing me slow, savoring me.

“You’re all mine.”

His thumb arrives and drives me insane, circling as he takes his time. I lose myself again in the feel of him, the way he looks at me, the emotion that carries me away when I come apart and call his name.

He goes over with me, eyes honed in on mine, something . . . something there in the way he looks at me as we ride it out together.

I close my eyes, holding him. Does he feel this too? How good we are?

You’re mine, he said.

But . . .

For how long?

Chapter 26

ELENA

I take down the last drape from the front windows in the dining room and fold them carefully. Velvet and a deep brown, they’ve been up for nearly twenty years, but they’re classic and hang beautifully—although they’re a bit dusty. After a good cleaning and pressing, they’ll be perfect for everyone by the time the engagement party arrives in a few weeks. We’ve picked a date after the play, and I am going to do it right. Lots of food, a bar for drinks, snapshots of Giselle and Preston around the house . . .

“Elena! Your phone keeps beeping with texts, and now it’s ringing,” Giselle calls from the kitchen, where I left her earlier, polishing silver. “It’s Weatherman Wannabe? Is that the football player? Want me to bring it to you?”

“Crap!” I stop folding and dash to the kitchen, skidding in my fuzzy cat socks. I need to put shoes on.

“She’s practically falling down to talk to him,” Aunt Clara says slyly as I grab my phone and answer it, ignoring her grin as I clear my voice.

“Hey.”

“You left before I woke up.” His voice is low and husky, and I picture him still in that big bed when I left around five o’clock this morning. It’s nine now. Did he sleep this long?

“I did,” I say, heading out to the screened-in back porch, mentally taking notes of the leaves I’ll need to clean up that have swept in from Romeo going in and out.

“I had to get back before anyone noticed my car wasn’t home. Plus, I planned a cleanup day for Giselle and Preston’s party.”

“You left your purple underwear.”

“Lavender. And it’s a present. I know what a weirdo you are about panties.”

“Just yours. They’re in my pocket now.”

I guess he’s not in bed.

Background noise of him rustling around hits my ears. “What are you doing?”

“Just left the gym, where I ran. Getting in my car. Did you really think you were just going to run away?”

“No, I mean, I didn’t know if you’d want to, you know . . .” I stop, biting my lip as anxiousness hits, part of me excited that he’s called, the other side of me disappointed that I really should get back to work.

“Want to do a late lunch? You can come over, and we can call Milano’s?” he asks.

Back to his penthouse.

“We’re cleaning. It’s one of the only days I’ll have to get everything done. Between the play and work, I need to trim the shrubs, get the carpets cleaned, polish the hardwood, power wash the sidewalk. Everyone’s here now. Maybe Preston later. There’s a lot to do.”

His car starts, and there’s a long pause. “This party . . . isn’t it going to bother you?”

Giselle waltzes out to the porch and grabs one of the extra brooms. I glance down at her ring, waiting for the wince that usually comes when I see it, but it doesn’t hit my heart like it did in the library. She gives me a wave, and she mimics throwing a football and waggles her eyebrows. She arrived bright and early at eight o’clock, an unsure look on her face as she came in and took in the house. I can’t remember her actually being here since the Fourth of July, when she met Preston. She must feel really guilty.

I wait until she goes back in the house before answering. “In the grand scheme of things, she’s family. We may not have it all together, but we’re in it together. Nana used to say that.”

“And Preston? On Valentine’s Day, you were definitely upset about him,” he adds. “Do you always fall in and out of caring for someone so quickly?”

I sputter. “What kind of question is that?”

“A good one.”

I huff, thinking back to what Giselle said in the library, how if I had really loved him, then why hadn’t I told Mama or at least confronted her? “Everyone in Daisy knew he picked right up with her after me, and she’s my sister. How do you think I felt?”

“So it’s just your pride that’s hurt. Not your heart?”

Why is he asking such hard questions?

I exhale. “If my heart was broken, I wouldn’t have agreed to the party.”

“Hmm. You might. You’re a kind person. I don’t like him,” he growls. “And I’m annoyed that he gets to see you today.”

“Jealous of my ex and the preacher. Tsk, tsk.”

“I can hear you smiling through the phone.”

I laugh.

He sighs. “Okay, so you don’t want to see me.”

“It’s not that.”

“So you do want to see me. There’s always dinner . . . or whatever.” His voice deepens.

Play it cool, Elena. Protect your heart as much as you can.

Mama comes out with Romeo in her arms. She’s dressed him in a blue sweater I knit last year. She sees me on the phone, and I wave at her that I’ll be off in a minute.

She leans in, ignoring me, and whispers, “Elena, the sewing room is locked. Don’t you want to use it for the party? We could put some chairs in there. Giselle thinks we’ll have at least a hundred people here.”

I groan.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asks.

“Nothing. I have to go,” I say.

I click the end button without even saying goodbye and blow out a breath as I stand and head back into the house while Mama follows me.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your call,” she says as we walk in the kitchen.

“No, it’s fine.” I glance at the sewing room door. “I really don’t want to use my workroom. All my stuff is everywhere. Material is a mess. Machines are hard to move. Let’s leave it be.” I keep my voice firm, eyes on hers.

“Okay. Your house, your call.”

I breathe out a sigh of relief, feeling winded, as she wanders into the den.

Two hours later, I’m polishing the cherry staircase when I hear car doors shutting out in the driveway. Preston? Did he bring someone? He still hasn’t arrived, and Giselle keeps texting him to see when he’s coming.

“Topher, can you see who that is?” I call from the top of the staircase.

“Got it, Elle!” He jogs into the foyer from the kitchen and opens the front door.

“Holy shit!” I hear him call from the front porch.

Holy shit means something big, especially since Mama clearly heard him as she stomps in from the kitchen, cleaning cloth in one hand, glass of ice tea in the other.

I mutter and tug down my old Daisy Lions gray sweatshirt, which was clearly too many layers for this kind of work, and head down the stairs. I wish I’d talked to Jack more on the phone. I wish . . .

Aunt Clara meets me at the bottom and follows me. “Who is it?”

I fling open the door and step outside on the porch.

Jack, Quinn, Devon, and Aiden talk as they walk around the front of the house, looking at my flower beds.

What the heck?

I freeze, inwardly cursing my lack of lipstick, crazy topknot, and old Chucks. And I’m sure I have dust on my face.

Mama heads down the sidewalk toward them. Topher watches with bemusement from the porch.

“You’re that football player” is her greeting, her eyes raking him over from head to toe, taking in his black designer skinny jeans—which cling to his thigh muscles—and turtleneck with a blue flannel shirt. Dang it. I sigh. How does he manage to look hot in everything?

“Yes, ma’am. You must be Elena’s mom. Good to meet you.” He sticks his hand out, and she pauses before taking it.

I look up at the sky. Lord, if you’re up there, please let her be nice . . .

“Well, it’s about time we had a formal introduction. You ran off from church and took Elena with you. She missed lunch. She never misses one of my meals. I cooked that one especially for her. And the preacher was there. He was disappointed.”

No, he wasn’t! He likes Laura!

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. Elena offered to drive me home. Emergency of sorts.” He flushes and looks at me. Mama follows his gaze, her face blank.

Blank is not good. It means her wheels are turning. It means—

Oh, who cares!

I look like hell!

I scrub at my face, pushing strands of my hair that have fallen out and are sticking to it.

Mama focuses back on Jack, arms crossed. “Is all that stuff true about you on the internet?”

No, no! Why does she always have to get right to it?