Page 38 of Hell Hath No Fury

Agatha’s hands rest on her hips as she looks between us in disgust. “How the two of you have ever managed to get laid is beyond me.”

Carolina looks thoughtful for a moment, and then you can see a lightbulb going off in her head that has Agatha holding up a hand and interrupting whatever she’s about to say. “Nope. It’s not the time for inappropriate humor.”

Her face falls, and she frowns. “But I thought it was always a good time for inappropriate humor.”

“Yeah,” I retort tartly. “There’s always room for a bad joke or two.”

Agatha ignores us. She throws a couple more beige items at me, and I catch them against my front, wanting to throw them on the ground but knowing it’s pointless. “Will you just tell me what we’re doing?”

Agatha shakes her head and says nothing, so I turn to Carolina, who just smiles at me and shrugs. I don’t require a lengthy explanation; I mostly just want confirmation that the person I’m getting dressed for is Antonio.

I can’t believe Agatha would attempt to set me up with someone else at this point, but then again, I wouldn’t put anything past her if she’s trying to get his attention. “It’s Antonio, right?”

Agatha stares at me blankly. “Do you think I’m daft?”

“Well, no, but if for some reason he wasn’t cooperating, you’re definitely the type to do a full-court press on the whole jealousy card.”

Her eyes dance around the room as she obviously gives my statement some thought. And then she nods and says, “That’s fair enough.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Aggie,” Carolina says. “Is all the secrecy really necessary?”

Agatha levels me with a serious look, her arms moving up over her chest. “I don’t know. Are you going to give us trouble?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re you.”

Well, that’s fair. I have earned my reputation of being a huge pain in the ass. “We had a good conversation. I have nothing left to hide from.”

Agatha’s eyes search mine, and I meet her gaze steadily, wanting her to see the truth behind my words. Then she rushes toward me, yanking me against her in a tight hug. “Thank god.”

“Oh, this is great news,” Carolina mutters as she, too, hugs me. Or rather, she hugs part of me and part of Agatha, so we’re one big, fun group hug.

“Are you two fucking serious right now?” I sputter.

Carolina laughs. “We’ve gotta take our group hugs where we can get them.”

I push down my urge to shake them both off, giving them a couple of seconds to get their hug out before I finally straighten and half-assed push them away. And then I relent, “Crotchless panties aside, I’ll wear whatever you tell me to. I can’t promise I’ll behave while I’m there, but I can promise to get there on time.”

Carolina does a little happy dance and then walks back over to the bed and starts pawing through the articles of clothing there. Agatha joins her and the two of them have a brief, yet animated conversation about what items I should wear and why. Agatha grabs up all the clothing they chose and then walks over to me, piling it in my arms and pushing me toward the bathroom. “Get on with it now. Get yourself buffed and polished so you don’t embarrass us.”

I take a few steps toward the door and then turn, giving her a dirty look. “I’m not shaving my fucking legs.”

“I don’t think that would stop him,” Carolina sing-songs. Again, I roll my eyes and then disappear into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

I don’t bother procrastinating, instead going right for the shower. I take care of the business of washing myself methodically, and though I do shave my legs, it’s not because I suspect anyone will be putting their hands on them.

By the time I exit the shower, the room is steamy. I use a hand towel to wipe the moisture off the mirror and then stand there, staring at my reflection.

“When did I get so fucking old?” I mutter.

My body is covered in scars, both new and old—a testament to the many trials and tribulations I’ve managed to survive. What’s most troublesome are the scars you can’t see with your physical eye. Those wicked mental gashes that bleed down right into your soul.

I swallow the lump in my throat. My eyes are the same, still that bright blue capable of piercing straight through a heart. The lies they’ve told, the stories they could tell. I blink, laughing at the bright blonde of my hair, unnatural and shocking against the golden hue of my skin, mocking me.

I grab my bag of toiletries, rummaging through it until I find the small bottle my hairdresser gave me. A subtle rinse to change the tone of my locks from white to ashen, a color I’ve been hiding from for decades.

I wrap the towel around my body and go back to the door, flinging it open. “Agatha? How much time do we have?”

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