She didn’t even want to think about tasting baked goods right now. One bonus of the night episode, however—most of the eating was done by the guest panel. She could probably get away with a handful of minuscule bites for the camera.
The acid on her tongue was a sour burn.
“I signed a contract. I’ll see it through.”
“They’re lucky to have you.” The warmth of Jay’s response made her smile faintly. “Okay. Go back to sleep. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Bye, Jay. Love you.” She ended the call as Dominic came into the room, Pet following behind him with a bunch of gerbera daisies in her hands. The flowers were beautifully arranged and tied with a polka-dot ribbon.
When her eyes met Dominic’s, the flip-flop in her stomach had nothing to do with dodgy cheesecake. She lowered her lashes for a second, feeling a rush of that ridiculous shyness that sometimes caught her off guard lately when he looked at her. When he’d been a total stranger, she’d gone toe-to-toe with him without a second thought. Now she knew him intimately—for God’s sake, she’d sucked on the man’s cock like a lollipop and was still blushing like a Regency deb.
“I heard your voice,” he said, “so I thought it was safe to let your visitor in. Although foisting Pet and Humphrey on you—you’ve already got an upset stomach; you don’t need a migraine.”
“Oh, ha-ha,” Pet said. She thrust the bunch of flowers at Sylvie. “I hope you’re feeling better. You look awful,” she added, with the blunt brutality of a soigné twentysomething.
“What an effusion of warmth and compassion. Florence Nightingale walks again.” Dominic came over to the bed and, after the slightest pause, bent to kiss Sylvie’s cheek. Very low, with just a tinge of roughness to cover his glaring discomfort, he murmured, “You always look beautiful.”
Sylvie had to blink away yet another stupidly wet burn in her eyes.
Still with uncharacteristic awkwardness, he said something about tea and left her with Pet. The Road Runner had made slower exits from a room.
Self-consciously, she looked down at the flowers on her lap. She gently stroked a petal. “These are lovely. Thank you so much, Pet.”
The side of the mattress compressed, and when she raised her head, Pet was smiling at her. It was a genuinely affectionate smile, but just slightly twisted.
“It’s been pretty obvious since he kept that silhouette of you on his desk,” Pet said. “Dorian Gray couldn’t take better care of a portrait than Dominic. Someone tried to touch it with dirty hands last week and he reacted like a dragon guarding his hoard.”
Sylvie couldn’t help a small smile in return, but she said frankly, “It sounds like there’s a looming ‘but.’ Is this the precursor to a warning from a protective sister?”
Pet snorted. “Please. Like Dominic needs me running interference for him.” She played with the end of the bouquet ribbon. So inaudibly that Sylvie may not have been meant to hear, she muttered, “I still don’t know that he needs me at all.” She looked up. “It looks like he’s taking good care of you. I know he cares a lot about his people in his own . . . brusque way, but to be honest, I didn’t expect him to do such a good Nightingale impression. He almost cuddled you.”
There was, again, an odd little edge to those words.
“Pet,” Sylvie said, and hesitated. This felt beyond overstepping.
“You’re partly responsible for scoring me an invite to a royal ball,” Pet said. “Unless you leave my brother for a man who smiles more than once a month, we’re buds for life, you and me. Go on.”
“Dominic’s told me just a little about when he was younger.”
Pet’s smile faded, and Sylvie selected her next words very carefully. “I know he finds it difficult sometimes to . . . to physically show he cares.”
“And yet that doesn’t seem to be an issue with you,” Pet said, apparently before she could stop herself. She bit her lip.
Yeah—that was what Sylvie thought she’d seen in Pet’s manner.
She grimaced, feeling as if she were walking on very fragile ice. She didn’t want to break Dominic’s confidence; nor did she want to put any pressure on Pet here, but—“Pet . . . If you went out there right now and gave him a hug, I honestly think it would make his whole fucking month.”
Pet looked at her unblinkingly. And then she lifted one eyebrow, and again looked so like Dominic it was momentarily startling. “How to put this tactfully . . . You haven’t been inhaling buckets of cold medicine or anything? He’d be legging it down the street before I’d finished raising my arms.”
“No,” Sylvie said. “He wouldn’t.”
Pet just shook her head.
Sylvie touched the slim, curled fingers. “He does need you in his life. Very badly, I think.”
The other woman’s face worked for a moment before she got herself under control, the frothy, flirty exterior slipping back into place.
They sat in silence.
And then Humphrey, who had been snoring against Sylvie’s knee, bolted up and screamed.
Both she and Pet jumped violently.
The cat, totally unbothered at the close of his dramatic scene, plunked himself back down and went back to sleep.
Sylvie hadn’t even known a cat could make that sound. Hyenas, maybe. The odd owl. Mabel, the time Jay had accidentally used her best brush to touch up a spot of paint in the staff bathroom.
“What the fuck was that?”
Pet had recovered from the fright and just looked annoyed. “She leaned on your tail for two seconds, Boggart,” she said to Humphrey. “She didn’t go after you with a chain saw. Jesus Christ.”
Dominic came back into the room with a mug in each hand. “Who sat on Iago?”
“Me,” Sylvie said, fighting a smile. She took the mug he offered. “And you’re both awful.”
“Slow sips,” he warned. “Your stomach needs time to recover. And I don’t think you should be going to the studio tonight.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Stubborn.”
“Pot and kettle, De Vere.”
Pet moved to sit cross-legged and pulled out her phone, thumbing open an app. “I’m glad you’re feeling a bit better, because I’ve got an email from Kathleen Maple-Moore, your Jessica’s younger sister.”
Sylvie paused with the tea mug halfway to her mouth, and Dominic turned his head sharply.
“Kathleen inherited Primrose Cottage after Jessica’s death and must have changed its name,” Pet went on, scrolling down her screen. “She runs amateur art classes from there now and hires out studio space.” She lifted her head and smiled at them. “I’ve booked us in for a tour on Friday.”
Humphrey’s snores echoed through the room. It was like a cross between a wheezy donkey and a rusty seesaw. Hee-haw. Hee-ho.
It was Dominic who got over the blank surprise first. His eyes narrowed. “You had your headphones on in the car. You said you were listening to your book.”
“I turned it off to eavesdrop,” Pet said with absolutely no shame. “Everyone was being very furtive at that meeting. I was unacceptably confused.”