Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“Danny banned all razors from the house,” Beau reminds me, as if I need fucking reminding. The men around here go to the salon for trims and tidies more than the women.
This is my best friend. Breaker of rules. “I know he banned them. That wasn’t my question.” I look down at my puckering skin. Cold. “My question was, do you have one?” Beau doesn’t get waxed, I know that for certain, and I’m hedging my bets that she doesn’t use hair removal cream, so—
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
She hangs up and I get back under the hot spray, soaping myself down—gritting my teeth while on my boobs.
“If he asks, this was nothing to do with me.” Beau appears, holding out a Gillette Venus.
“Thank you,” I gasp, plucking it out of her fingers. “You might need a new blade once I’ve finished cutting through this hedge.” I look down, wondering where the hell to start.
Beau laughs and sits on the vanity unit. “Your boobs, though, Rose.”
I shake my head, exasperated by the melons currently weighing me down and causing me so much discomfort. But I will persevere. Doc’s assured me they’ll calm down soon, and I’m living for that day. Throughout this pregnancy and birth, I’ve been truly astonished by what the female body is capable of. I never could appreciate it when I had Daniel. I was too young. Too stressed. Too scared. I look up at Beau, smiling. It’s tinged with a little sadness for me and Daniel, for missing the first ten years of his life.
“Okay?” she asks, crossing one ripped jean leg over the other, her baggy shirt fastened with one button, her Birkenstocks dangling from her toes. She looks so relaxed. The most relaxed I’ve ever seen her, and I know she isn’t faking it like she has in the past. Her demons have been crushed. Her tragic story had to get more tragic before she could truly heal, and now she’s healing. Healing and growing a baby in her belly. Of course there are Doc’s daily checkups by James’s orders. Of course he’s wrapped her in cotton wool. Of course he’s watching her like a hawk.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” Since I completely ruined their wedding by going into labor, we haven’t really spent any time together. Understandable, what with Maggie only a month old and Beau being a newlywed. I miss her. “When are you going on your honeymoon?”
“Good question.” She laughs, but it dries up and she nods at my chest. “You’re leaking.”
“What?” I peek down and see my nipples oozing. “Oh, for God’s sake, I just expressed.” I grab a face cloth and wipe myself.
“Where are you going, anyway?” she asks, seeming content to be missing a honeymoon. Maybe James doesn’t want her to travel. Maybe he’s taking unnecessary precautions. We all know Beau can fly, but after what they’ve been through, I dare anyone to tell James he’s being overprotective. Anyone except Beau.
“To the spa.” I grab a sponge and get a lather worked up. “It’s been weeks since I checked in on the remodel. Want to come?”
She wedges her hands into the wood of the vanity and uses them as an anchor to lift her ass and swing off the unit. “Would love to, but—”
“Why do you lie to me?” I ask over a laugh, working the sponge into my legs. I’ll start there. It looks less daunting.
“Trust me, I would love to, but my husband has other plans.”
“Like what?”
“The apartment he bought.”
I straighten. “What about it?” I hate the mild wave of panic that comes over me. The apartment that James said he was selling because it was a mistake buying it? Because he realized he and Beau would be happier here, surrounded by their family and friends who could support her through the trauma of having to kill her mom or let her mom kill James? And that was before Beau found out she was pregnant.
“Exactly. What about it?” Beau pouts. “I think he wants us to have our own space.”
“This house is enormous, Beau.”
“And so is the occupancy,” she says, laughing. “Speaking of own space . . .” She lowers to the toilet seat. “I’m worried about Brad.”
“Yeah, me too,” I admit. He’s not been right since he was shot. He doesn’t crack many jokes anymore, doesn’t play much, doesn’t get involved. “I was talking to Doc.” God love the lack of patient/doctor confidentiality around here. “I’m worried he has post-traumatic stress.”
“You think?” Beau doesn’t look convinced.
“What else . . .” I pause, realizing where her thoughts are. “Pearl,” I breathe. “You still think it’s got something to do with Pearl?” He can’t even be in the same room as her.
Beau pulls a face, eyebrows high. Pearl was definitely asking too many questions about Brad after her ordeal when he was laid up. “Maybe.”