Page 13 of Give In

“You look—” She pauses in that diplomatic way that means she is choosing her words carefully. “Like you need a robe and a mimosa.”

“Both of those things are correct.”

A spa attendant with a practiced, serene expression appears and steers me toward a changing room. I follow her gratefully. Inside, I peel off my clothes and wrap myself in the kind of robe that makes you understand, on a cellular level, why rich people are in such a good mood all the time. It’s not the money. It’s the robes. It’s always been the robes.

When I emerge, Juniper is already installed in one of the pedicure chairs, feet soaking, mimosa in hand, looking like a bridal magazine brought to life. She has saved the chair next to her, and I climb into it, wincing when I realize last night’s activities used some long-dormant muscles.

Worth it though.

The water is warm and smells faintly of lavender, and I let out a breath I feel like I’ve been holding since I landed.

“There she is,” Juniper says.

“Here I am.”

She hands me a mimosa from the little side table between us. The glasses are garnished with tiny sprigs of rosemary and I think, not for the first time, that my sister has always occupied a more refined dimension of existence than I do. When I plan things, they involve sticky notes and good intentions and at least one moment of genuine chaos. When Juniper plans things, they involve rosemary garnishes.

“How did you sleep?” she asks.

“Intermittently.” This is technically true.

She narrows her eyes at me in that particular way she has, the way that means her sisterly radar has clocked something and she’s deciding whether to press it. I take a long sip of my mimosa and stare at the ceiling, which is painted to look like a cloudy sky, serene and improbable.

“You’re acting weird today,” she says.

“I told you my travel day was terrible. I didn’t get much sleep.”

Mostly because of a beast of a man I met who rearranged my insides with his massive schlong. And likely rearranged my heart while he was at it. Can you fall in love that fast?

The spa attendant reappears and begins the quiet, methodical work of making my feet look like they belong to a person who has her life together. I focus on this. On the warm water. On the sound of soft instrumental music drifting through the room. On not thinking about grey eyes and a rumbly voice and the way Heath had held me like I was something worth holding.

I am focusing very hard on not thinking about this.

“So,” Juniper says.

“So,” I say.

“When are the rest of the ladies getting here?”

Her expression shifts to the soft, happy glow that she’s worn like a second skin since she and Leo got engaged. “They’re coming tomorrow. For when we get our hair done for the ceremony. As soon as they found out the date for the wedding they went and got their nails and toes done.” She leans forward to inspect her own toes, currently being massaged by a woman with the patient hands of a saint. “I told them they could come by just to meet us and visit if they wanted.” She shrugs. “But Leo’s uncle Graham’s new wife evidently has a sister, and they’re close like we are, and she said that this was sacred sister time.”

That makes me smile. “I like that.”

“Me too.” She leans back and sighs. It’s the sigh of someone who is genuinely, deeply happy. I have not heard that sigh from her before. Not like this. “So during this time that is sacred between sisters,” she says, turning to look at me with the precision of a laser, “you must be honest and tell me why you are glowing.”

“I’m not glowing. I’m dehydrated. Totally different phenomenon.”

“Clover Annabeth Hill.”

She only uses my middle name when she means business. Our mother only gave us middle names for exactly this purpose; it has been a tactical weapon our entire lives.

“It was a long travel day,” I try.

“You said that.” Her eyes narrow further. Then, like a woman who has just solved a particularly satisfying puzzle, they go wide. She gasps. “You had sex,” she hisses. “Didn’t you?”

And here is the thing about me and lying. I simply cannot do it. I have tried. I have taken runs at it with genuine commitment and good preparation and I have failed every time.

My face is apparently a feelings billboard, large font, easy to read from a distance. My mother once said I had the poker face of a golden retriever. She did not mean it as a compliment.