Rayna: You need more clothes, girl.
Me: That’s actually why I’m texting. Do you know any place around here where I can get a dress that’ll work?
I pull the blanket tighter to trap my body heat inside.
Rayna: I do! I can pick you up in twenty if you want to go now.
Me: Really? You’re a lifesaver!
And, bonus, it will get me out of here.
Rayna: Oh, don’t thank me yet.
I try not to read into that and instead focus on getting out of Milo’s hair for the rest of the afternoon. I pull on a pair of jeans, some boots, and an old sweater I stole from Jenna and tiptoe down the stairs. Milo is nowhere in sight, and the bathroom door is closed. Based on his pronounced limp earlier, I’d guess he’s soaking in the tub again. This immediately brings images of a half-naked Milo to mind, and I curse at myself until I hear a car pull into the driveway.
The rain has stopped as quickly as it started, but I still need to hop around to avoid puddles on my way to Rayna’s car. She’s dry and fresh as a daisy, as usual, and soon we’re chatting away as she drives us north toward Wilmington.
“So what is it like living with Milo?” she finally asks after we exhaust both the topics of Bran and the nearly ruined weisswurst.
“Let me put it this way: you wanna trade?”
She grimaces and turns to me at a stoplight. “That bad, huh?”
“I don’t know. He’s just so… touchy. And grumpy. It makes it hard to remember he’s doing me a favor.”
“Ha. Well, the last part is no surprise. He’s not exactly known for being a ray of sunshine.”
My brain flashes back to him calling me Sunshine right before he kissed me last night, and I feel a flush working up my neck. It’s been like this all day. I go back and forth, remembering both the sweet and sour moments of the last eighteen hours, and no matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about the damn man and his stupid soft lips.
I make a noncommittal sound of agreement because my brain-to-mouth nervous function is broken at the moment.
“I know it’s none of my business, but what’s the deal with you two?” Rayna’s grin is sly as she pulls forward again.
I pretend to cough, but I’m fooling absolutely no one. She snorts out a laugh, and I flash her a dirty look, but I don’t think she sees it.
“There’s no deal. We’re sort of friends, I guess.”
Her expression brightens even more, making her dimples pop. “The fun kind? Or the ‘can I borrow five bucks’ kind?” Her face falls.
“Definitely not the fun kind. Although, I don’t think I’d lend him anything after what an assface he was today.”
“Damn. I was hoping there was at least a little sexual tension or something. Oh well. I guess I’ve got Netflix for that.”
I immediately grasp onto the opportunity for a change of topic and ask if Rayna has seen Russian Doll yet. Because there’s no way I’m admitting that the sexual tension between Milo and me might possibly burn the entire house down by the time I split town.
Twenty minutes later, we pull into the massive circular driveway of a house I believe was featured on the cover of Southern Living. Okay, I’ve never read Southern Living in my life, but if I had, I’m sure I would have seen this house in a ten-page spread already. The entire place is white with towering columns along the center, at least three stories, and more windows than I can count. The landscaping alone must cost more than my accumulated lifetime income to this point.
Rayna parks right smack in front of the place and opens her door. When she moves to get out, I snatch her arm. “Uh, what are we doing here?”
“You’ll see,” she replies with a wink and hops out. There’s nothing to do but follow suit, so I race to catch up to her before someone comes to escort me off the premises for trespassing. We climb the wide stone stairs and don’t even have a chance to ring the bell or bang the gong or whatever one does at a place like this to announce your arrival.
The humongous door swings open, and a uniformed woman with an apron and cap greets us. “Good afternoon, Ms. Thompson. Miranda is expecting you.”
Rayna saunters right in like she owns the place, and I scurry to keep up. “Uh, thanks.” I nod to the woman, but she’s already click-clacking her way to another room.
“Now are you going to tell me?” I whisper yell to the back of Rayna’s head while I try not to gawk at the surrounding opulence.
“Nope.”
I have no choice but to keep up as she climbs one of two staircases, and I busy myself scanning the floor to make sure we’re not leaving muddy footprints on the fancy carpet. What are we doing here?
When we reach a door the end of a hall, I’m reminded of that part in Beauty and the Beast where Belle goes to the forbidden wing and almost gets her face clawed off. Rayna has clearly never seen that movie because she reaches for the knob and turns it without knocking.
“I hope you’re decent, ’cuz I don’t need to see your titties,” she calls out, leaving me gaping like a dummy in her wake. I have no idea what I expect to see on the other side of the door, but it sure as hell isn’t freaking Maria from the restaurant sprawled out on a four-poster bed with her head hanging off the edge and unfamiliar long red hair falling to the carpet. On a positive note, she is fully clothed, so there’s that.
“What up, bitch?” she calls, but the second her eyes clap on me, she snaps up to a seated position. “What’s she doing here?” Oddly enough, this finally manages to be the one thing that puts me at ease. At least it’s expected.
“Shut up, Andie. Retract those claws. Jill is cool.” Rayna nods toward me.
From her expression, I’d say Maria—or Andie—isn’t convinced, but at least she doesn’t kick me out. I’m honestly not sure if I could find my way back to the car on my own.
“We need your closet,” Rayna announces before dropping onto the bed beside this pseudo-stranger.
“I’m not letting her wear any of my stuff.” Andie gives me another of her disapproving once-overs. It’s so odd to see her without her blond bowl cut. The red hair suits her much better. “They wouldn’t fit her anyway.”
I try not to be offended because, hey, I happen to think my bod is rockin’, but she might be right. If I didn’t think it would get me kicked out on my ass, I’d be tempted to point out that my boobs are bigger than hers. Shallow? Yes. True? Also, yes. Suck it, Maria.
“Bullshit. I’m telling you she’s no threat.” Rayna picks up a pair of sunglasses from the bedside table and tries them on.
“How do you know?” Andie’s frown doesn’t waver and she throws me another dirty glare.
I’m having trouble following this conversation, but I know better than to butt in and ask questions, so I just stand still and pretend to be one of the many statues in this mega-mansion.
“She’s only staying a couple months.” Rayna turns to me, showing off the sunglasses. “What do you think? Too much?”
But I’m not focused on her sunglasses. My mind is in utter panic that she somehow knows I’m not staying in town long. How does she know that? Oh, God. Is she going to tell Camille? If she doesn’t, Andie/Maria surely will. She hates me.