AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Comes with the territory,” Tiff says with a shrug. To me, she says, “Now, girl. I hope you laid some ground rules. When I agreed to try it with my last boyfriend, Brent, the rules were no more than one girl at a time and not in our apartment.”
She considers and then says, “Of course, after some negotiations, we landed on no more than two girls at the same time and that he’ll strip the sheets.”
“That’s awful,” Marie says.
“We—” I try to cut in with little luck.
“Well they say both parties should never leave a negotiation fully satisfied,” Tiff says. “He’d wanted to go to orgies and that was my hard no. Of course, looking back I wish I would have specified that after he stripped the sheets he’d have to put them in the washer. And it was always on the maid’s off day of course!” She rolls her eyes as if Brent had just forgotten to pick up his dirty socks.
“But anyway,” she says to me, “get the rules in writing if you haven’t already. If you don’t you only have yourself to blame.”
“Rhett and I don’t have an open relationship,” I blurt out, sounding way more defensive than I originally intended.
They both laugh.
“Denial,” Blonde Stranger says to Tiff.
“Yeah, girl. No offense, but you’re dating Rhett Westing. Of course you do, whether you know it or not.”
“Sorry to be the ones to break it to you,” Blonde Stranger says, looking not sorry at all.
I grind my teeth pasting my previous easy smile backed onto my lips. Then before better judgment can stop me, I say, as pleasantly as I can muster, “You know what? I am so sorry this has gone on this long, but I don’t know your name.”
The brunch dissolves from there.
* * *
Rhett isn’t in the room when I get back, exhausted physically and mentally from the morning. As hesitant as I am to see him, I would kill for a friendly face right about now.
I get in the shower, alone. As I wash the sweat from my skin, I think about what Blonde Stranger (name still unknown) and Tiff said about Rhett. I’m not so insecure to put stock in their claims of him cheating on me. All they’ve heard are stories, all they have are preconceived notions. Like I had, before I actually met the man.
No, what worries me is that reiterance of Rhett’s hard-partying, high-adrenaline lifestyle. It’s a part of his mythology, synonymous with his name for so many people. And I’ve seen enough tabloid headlines to know it’s steeped in fact.
Who will be there for Rhett when he’s fired from the bank? I can try, if he’ll let me. But I also have seventy-hour work weeks to get back to. I’m not so vain as to imagine that Rhett will be content to sit on my couch every night as I fall asleep with a glass of pinot and an episode of Mob Wives.
How long will it take for him to get wrapped up in that lifestyle again? How long will it take him to get bored with me?
I shut off the shower, the site of so many delicious memories from last night. We obviously work well physically, but I get the feeling that Rhett doesn’t have many problems in that regard.
I don’t want to hang out in the room, alone with my thoughts. On the other hand, I’m one insulting conversation away from grabbing a candlestick and heading for the kitchen.
I settle for exploring the mansion on tiptoe, sneaking about like a thief and ready to run at the slightest sign of human presence.
The house is like an M.C. Escher painting, glistening white stairs leading in all directions. Only the ocean, visible from most of the rooms, keeps me from becoming completely lost.
I wander for a while, not exactly sure what I’m looking for. Still there are enough surprises behind every random door to keep me distracted. I come across a library, a games room, even an indoor swimming pool though god knows why they’d need that in the freakin’ Bahamas.
I’m lucky enough to not stumble across anyone for a while. But then, as usual, my luck runs out.
I stop before another nondescript door, listen at the crack. Hearing nothing, I push it open and peek inside.
My heart drops instantly, and unfortunately Marie’s eyes jerk to mine before I can flee. She’s standing in a messy room filled with boxes. She’s organizing the clutter, packing.
“I’m so sorry,” I stammer. “I’ll go.”
“Stop,” Marie commands.
I obey, flushing. First snooping in the Kindle and now in her house? Nosy is a terrible look, especially in a business partner.
