Page 23 of Scarlet Secrets

“Don’t.”

I bite back a sigh. “But Kara, I never go out and leave him?—”

“Exactly. Go. Have fun. I put a fun hat in your bag, just in case.” She winks at me lewdly and heat flares through me.

She hands me my wrap and my keys. I pull on the soft black cashmere and pick up my bag, shoving my keys in. Of course, she put a condom in there. “Thanks for this, really.”

“Nonsense. I love Sasha to pieces and I’m here anytime, any excuse. Go make the most of your night off. Use the condom. I mean, when was the last time you had sex, anyway?”

I roll my eyes. “None of your business.”

And it’s time to go. I check myself in the mirror in the hall, lipstick on straight, blonde hair pinned nicely, so there’s no reason to hang around. I don’t want to be late.

She follows me out to my car and yells, “Pretty sure it was the night Sasha was conceived!”

Goddamn Kara, anyway. I bite down on my grin and give her the finger without looking back, then I get in the car.

As I drive off, I try to settle the dancing butterflies in my stomach. Kara’s right.

That one-night stand was the last time I had sex. Phenomenal sex, but sex with consequences. One I wouldn’t ever change. I can’t imagine my life without Sasha.

But apart from a difficult life of being a single mom, from having to quit my job and put my dreams on hold—now I office temp at various places, I started with real estate and now I’m temping in the property development arena, fitting it all around Sasha—I don’t have room for a relationship. And one-night stands?

Not my thing, never have been, and that hasn’t changed. I haven’t suddenly become a woman of the world in that arena.

Who’d blame me after getting knocked up with that first one?

Besides, being pregnant and then a single mother isn’t exactly a turn-on for men. And those who’ve shown interest backed the hell out when I told them I have a kid.

After I pull up at the swank wedding venue and the valet takes my car, I head in. I probably should have timed it for the nuptials, but they’re doing drinks first and then the wedding, which is nice.

Max is on the other side of the room, talking to a distinguished gentleman and looking every inch the handsome groom in his tux. He sees me, grins, and waves. I wave back, happy for him.

A waiter offers a tray of lightly pink champagne, and I take it. The first sip is like magic and the pink must be from some kind of juice I can’t place but elevates the bubbly.

“How do you know the bride and groom?” a man asks me when he narrowly avoids bumping into me. He’s double-fisting the champagne.

I don’t know him. I don’t know a soul here apart from Max and his fiancée, whom I’ve met once. “I went to college with Max; we’re good friends. I met Alina once, but she’s perfect for him.”

“Yes, she is, isn’t she?” He looks past me and nods. “My wife wants her drink. Enjoy the wedding.”

I take my drink and walk around, making small talk when someone engages Max in conversation. My aim is to see Max, but somehow, I don’t think that’s happening until after the wedding. There are too many people, important-looking men, talking to him.

Max was my best friend during my college years and life happened and we drifted apart, he moving to another state, and me… well, me throwing myself into work and then motherhood. But we talk on the phone every few months and chat here and there during the day over various apps.

I still remember the thrill of happiness that lit me up when he told me he’d met someone. I heard it in his voice. She was the one. And Max deserved that. He proposed to his girl, who said yes, and when I met Alina, she looked at him like he was the universe.

Max deserves all the happiness in the world and so does she. Though I only met her once, we hit it off, and it was so clear she was sweet, charming, and smart.

My glass is empty, and I don’t see the bride-to-be. Max is still caught up in conversation. He throws me an apologetic look, but I just grin and make my way through the swathes of guests I don’t know to the bar.

Maybe this time I’ll have a Manhattan. Why not? It’s been ages since I had a real cocktail. And one won’t hurt. But, of course, three years of being responsible lands me ordering a white wine.

I take it and turn and almost run into a man.

Every nerve in me sparks and fizzes. Awareness spreads through me, low, throbbing, invasive, and I slowly look up over the immaculate suit in black with the pale-gray silk shirt and the black tie. In the breast pocket is a creamy rosebud. He’s broad and tall and I can’t breathe, and I know. I know before I meet his ice-blue eyes who it is.

My one-night stand from three years ago.

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