Page 2 of Mind

“¿Cuatro?How much, Gigi?” she doesn’t take her hand off her hip.

Scrunching up my face, I mumble, “Nothing,” as quickly as possible and jet into the kitchen to find the wine. Suddenly, I’m parched. “So thirsty. Where’d we pack the wine again?” I try to change the subject. A cold hand grips my arm and twirls me around.

“¿Nada?As in, no dollars.Gratis? Free?” her tone is reaching a high, piercing pitch—the one that makes my teeth rattle.

I nod. “Don’t be mad. Please? It’s Chase. He won’t take your money. Not when he has more money than God...and even Oprah!”

Maria shakes her head back and forth. “Bonita, this isn’t going to work. I do not take handouts.”

I grab her biceps, and she flinches. We both have that reaction when manhandled. It’s just the leftover bonus from years of being physically abused. “I know, I know. I get it. I do. But, it’s Chase, and he’s so bossy. When I try to argue, he uses his sexy-as-sin body against me. Literally,againstme!”

She turns her head to the side and puts a hand to her mouth making a lame attempt at holding back her snicker. “Really?”

Nodding, I explain that we had this very same conversation. I told Chase that Maria would never take a handout. A handful of orgasms laterand he had seduced me into promising I’d get her to agree. By the end of my story, Maria is on the floor flailing around as if she’s been zapped by a Taser. Which may actually happen if she doesn’t stop making fun of me. That’s another new addition to my everyday life. I now carry around a brush, lipstick, my GPS-tracked phone, wallet, and a handy dandy Taser, the phone and Taser courtesy of my control freak fiancé. Of course, those items are in the event that the six-foot-tall bodyguard I lovingly refer to as “Rambo” is taken out by some force of nature or is otherwise detained.

Maria is still on the floor howling.

“Cut it out, Ria. You have no idea what that man can do to me sexually. He could make a nun come without even touching her!”

“Really? Do tell?” I jump at least a foot in the air in surprise. Kat snickers behind me while Maria continues to suck in air and fails to control her laughter. We should have never given these women their own keys.

“Jesus, Kat. What the hell? You scared me. This stalker crap has me on edge already.” I chastise her in a lame attempt to make her feel guilty.

“Sounds like a tall, dark, and handsome fella has you on edge more often than the stalker. Am I right, sister?” Maria jumps up like a bird in flight and high-fives Kat. Stupid dancer agility. Most of the time, I feel tall and gangly. Only Chase makes me feel like a sexy vixen. My blonde besties are all really graceful, too. Maria though, she can jump around like a modern day ninja when center stage, but finds everyday walking a challenge. The girl trips over cracks in the sidewalk, even the ones that are blatantly obvious.

“¡Perfecto!” Maria agrees and grabs the two bottles of wine Kat is holding in one hand. “¡Gracias!”

“Tell me more about how Chase manipulates you into doing whatever he wants?” Kat’s evil grin spreads across her pretty features. Caramel-colored eyes sparkle with mirth as she leans on the kitchen island. The bangles on her left arm tinkle like a wind chime blowing in a cool breeze as she stares me down.

“God, you two are incorrigible.” Squinting at Kat, I give her my best glare. It doesn’t work.

“Why are they incorrigible?” Bree saunters into the kitchen, pizza in one hand, wine in the other. Her golden hair falls in a perfectly flat sheet down her back. When she enters a room, it’s like opening a window and being surrounded by a breath of fresh air.

Maria claps happily and relieves Bree of the pie.

“All veggie, super thin crust, and red sauce not that creamy garlic fattening crap!” she scolds.

Maria raises her hand in a one-finger salute as she takes the pie to get some plates, effectively telling her what she thinks about Bree’s health-fanatic ways.

Kat and I stand shoulder-to-shoulder and give her an unimpressed look. “What? No need to go overboard on carbs and fat when you can drink your calories instead.” She smiles and holds up the red Pinot Noir we all adore, aptly named Soul Sisters. We’ve all had better wines. Hell, the wine Chase serves me could make anyone weep with joy, but the four of us appreciate the symbolism. At a cool twelve bucks a bottle, the price tag doesn’t hurt, either. It’s also unique because it’s made by Save Me San Francisco Wine Company where we live and it’s owned by the band Train. Wine with a cool backstory like that, gives it an even higher appeal.

Bree pulls up her red chair and plops down pulling her knee up and hugging it close. She’s wearing leggings, an oversized shirt, and Ugg boots. She calls it casual elegance. I call it pajamas. The four of us haveverydifferent opinions on clothing. They think I prefer to look stuck-up in tailored suits and skirts. Really, the goal is to look unapproachable and professional. Besides, I love a bargain basement label find. Regretfully, it hits me that even that will change once I marry Richie Rich.

Chase has recently made it clear he’s replacing my entire wardrobe. At first, it bothered me that he has an opinion on what I wear, but seeing his excitement when he spoke with his assistant about what he wants purchased only made me feel loved, cared for...special. It’s not the money or the clothing that sold me on the idea; it’s that Chase wants to make mefeelconnected to him in all things. He specifically requested that his assistant, Dana—whom I’m trying very hard not to be jealous of—purchase items that would match or pair well with items he already has. I like the idea that we’d present a united front at different events, especially with my newfound and unwanted fame. The last thing I want is to embarrass Chase. He repeatedly tells me that I could wear a paper sack and he’d be proud to have me on his arm, but I know differently. The man likes luxury. A lot.

Chase is a certified clothing snob. Not only does he never wear anything off the rack, he has every suit tailored to fit his finely toned form. Like me, his desire to come off perfectly in order is part of what draws me to him. Only I get to see the real Chase, the one with all of the layers removed, metaphorically and physically.

Unfortunately, though, I haven’t been able to convince him that I’m not going to run. As much as I believe in my desire to stay with him and be his wife, it still scares the living hell out of me. Committing to one man, giving him the power to make decisions about my life, is frightening. It’s one of the reasons why I told Chase we needed to wait a year, but not the biggest. For the past week, he’s been hinting that he’d like to shorten that timeframe considerably. Originally, when he proposed, he wanted to elope, as in, get married the very next day. The thought definitely had merit. However, something inside me still wants the fairytale. I’ve got the knight in shining Armani, and now I want the fairytale wedding. Nothing huge or audacious. Just his family, our friends, my girls, Phillip, and little Anabelle. I’d love to see her in a matching gown tossing petals into the air.

“Still thinking about all the convincing Chase does to get you to do things?” Maria laughs, and I firmly ignore her.

“Hey Bree, do you think Phil would walk me down the aisle?” I push back the tendril of red hair that fell out of my hair tie.

Bree’s face lights up. Damn, the woman is beautiful. She has an effervescent quality about her. Skin flawless and tanned naturally, big blue eyes, and a perfect Roman nose that’s tipped just at the end. “I think he’d be honored. Really. And Anabelle would be the flower girl, right?”

I nod emphatically. “And of course all three of my sisters must be in the bridal party.” They nod happily.

“I still can’t believe he asked you so quickly. I mean, a few months seems like a short amount of time.” Her lips twist into a thoughtful gesture. “Not that I’m saying he doesn’t mean it or anything, it’s just, why the rush?” She takes a sip of her wine.

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