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“Well, yeah, after I let him come all over my face.” Summer slaps her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock as I gape at her. “God, I’m so sorry, Sylvie! I should’ve never said that out loud!”

Monty is laughing uproariously, clutching his stomach. I’m afraid he’s going to roll onto the floor if he doesn’t watch it.

“Nice visual,” I say with a grimace. “I hate that you just said that.”

“This is the best conversation, ever,” Monty gasps between laughs.

“I hate you both,” I tell them. “Now I’m tempted to talk about my sex life and freak you both out.”

“Do tell.” Monty sits up straight, all laughter gone as he props his chin on top of his fist, studying me. Summer mocks his position, the two of them focused on me. “Does he have a big cock?”

My cheeks go hot. “I am not sharing that.”

Monty turns to Summer. “He does.” He refocuses on me. “And does he know how to use it?”

“Very well,” I say without hesitation, giving my audience what they want. “He’s talented with his fingers and mouth too.”

“Dreamy.” Monty sighs. “You’re a lucky girl, Sylvie.”

“I know. I think we’re all pretty lucky.” Summer and Monty nod their agreement. They’re happy. Carefree. I’m happy too.

So why is there a constant feeling of dread coursing through me? As if everything’s going to collapse into ruin at any second?

“I’m having a little get-together,” I announce, my gaze landing on them both. They perk up at my words. “Something small. Intimate. Two weeks from now, on a Saturday afternoon.”

“Sounds fun,” Summer says.

“Tell me there’s a theme,” Monty adds.

“There is. A tea party.”

“High tea? Oh, that sounds glorious. I’ll wear a special suit and a hat, and I’ll also be as pretentious as fuck.”

“You’re coming as yourself then,” Summer observes, the two of us laughing when he gives us the finger.

“Jealous girls. You wish you were as cultured as me.” He looks down his nose at us, his gaze snagging on me. “You’re perhaps even more cultured than I am.”

“I probably am.” I shrug. All that good breeding has to amount to something.

“Guess I’ll just have to step it up a notch.” He contemplates me. “Who else is coming to high tea?”

“I’m inviting other Lancasters. A few cousins. My sister. My father and his flavor of the month. You and Whit, of course.”

“Of course.” Summer nods.

“A few friends,” I add. “Only the very closest ones.”

“Meaning everyone else will be dying for an invite. My favorite kind of party.” Monty rubs his hands together.

“Spencer will be there?” Summer asks.

“Definitely.”

“What about your mother? I do love a catty Sylvia. She always brings a certainje ne sais quoito every occasion she’s at,” Monty says.

I stiffen at the casual use of my mother’s name. “She definitely won’t be there.”

“Such a shame.” Monty waves a hand. “We’ll have fun without her.”


Tags: Monica Murphy Romance