I hear male voices out in the living area for a moment. They’re combined with several sets of long, heavy male footsteps, then they fade away. I keep wanting to ask her if Saint is seeing his friends tonight. But I don’t want to feed my curiosity, and decide that if I tell her anything about my life, it should be about Trent.
“Bali was so wonderful I wanted to stay there forever. We went to Bora Bora, Dubai, then Saint had some business in Berlin…oh, but it’s nice to be home.”
“Rachel, I could get lost in this apartment.”
“I know. It feels so big for just us two. But tell me about you!”
“What is this?” I fish out a lovely velvet box from Rachel’s suitcase.
She comes over and flips it open to reveal a pair of gorgeous, irregular gray pearl earrings.
“Some black pearls we snatched on the streets of Papeete. Saint was like: ‘I can get you a pair a thousand times better than these,’ but I insisted on these ones. They were right there, the moment we were, and I like that they’re flawed, see?”
She puts them on and then pulls out a T-shirt from her suitcase. “So, I brought you this. I saw it in Harrods and it reminded me of you.”
It’s a white T-shirt with Marilyn Monroe on it. In pink italics: Beneath the makeup and behind the smile, I am just a girl who wishes for the world.
I clutch it to my chest. “It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you, Rache.”
“What are you up to? Did Wynn move in?”
“Not exactly. I might move out.”
“What?! There is no way you are moving out.”
“The apartment is too big for just me.”
“Gina! Malcolm will take care of the rent. I know he’ll insist on it. Here, let’s go ask and I’ll show you the pics. They’re on his phone.”
“I am not going to let anyone pay my rent, Rachel,” I hiss as I follow her to the library. “I’ll kill you if you tell Saint about it, do you hear me? I am not taking anyone’s charity and I’ve got this under control,” I continue. The sound of male conversation reaches us as we walk up to the half-open door.
“I’m seeing someone,” I whisper to distract her.
She pivots around to face me. First thing that Rachel asks when she digests this information is, “What? Gina! When do I meet him and how come I didn’t know?”
I groan. “You were on your honeymoon! And I didn’t know where it was going, so…”
“Well. Where is it going? Tell me about him!”
I hesitate because, compared to her whirlwind relationship with Saint, my relationship with Trent seems so…simple. But simple is good for me. “You’ll get to meet him soon, I guess,” I say.
She looks stunned, and it just feels so great to have my friend back, that I can’t help but smile at her confusion. I motion toward the door and quickly change topics. “Anyway, show me the pictures.”
She frowns at me. “I’m hearing all about it before you leave, Gina,” she warns.
I nod, laughing, and push her toward the door.
“No hair off my balls, right?” Callan is saying inside the room, followed by male laughter.
Rachel pushes the door wider and breezes into a library fit for a whole state. “Malcolm, Gina doesn’t have a roommate.”
Well, I guess my attempt at distraction didn’t work.
Her husband is leaning against the bookshelves with his arms crossed and immediately spreads out one arm to hug her to him. “Well that just won’t do,” he says as Rachel sets a kiss on his jaw. “Hi, Gina.”
“Hi, Saint. I’ve got my situation under control so please don’t even think about it.” I shoot Rachel a disgusted look when she flashes an unapologetic smile at me.
Although I had sensed Tahoe in the room, I don’t spot him until I dare to turn around. I watch him rise to his feet and come to his full intimidating height. Our eyes meet—his blue ones striking me like a Taser—as he pulls his hand out of his jeans pocket, and I feel his stare travel to deep, dark places in my body.
“Hey, Gina,” Callan Carmichael says sweetly from his seat.
Rachel and I say hello to Callan, and then Rachel casually says, “Hi, Tahoe,” and I’m suddenly facing him and only him—and if Malcolm Saint is some sort of Zeus, then Tahoe Roth is a blond Hades—and I’m forcing my tongue to move as I stare into his face.
“Hey, stranger,” I say.
His sudden smile electrifies. “Hey, back.”
He may look like an Adonis, but there’s a darkness in his gaze. Sometimes I wonder if I’m the only one who sees it. I see it now as I stare at his gorgeous, haunting face, with a shadow of a beard and full pink lips that I continue to see in my dreams.
He continues to smile, but his eyes are somber, blue pools of darkness sucking me in.
“Saint, I want to show Gina the pics of our Bali house and all those castles we went to.”
Saint signals to Tahoe, who, with a raise of his hand, confirms that he has Saint’s phone. He doesn’t hand it over, but merely watches me as he takes a seat on a long brown leather couch and continues looking at me, as if waiting for me to come and see them with him.