Page 24 of Double Bucked

Elspeth fumbles. She goes in the direction of his nod but hands over his glasses instead of a towel.

I have to bite back a laugh as James, crestfallen, adorns his glasses. Naked, wet, but at least he can see now.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. See you dears downstairs!” Before Elsbeth leaves, she mouths to me, Oh my God.

I quirk a grin. I shrug. I’ve won the fiancé lottery.

James crosses the bathroom and finally grabs his towel.

“Blink twice if you’re in danger,” I tell him.

“I’m in danger.”

I wind my arms around his shoulders. His body is shower-warm and pink against mine.

“If I can survive a pink dress, you can survive being my arm candy.”

“So stay quiet and look pretty?”

“Yes.”

“And if they eat me alive?”

“The Promise Sisters might be the Belleflower matriarchs…but lucky you, you’re engaged to me. And no one touches what’s mine.”

I touch my nose against his and rest my hand on his hip. He stirs underneath his towel, the hard swell of him nuzzling my belly.

I’d love nothing more than to let him take me right now. To remind myself that he’s mine, and I’m his, and we can get through this shitshow as long as we’re together. But?—

“They’re waiting. Come on.” I lift my arms. “The quicker we’re in, the quicker we’re out. Help me into this monstrosity.”

9

CLAIRE

The Equestrian Club looks just as I left it.

The building is a rounded, glass-encased structure shaped like a horseshoe. The curve allows onlookers a perfect view of the racetrack, where horses and riders parade back and forth for the diners sipping mimosas underneath fascinators.

The Promise Sisters have a standing reservation, apparently. You need an invite to get into the country club. The host—who I’ve never seen before in my life—recognizes me. He bends in his stiff dinner jacket and says, “Mr. and Miss Preacher. Welcome. Right this way.”

Greeters stand straight-backed and welcome us with polite smiles. As we walk toward the table, I let my body bump against James’s. “How does it feel to take my last name?”

“Dangerously good,” he murmurs in my ear.

We sit at a prize table catty-cornered to the glass windows, lending us a perfect view of the race track. There’s a bountiful bouquet of dripping lilies as a centerpiece, which is delicately removed and replaced with a carafe of orange juice and prosecco.

Hudson straps the child to a harness at his chest, its bare, chubby feet kicking and bouncing. Just when I think James might have some male company, Hudson kisses the side of Mary-Kate’s face. “Do you need anything?” he murmurs.

She shakes her head and waves him off. He gives us a polite nod and then vanishes into the other room, bouncing little Jake against his chest and squeezing his small foot.

“Where’s he going?” I ask.

“There’s a playground outside,” Mary-Kate responds with a flick of her hand.

“They’ve made some updates.” Violet smiles. “Isn’t Jake precious?”

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