Page 62 of The Devil's Torment

I swear, even the tips of my ears are red. “This is freaking mortifying, just so you know.”

“Why? We’re all friends here.” Eloise seems to have installed herself as chief tormentor. “Spill, De Vil.” She laughs. “I’m a poet, and I don’t know it.”

“You’re also eight,” I mutter. “Fine. He’s… blessed. And pierced. And the rumors are true. It’s mind-blowing.”

A collective gasp goes up around the table, and if anything, the three of them edge closer to me, as though by reducing the physical distance they’ll get the details far faster.

“Nicholas is pierced?” Imogen asks. “I never would have guessed. I wonder if Alexander knows?”

“They’re brothers,” Briony replies. “I’m sure they’ve seen each other in the buff.” She turns to me, all wide eyes and waggling eyebrows. “What kind of piercing?”

“I don’t know. I’m not exactly a dick piercing connoisseur.”

Eloise’s thumbs race over her phone screen. “Did it look like any of these?” She shoves her phone in my face, assailing me with far too many pictures of different sized dicks, all pierced.

I cover my eyes. “Do you mind? I’m about to eat.”

“You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.” She heaves a sigh.

I lower my hands. I should’ve expected this to happen. I’ve known these girls for years, and there isn’t much we haven’t shared over that time. Although… I’ve never shared my inability to orgasm. They’d have dissected it over sushi and come up with a million ways to fix me.

Eloise is right about one thing, though: until I share enough details to satisfy their rabid curiosity, there’s no escape.

“Shine a fucking light in my eye, Eloise. It was a barbell, okay? And the sex was off the charts amazing. He’s girthy and lengthy and knows how to use the damn thing. Can we drop it now?”

“Um, who ordered the seabass?”

Groaning, I peer up at that poor server. His face is beet red. I’m worried he’ll bust a blood vessel, have a nosebleed, or pass out. My friends have no such compunction.

“That was me.” Briony raises her hand and beams at him.

He drops our food so fast I’m surprised half of it doesn’t end up in our laps. As he retreats, everyone but me bursts out laughing.

“You’re all going to Hell,” I say, spooning up a forkful of rice.

“At least it’s warm there.” Briony high-fives Eloise, who nods vehemently.

Now they’ve thoroughly embarrassed me, the conversation turns to safer subjects, and as the chatter swirls around me, Imogen leans closer.

“I’m thrilled for you, Vicky. I know how much you love him.”

I don’t correct her. Imogen is convinced what I’ve always felt for Nicholas is love rather than infatuation. What I do know is it wouldn’t take much to let myself fall in love with him. I’m already halfway there.

My answering smile is tight. “Shame he’ll never feel the same.”

She wraps her fingers around mine and squeezes. “Give him time. How could he not fall in love with you? You’re smart, funny, and incredibly beautiful. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

I rest my head against hers. “I’m glad we’re sisters-in-law.”

“Me, too.”

The rest of lunch passes without any further interrogation. Imogen insists on paying the bill, which, she takes great pains to point out, is money she’s earned working for Zenith as an architecture technician rather than from Alexander’s deep pockets.

It’s something I’m looking forward to myself. Having money of my own will give me the kind of financial self-sufficiency I crave. Sure, there’s no divorcing a De Vil (nor do I want to), but that doesn’t mean I want to rely on Nicholas for money, either. I’m fiercely independent, and I intend to keep it that way.

We pile outside the restaurant, and there are kisses and hugs and promises of lunch again soon. Granted, the interrogation is over, but I might get that in writing before agreeing to another meet up. When I tell Eloise that, she laughs.

“I promise, any further questions will be submitted ahead of time.”

---