Page 91 of Insidious

I shake my head as useless tears gather. “You don’t need to lie to make me feel better.”

“Is it a lie?”

“Yes.”

He leans his forehead lightly against the back of my head.

“Everything about you,” he says, softer now, “is beautiful to me. I love your breasts. I love this new softness. I find it so sexy. I want to run my hands all over you. I love these silver lines. You got them from having Amelie. How can I not find you beautiful?

“I know you’re not ready,” he continues. “I’m not pushing for anything. I just want you to know I find you as hot as hell.”

He waits until my eyes meet his.

“But when you are ready, Mrs Marlowe …”

There’s the faintest hint of humour now.

“You can bet I won’t last very long the first round.”

I snort in the most unfeminine way possible. It surprises both of us.

He smells my hair.

“My right hand’s tired,” he adds under his breath.

That does it. I cannot stop the laugh.

And the tension stays as he wraps me carefully like a gift and kisses the top of my head. He doesn’t touch me beyond that.

Isaac doesn’t try to turn it into something else. He just gives me a hug from behind and walks out to give me a little more time.

And this time, I take my time in front of the mirror.

***

Everything is going so well. I don’t expect Chloe to be standing at my doorstep with a strange expression on her face. She starts with, “We need to talk.”

Chapter 24

Luna

In my experience, no conversation that starts with “We need to talk” ends well.

Chloe turning up at my doorstep required a skin thicker than a rhinoceros. But maybe the subtle letdown by Isaac was not enough.

She has taken the time to put on her make-up. Her eyes are finely drawn, her lips ruby red. The pale-yellow sheath dress cannot hide any kind of underwear. And by the way her nipples are poking through the fabric, I am guessing she is on a mission to poke Isaac’s eyes out. Either way, it is hard to believe she can breathe. That dress seems to be sewn on. Maybe it is Lycra. Either way, it definitely makes her look like a blow-up doll. While I speculate about her questionable wardrobe choices, her eyes flick to Amelie gurgling against me, and an involuntary grimace crosses her pretty face when a splatter of milk lands on the towel draped over my shoulder.

Chloe opens her mouth, but I am way ahead of her. I notice Fae from next door working in her garden, but the partition wall is low, and her eyes keep returning to us with interest. I wave at her.

“So sorry. I don’t think we need an OnlyFans subscription,” I say, a little louder than required while giving Chloe a slow once-over. “NO. A live demo is not going to change my mind.”

I watch with glee as an angry flush colours and climbs her neck. “I’m not—”

“No,” I cut in smoothly, loud enough to raise the dead. I think I have hit the Goldilocks zone for my sertraline. “You’ve clearly put in the effort. The hair, the lipstick and foundation, and whatever … structural engineering is holding that dress together.” I tilt my head. “But I don’t need—what are you supposed to be—an interactive exhibit? I need to check with my husband … ISAAAC …”

Her jaw is locked. Then she hisses, “What are you doing, Luna? I didn’t come here for—”

“Good,” I interrupt. “Because we’ve discontinued poor judgement in this household. It wasn’t working out … ISAAAAC …”