Page 117 of Windlass

Eventually, however, they separated long enough to rinse off, dress, and restore order to their hair, though both their lips were unmistakably red and puffy.

Stevie’s outfit was the same as the night before. Angie, however, slipped into a cream silk dress that fell past her ankles. The fabric shimmered over her hips, managing with its scooped neck and low-cut back to be both modest and the sexiest thing Stevie had ever seen in her life.

“Holy hell, woman,” she said, aware and uncaring that her mouth hung open. Angie hadn’t quite been able to tame her hair even after wetting it, and the tousled waves hung around her shoulders, which were bare save for the dress’s thin straps.

Angie blushed. “Now we match.”

They did. Angie stepped into her arms. The silk caught on Stevie’s hands, roughened by work, but still felt as smooth as water, especially in the way it slid over Angie’s skin beneath.

Angie pulled away regrettably soon.

“You hate me.” Stevie trailed forlornly after.

“Wait.” Angie froze in the hall. Stevie froze beside her, following her gaze. They could see the door to the balcony from where they stood. Night had fallen while they were in their room, and they stood in darkness while Ivy and Lilian were silhouetted by the rising moon.

As they watched, Ivy reached into a pocket.

“Oh my god,” Stevie whispered, taking Angie’s hand. “She didn’t do it yet. She’s doing it now. Holy shit, she’s doing it right now. If she drops to one knee—”

“What—”Angie began, but did not finish her sentence as Ivy did, in fact, drop to one knee, her dress notwithstanding. Angie’s tightening hold on Stevie’s hand suggested she understood what she was seeing.

Lilian, who wore loose, flowing trousers and a close-fitting top, looked as if she’d been poleaxed. Her hands flew to her mouth. The dark blue sky wrapped her with stars. Ivy said something. Stevie held her breath. Beside her, Angie did not breathe either, and her fingers tightened around Stevie’s. The incredibly private scene they’d walked in on hung as suspended as the moon, and she was afraid if they tried to move to give Ivy and Lilian privacy, they’d be seen and the moment would shatter. Better to hold as still as the walls around them, counting on the darkness of the hallway to maintain their sanctum. They’d duck out of sight as soon as it was over.

Still, guilt aside, she swelled with anticipated joy.

Lilian spoke from behind her hands, shaking her head. Fear burst the joy, and Stevie was about to wish they’d stayed back on the mainland when Lilian said loud enough for them to hear, “You asshole. You absolutely gorgeous asshole, yes. Yes, of course I’ll marry you.”

Stevie nearly bolted for the balcony, privacy be damned. Ivy rose too quickly, stumbling against the railing and looking for a moment like she might topple over it, but Lilian caught her and wrapped her in an embrace so tight it appeared seamless from where Stevie stood, except for the sliver of light glimpsed briefly between their throats.

Her own happiness guttered like a candle, the gust of pain sudden and cruel. It wasn’t enough to date Angie. She wantedthat. She wanted forever.

The feeling passed, but it left behind the taste of envy. Silently, she and Angie crept toward the stairs.

“About time,” Stormy said affectionately, rounding the kitchen door with a stack of plates. “Mind setting the table? Cocktail hour’s over, but I can make you both a drink. Angie, love, you’re stunning.”

Stormy didn’t look so bad herself in a black sheath dress with a deep V neck and a nipped waist that accentuated her curvy figure.

“Smack your girl,” Stormy said to Angie. “My eyes are up here, Ward.”

“Listen, your tits arerightthere, and I’m short! I’m trying not to look!” Stevie turned to Angie for support, but she was laughing, the sound light and so full of the same energy burning up in Stevie that she would have kissed her again right there if Stormy hadn’t thrust a stack of plates into her hands.

“Set the table.”

“Yes ma’am.” Stevie whistled a catcall as Stormy walked away.

“Dibs on the chandelier.” Angie snatched up the lighter from a sideboard and reached for the first candle. It flared to life, illuminating her face and shimmering over her dress, the silk flickering like candlelight. Stevie put the plates down one by one without paying attention, utterly transfixed. Was this what a religious experience felt like? Because Angie looked transcendent, her skin glowing against the white dress.

Ivy’s words slid between her ribs with the precision of an assassin’s blade.

“Imagine proposing to someone. Have you ever felt strongly enough about someone you’ve considered it?”

Yeah. She’d considered it, and even if she hadn’t before, she certainly was now. Stevie wasn’t sure where she stood on the institution of marriage. But she was absolutely sure she understood what Ivy meant about watching Lilian walk down the aisle. If Angie walked toward her in that dress, as she was doing now, Stevie would drop to her knees in prayer— or to lift Angie’s dress high enough to kiss her thighs, propriety be damned. The memory of Angie in this dress would haunt her for years.

She welcomed it.

Angie lit the rest of the candles, passing her as they circled the table in opposite directions. Stevie watched until Angie looked up and blushed. She wondered what expression was on her face and whether it was too much, too soon—as if she could control it.

“What?” Angie asked.

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