Page 53 of Never Let You Go

“Can’t say that he’s not.” Willow has an eyebrow up.

“Right, Bambi?”

The words stay stuck in my throat.

“Right, Bambi?”

I take a long pull on my glass of wine. “Right.”

“Kay. You need to know, everything that is said here, stays here. Any information you want to volunteer, spill it. Now, tell me,” Kiara says.

“What?”

“What what?” She’s exhausting.

“Tell you what?” I ask.

“Everything,” Kiara says. “Let’s start with why he came down from your bedroom your first morning here bare-chested, hair wet, I need sex now written all over his face.”

I’m mortified. She saw that too? Who else? Ohmygod.

“That’s enough!” Grace cries.

“It’s okay, Bambi. Your face says it all. Like I said, he could use some sweet in his life. And I like you for him.”

“You are making her so uncomfortable, it’s almost funny,” Willow says. “But you gotta stop now.”

“I do?”

“You do.”

“Kay then.” And just like that, Kiara leaves my side.

“She gonna torture someone else now?” I whisper.

Willow takes the seat freed by Kiara and laughs out loud. “God, I love you. You’re the best.”

I breathe easier, take another long sip of my wine, and look around as Willow stands to greet someone. I know over half the people here, and I relax.

While I’m getting settled, someone takes out a game of Clue, and cards are shuffled and distributed. Willow and Haley are together chatting non-stop, while Cassandra, Sophie, and Kiara twirl the wine in their glasses, focusing on the game.

After that, the evening goes by quickly, and I stifle a yawn.

Cassandra stands and takes my hand. “Come with me before we send you away.”

She takes me to her lingerie shop, which is decorated in much the same fashion as the women’s cave, expect the most exquisite pieces of lingerie are displayed framed on the wall, or on free standing racks, well-spaced out from one another. “Take your clothes off,” she says.

I freeze.

“Most of them.”

She gently nudges me toward a dressing room large enough to comfortably fit a delicately carved armchair and matching settee upholstered in a carmine velour.

I don’t know if it’s the wine or Cassandra’s soothing voice and confident manner, but I strip down to my underwear.

She whips the curtain open, unannounced. Before I have time to feel like my privacy is being invaded, she declares, “Mother of god, you are even more beautiful undressed than dressed. That’s uncommon. You really have nothing to hide, do you?”

Somehow, she manages to make her comments and invasion of my space sound totally normal.

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