“I didn’t mind hanging out with your family,” I tell her, forking a big bite of cake into my mouth. “Everyone is so nice. I’ve been having a lot of fun chatting with your cousins and especially your aunts, Mary and Rosa. I also met your uncle, Jerry.”
Tasha slants me a glance. “Tell me he didn’t bore you with his dissertation on homemade wine-making.”
“Yeah, he did mention it, actually.” I smile, having endured a full thirty minutes of the old man’s apparent devotion to the art and craft of kitchen-table fermenting. “From what he tells me, he makes a mean cabernet.”
She laughs. “Oh, it’s mean, all right. Trust me. Wine-making has become Uncle Jerry’s obsession since he retired a few years ago. The bad thing is, he’s even got Antonio experimenting with home-brewing. Except Tony’s been playing around with beer, not wine. For the record, I don’t recommend either one.”
“Hey, I heard that!” Antonio calls out from within a group of young men standing on the other side of the crowded kitchen. Tasha’s linebacker-sized husband is holding a dark brown bottle in his hand. He raises it in mock salute to us, then points at the homemade label. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it. You want me to grab you a cold one, Avery?”
Tasha shakes her head at me. “Believe me, you don’t.”
“Maybe later,” I tell him, laughing as he gives me a thumbs-up then goes back to talking with his companions.
“Hey, Tasha.” Another of her relatives—one of her many cousins—comes into the kitchen from the back door. He’s holding a massive floral arrangement in his arms. An explosion of white and pink roses, freesia, and half a dozen other types of fragrant white and blush flowers and glossy greenery overflow the big vase. “You got somewhere you want me to put this for ya?”
“Oh, that’s right. The bouquet from the church. Thanks for bringing it home for me, Robbie.” When he nods, she sets down her plate and walks over to an antique sideboard in the open concept dining room, clearing a place for the arrangement. “Put it here, please. I want to be able to enjoy it from wherever I look.”
I follow her over to admire the enormous bouquet as her cousin departs. “It’s stunning.” My nose fills with the incredible scent of the blooms. “And it smells like heaven.”
“Doesn’t it? God, it must’ve cost a fortune,” she murmurs, lifting one of the roses toward her face and inhaling deeply. “I wonder who sent them.”
“Wasn’t there a card with it?”
“Nope. No card. No envelope. Nothing.” My instincts prickle at that. She lets go of the flower and gently straightens some of the greenery. “When I saw it at the church, I assumed they provided it for the mass, but Father William told me it had arrived just before we began. A mystery gift, apparently.”
No way. I feel my head slowly shaking as I recall Nick pressing me for where I was going. Had he actually sent such a generous, thoughtful gift to my friend? Someone he’d never even met? I’m surprised to think so. More than that, I’m touched.
Tasha glances over at me and frowns. “What’s that little smile about, Avery? You didn’t send these, did you?”
“No.” I shake my head more vigorously. “I wish I could say it was me, but no. I could never afford something this extravagant. Now I know why he asked me which church.”
Her eyes widen. “You mean, he sent them? Dominic-the prick-Baine?”
She’s taken to calling Nick that from the moment I told her about my talk with Margot. At the time, I’d agreed. Now, I feel obligated to defend him—at least, a little. “You have to admit, it was a nice thing for him to do. God, I can’t believe he was able to get flowers delivered so quickly after we talked.”
Then again, nothing is impossible if you have enough money. Or if you’re Dominic Baine.
“Okay, hold on one damn second.” Tasha fists her hands on her hips. “Back up, girl. Yes, the flowers are amazing, even considering the source. I suppose. But does this mean you’re actually on speaking terms with him? As in, you spoke with him as recently as this morning?”
“He texted me from London while I was on my way to the baptism. I sent him a pissy response, and the next thing I knew, he was calling me. I wasn’t going to pick up, but I knew he wouldn’t quit until he reached me. So we just . . . started talking.”
She arches a brow at me. “What the hell happened to ‘he’s a player and a liar and I never want to see him again’?”
I sigh in the face of my defeat. “It’s a long story.”
“Are you back together with him?”
Am I? I’m not even sure we were ever together. Not in any meaningful sense of the word—unless great sex counts for something.
The way my body quickens at the thought of him, it’s hard to argue that it doesn’t count. And, to be fair, the sex I had with Nick far surpassed great.
“I don’t know what’s going on with us,” I admit. “I told him I didn’t want to see him again. I let him know I was pissed as hell that he didn’t tell me he owns Dominion. I even told him I knew he’d slept with Margot before.”
“So, what did he have to say for himself?”
“He said none of it had anything to do with us.”
We fucked because we both wanted it.