Page 40 of Watching Her

“Do you know the artist?”

“An artist by the name of Caspian Trent.”

The gorgeous bride-to-be moved to the platform in front of the set of mirrors. It was Brittney’s final fitting before her wedding. “I’ve heard of him. He paints some of the most provocative art in the world.”

What were the chances the artist worked at the hotel and had been the one who sent me the baskets? Maybe that’s why I’d won the auction. Another act of bribery. If so, I should be both furious and feeling a little self-indulgent. I wasn’t. The art was far too seductive and in a crazy way, almost as if depicting my darkest fantasies.

“Earth to Penny,” Marlee chided. “That painting must be very naughty.”

Nodding, I did my best to shake the strange feeling. “Trust me. It is. And you look incredible, Brittney. Like a princess,” I offered, even lifting my glass.

Brittney took a deep breath, smoothing her hands down the Italian lace. “Do you think Drake will approve?”

Both Marlee and I laughed. “Are you kidding me?” Marlee huffed. “He’s going to want to rip it right off.”

All three of us giggled.

“She’s right,” I interjected. Maybe one day I’d find my Prince Charming. Although I had a feeling mine would be dressed more like Zorro, complete with the whip.

Not a bad thought.

“Well, let’s hope so since abstinence isn’t my jam. Four weeks without sex. Four. Can you believe it?” Brittney held up four fingers, groaning as she did.

Meanwhile, I was musing over how long it had been since sex was even part of my vocabulary. So long I wasn’t certain I could spell the word correctly.

“You have a two-week honeymoon to look forward to,” I tossed out.

“You didn’t answer the question. I thought your hot little business was going well.”

“‘Little’ business is the appropriate word.” My answer was followed with a heavy and very dramatic sigh. Maybe I was feeling a little sorry for myself, which wasn’t like me in the least. I’d always been a go-getter, someone who refused to take a back seat to anything or anyone.

Marlee and Brittney exchanged glances without uttering a word.

“What?” I demanded. “It’s only been a couple months. I have to be very careful.”

“I get it,” Brittney offered. “But you can and if I know your chutzpa and work ethic, which I do, you work all hours of the day and night because you can. And because you’re punishing yourself.” The swoosh of the material as she moved off the platform seemed comical for no logical reason at all.

I slumped further in the seat since I knew I was about to be on the receiving end of one of Brittney’s famous lectures. As a master litigator, there was no chance anyone else could ever win an argument with her.

With Brittney filling her nearly empty champagne glass, I sensed one of her longer scolding sessions. Thankfully, Marlee snatched the bottle from her hand, topping us both off.

We were a captive audience, locked in a bridal shop with an agitated bride. Not necessarily the best way to spend an afternoon.

Marlee even handed me a strawberry and a chocolate truffle. Maybe as bribes. Maybe as appeasement.

“What I’m trying to tell you is that you’re hard on yourself for no good reason.” Brittney was just warming up.

Marlee shrugged. “I noticed when I looked at your page on Instagram this morning you topped one hundred thousand followers.”

Brittney cocked her head, nodding toward me as if to say, ‘See?’.

“Followers don’t necessarily mean money in my bank account. Yes, because of my reviews and the artwork associated with them, several authors have asked me to design some promos for them. However, it’s like I’m the Earl Scheib of graphic design.” When both girls narrowed their eyes, I rolled mine. “The cheap car paint company? An Earl Scheib paint job?”

Whatever.

My father used to work for them, at least when he felt up to it.

The strange memory collided with the reason the three besties were gathered in a bridal shop, pampered to the hilt by the owners because the fiancé, a rich, successful heart surgeon, had insisted his bride-to-be should be treated like a queen.