SISTER LOVE
http://www.deltadupree.com
Copyright © 2011 by Delta Dupree
eISBN: 978-1-4580-7897-1
EPUB format
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SISTER LOVE is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Chapter 1
She’d kill the man. Kill him and be done with him.
Lainie DuVray caught sight of her reflection in the beveled mirror. “Should’ve flirted with that gawking hound.”
She knew better, knew Steele Weston scared her to death with one penetrating gaze. When his eyes somehow magically appeared, staring arrogantly through the mirror, she stepped backward, shuddering violently.
“I’m joining a convent.”
She tossed her clutch purse onto the king bed, hurried toward the vanity, and snatched up a frosted crystal perfume vessel. Daddy used to say her curve was better than her knuckleball. Daddy never lied. The bottle shattered on impact and so did the beveled mirror.
“Wuh-oh,” she whispered, rubbing her palms down her thighs. “Nobody else heard it. I’ll get it fixed.”
Money wasn’t the problem. She had plenty to buy a new one, but the mirror was a vintage piece—Kyla’s favorite.
She yanked a lock of hair free from the array of pinned, sassy curls, and twirled it viciously around one finger. Forcing herself to release it, she inhaled deeply.
Her favorite scent filled the room—erotically sweet, sinfully seductive, a Parisian delight that drove men wild—and took the sting out of the current catastrophe.
Shedding the silver fox coat, she let it slide to plush sea-green carpeting and paced furiously. Floor-to-ceiling drapes, exploding with springtime hues, swayed in her wake.
Lainie paused, parted the French door’s sheers, and gazed out at the glittering Denver skyline backed by the majestic Rocky Mountains under the moon’s bright glow. At the sound of her double doors unlatching, she spun around.
Eldest sister Josephine marched into the suite.
Geez. A dozen pink sponge curlers were rolled in her hair. Looking further down her body, Lainie wondered which bargain-basement sale had the nerve to put a nylon pink robe and faded pajamas on the market in the 21st century. Static electricity had the latter clinging to her legs. Naturally, her sister kept every rinky-dink store in business.
“Are you trying to wake the dead, Lainie, or just Kyla?” She sneezed twice then glared. “This room smells like sin!”
Thrifty Josephine never spent money on a woman’s simple luxuries, rarely splurging for a tube of lipstick.
“If Mama—” she began.
“Mama’s not here anymore,” Lainie snapped, “and the house belongs to me if I remember correctly.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Huffing, Josephine whirled around, her nylon robe fluttering like a windblown flag.
“Wait.” Lainie hurried toward her, wrapped both arms around her sister, squeezed tightly. “I didn’t mean it, JoJo. I’m sorry.”
She was always sorry, always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time to the wrong people. But the little diva knew how to get on her good side using the family pet name.
JoJo pursed her lips. “Honey, you throw it in everybody’s face every time we turn around,” she said gently, unwrapping herself from the entanglement and turning. She held Lainie at arm’s length.
“I don’t mean to.”
“You never mean to, but at twenty-three you still act like a spoiled brat, although, right now you don’t look bratty.” She let her gaze slide over Lainie’s attire. “My, my, my. I sure wish Mama could’ve seen her little girl dressed so elegantly. She would’ve been proud, would’ve forgotten all about our past heartaches if only for a little while.”
Shoulders sagging, Lainie managed a regal air regardless. A very tall queen tonight, JoJo thought. Shades of burnished gold highlighted her ebony hair. Sadie, the family not-so-subtle advisor, had created a flurry of ringlets punctuated with diamond hairpins. JoJo wished her skin had stayed as refined; polished and bright as Lainie’s bronze complexion. She and Kyla had always marveled at their sister’s eyes, green as an emerald gemstone and as luminous as their father’s had been.
Her own shoulders slumped. Why hadn’t she acquired the same shapely traits as Lainie? The graceful lines of her elegant black, strapless evening gown followed her classic hourglass figure, providing an onlooker missed the rear and side view of her body. Kyla was right. The girl got butt.
She laced her fingers through Lainie’s and tugged her toward the bed, lifting the fox coat as they moved. “This sure is an expensive rug,” JoJo said, draping it carefully across the footboard. She nodded toward what was left of an antique. “So, tell me why the mirror’s shattered.”
Grimacing, Lainie said, “I need to get out of this dress first and get these shoes off. My feet are howling louder than a pack of lovesick coyotes. And don’t start with me, Josephine. They’re new, haven’t broke them in yet.” She hiked the stylish gown to her hips, plopped her behind on the bed, unhooked glittering ankle straps, and kicked off the stilettos.
JoJo snorted and sat beside her. “Young lady, I don’t understand how a gangly, Little League pitcher transformed into a sophisticated Amazon beauty. Must be magic. You haven’t learned anything since your graduation, have you? Do you remember Howard is one of the finest black universities in the country? Your attendance wasn’t that long ago.”
“I know that.” She flaunted her famous scowl, bottom lip poked out, frown firmly in place.
“Then tell me. How can a barely twenty-year-old young woman deliver a heart-stopping speech at said graduation, have manners of a socialite one minute, and sit like a two-bit tramp the next. Put your knees together!”
They snapped closed, and JoJo stood. She unclasped the diamond pendant while her sister removed the matching earrings. She placed all the pieces in the massive, free-standing jewelry case. One by one, she plucked out Lainie’s hairpins, clamped them between her lips, watching each lustrous curl slide lazily over golden shoulders. “So, what male didn’t respond to your beauty tonight? I know that’s why you broke the mirror. Kyla will be angry. You know how much she wanted Granny’s mirror,” she mumbled around the pins, shaking her head. Lord have mercy, she could hear their sister’s mouth.
Heaven help us. She’ll be in rare form over this.
“He’s a rotten bastard. I’m never going out with him again. It’s over. He’s fired. I’m done with him. Done with all men. Nuns have better lives.”
JoJo clucked her tongue. Ouch! She’d nearly pinned her lips together. She yanked the hairpins from her mouth, set them on the bedside table. “Whoever it was, I hope you didn’t lose your temper and call him names out loud. You know, Miss Lainie, we’re all in the public’s eye. You’re supposed to be a professional. Do you know how hard it is for black women—any woman—to move up in this country? Young lady, you need to watch your mouth. If Mama ever heard…um, um, um. Who—”
“Sinclair.”
Her hands halted in mid-air. “Price?”
Bending over, Lainie raked her fingers through her thick mane from scalp to ends, blending the mass of waves. She straightened, tossed her head back.
JoJo grabbed a hairbrush from the vanity and began smoothing the wild tresses. Their mother had insisted on one-hundred strokes every night. Little sister’s hair needed taming.
“Who else?” she finally asked.
“How many times have I warned you about messing around with professional ballplayers? Got a woman in every city. What did he do this time?”
“The son of a bitch—”
“Lainie, with that mouth of yours, Kyla must be training you.”
“Ow! Don’t brush so hard.” She was also tender-headed, had screamed bloody murder when somebody delved into the tangles. Lainie snatched the brush from her hand and tossed it onto the vanity. “He is a son of a bitch.” Temper flared in her eyes as she stood. “Unzip this dress so I can get comfortable. I can’t breathe in this thing.”
JoJo obeyed as usual. Every member of the household had catered to Miss Spoiled-and-Loving-It.
When the expensive gown slid to a silken pile on the floor, Lainie snatched it up, flung it, and followed the dress, simply clad in black thigh-high stockings and lacy black…thong?
Just where did that thin strap go? JoJo grimaced.
Hangers clattered inside the closet. How many outfits did she leave on the floor while looking for something she liked?
The peach silk kimono enhanced the color of her eyes. Lainie scooped up her purse and, totally graceless, fell onto the contemporary fainting sofa in an exaggerated swoon but immediately sat up. She peeled the sheer stockings down her legs and tossed the silk toward the dresser’s general direction.
“Must you do that?”
“What?” Lainie returned, rummaging through her purse. She found a slender gold case and clamped a brown, pencil-slim cigarette between her fingers.
On a gasp, JoJo marched over, snatched the tobacco stick from her fingers, and crushed it. “Oh, no you don’t.”
“Oh, shoot. I smoke occasionally, just for fun. I don’t inhale.”
Glaring, JoJo stuffed the cigarette into her pocket. “No more smoking.”
The perfect comeback. Lainie stuck out her tongue.
Why argue with her at midnight—any night—and lose in the end?
As always, JoJo collected the hosiery, dragged the fur from the bed, and picked up the dress. She stuffed the hose into a small lingerie bag then carefully hung the two luxury items. Looking around the oversized closet, she shook her head.
“Why can’t you pick up your clothes, honey?” JoJo asked as she came out of the closet. “Why do you leave them scattered all over the floor? It only takes a second.”
“You fuss like Mama more every day. Sadie cleans up after everybody anyhow.” She found her lighter, spitefully lit a fresh cigarette, and blew a perfect smoke circle. The next ring, a smaller one, wafted through the first one’s center. Blue-gray haze floated, dissipated. “What you need is a man so you don’t keep worrying after me.”
“And go through the mess that you do? No, thank you. I already did my share of manhunts and ran out of steam. I’ve got more important things on my mind than somebody wanting me to stay home to take care of them or expecting to stay home themselves and live off my money.” Not in this century anyway. By the next one, she’d be dead. JoJo went back to the bed and sat, curling her legs and pulling the nylon robe securely around them. “So, tell me what happened with Sinclair.”
“The son of…he stood me up again, had me sitting alone at a table with a bunch of CEO’s and their blue-haired wives. He left me unattached during a high-profile charity ball for five hours. Five hours! Dinner, chitchat, speeches, dancing. There weren’t many singles, either. Just my luck that…that…Steele Weston sat at my table. The man’s eyes give me the creeps.” She shuddered. “Glacier gray, matches his name. Not a chance in hell I’d waste my time on him anyway. He’s a man.”
“So is Sinclair.”
“Uh-uh, Sinclair’s a guy…a young guy. Steele Weston is full-grown male.”
“He’s also Caucasian. Is that the problem?”
She stared at the floor. “No.”
When she finally made eye contact, JoJo studied her face until Lainie looked away. “Right. You’ve made it perfectly clear you do not date men of his background. Did he ask you to dance?”
Crushing the cigarette out in a crystal ashtray, she looked over at JoJo, sheepishly. Something hid behind those jade depths, a dulling very different from the usual brightness.
“No, he didn’t.” She stretched, then climbed off the sofa and glided toward the bed. Her kimono slipped to the floor. “It’s been a tiring night and I’m beat. Tomorrow I have an appointment at nine thirty. Can you make sure I’m up?”
“I always do. We’ll have breakfast with Kyla before she leaves.”
Together, they folded back the white satin comforter and sheet.
After Lainie snuggled in, JoJo covered her with the slick fabric. She pressed a kiss to her sister’s forehead. Striding around the bed, she grabbed the kimono, folded and set it near Lainie’s feet, then went to the double doors.
“Sweet dreams,” she said.
As silence closed in, Lainie switched off the lamp and kicked the confining bedcovers off of her body.
Moonlight bathed the room in soft glowing rays through sheer curtains. The late autumn wind had picked up, whistled through the trees. Branches swayed gently from side to side. Shadows danced. She squeezed her eyes shut, hiding from the ghostly couples. Ever since childhood, she thought if she couldn’t see the phantoms and ghouls, they couldn’t see her either.
She hated the dark hours, fearing the dreams that crept into her mind, dreading each nightmare she’d had since… At minimum, one nightlight glimmered near her bedroom door, another in her private bathroom.
A dog’s howl broke the eerie silence. She jumped, sat up, dragging in a ragged breath, and shoved her hair away from her face.
Stop it. You’re a grown woman. Nothing can hurt you anymore. Safe. Forever safe. Isn’t that what Kyla always said?
Angry with herself and her childish fears, she fluffed the pillows, wrapped her arms around one, sank into its fullness, and tried to settle down.
Within a few minutes, the night dredged up latent anger.
“Leaving me stranded and embarrassed like some woebegone waif.”
She’d taken a limo to the posh dinner theater, waited in the lobby until she could remain no longer without interrupting the speaker on stage. Without an escort to guide her between the throng of occupied tables and socialites. Embarrassing.
Who does he think he is anyway? Denzel Washington? If he wasn’t so fine, didn’t have those sulking dark eyes…
Why had she wasted her time on Price anyway? He wasn’t the only good-looking devil in Denver.
“Edie’s a lucky heifer. Jeremy looked really sharp tonight. So did Phillip, and Becca doesn’t realize how good she’s got it.”
If she thought like JoJo, she’d write off men. Life would be simpler, less complicated.
Lainie sighed. Men, a strain to be with them, an ache without them. She sure would like to get her hands around Sinclair’s neck.
Nevertheless, someone else nagged at the corner of her psyche, a very polished entity. Broad and dangerously powerful. The thought of him sent a tingle through every sensitive nerve ending.
Steele Weston—business tycoon, flagrant playboy—was wickedly gorgeous to any sane woman his age.
Dressed in the blackest of elegant tuxedos matching the color of his sleek hair, he sat arrogantly relaxed, leisurely flexing his fingers around a half-filled champagne flute, looking bored with the conversation surrounding him. Weston’s penetrating eyes had boldly met her gaze from across the table.
She’d never forget the fierce expression on his face, and Lainie couldn’t stop the scene from replaying in her mind.
She tugged at the delicate gold necklace holding a spectacular pear-shaped diamond to keep her hand from vibrating, to control the hysteria rising from the pit of her belly.
Why was he gawking at her? And why couldn’t she look away?
A hot flush prickled her skin. She smoothed her trembling fingers over her cheek, found it damp. Or was there someone sitting behind her who’d caught Weston’s interest? Curious, she managed to tear her gaze from his and peered over her shoulder.
The ballroom had been decorated by Denver’s finest caterer. White linen covered every circular table. Sprawling flower arrangements were centered and flanked by votive candles. Aromatic gardenias sweetened the air. Beautiful calla lilies boasted trumpeting blossoms and brilliant orchids added an exotic flavor. Lainie breathed in the delicate perfumes her own fragrance hadn’t overpowered.
Servers busily carted away dinnerware following a scrumptious meal. Her taste buds went on full alert at the start of the meal, but she’d nearly drooled over dessert. Banana flambé had soothed her sweet tooth. Teeth. Charity organizers had spared no expense. Why would they, when invitees had forked over five-hundred dollars per plate.
At the table behind her, a group of well-known socialites—husbands and wives and maybe a couple of stray tomcats and kittens—were engaged in conversation. Many women wore exquisite gowns. Grand dams flaunted their finest jewels. Was it possible Weston stared at the array of jewelry, at her own diamonds? Was he a thief in disguise?
She turned very slowly, facing him again, and found his gaze still locked on her. Lainie sucked in a quiet breath, held it. Hot as branding irons, his unnerving eyes seemed to sear her skin, penetrate her shell of confidence. Heat spread all over her body from widow’s peak down to her painted toes. She wanted to draw back, fade into the woodwork, and block every thought, knowing he could see her fears, sense each vulnerable fiber. Strip her. The fine hairs on her arms stood on end.
Even now.
At home.
In her own bed.
She’d forgotten to breathe and let the air out in one long whoosh.
Tightening her grip around the pillow, she shuddered, shaken. Only a few guys, not adult men, had made her feel cowardly and uneasy since…Oh, God she didn’t want to think about it.
Don’t think. Don’t think. Sleep.
Her eyelids heavy, she knew the dreams would come again. Ugly, haunted memories tipped the surface of her consciousness, chilling her to the bone.
Lainie?
Restlessly, she fought the nightmares off, closing her eyes tightly, willing them away, and drifted into dreamland.
Lainie, where are you? Come out, Lainie, we won’t hurt you. We’d never hurt you. We’re your friends, remember? We brought you something. You have to come out and get it.
Chapter 2
Kyla burst into the bedroom. “Lainie!”
She knew her sister hid somewhere in here. It wasn’t the first time and probably wouldn’t be the last that Lainie’s terrorizing screams all but crumbled the walls.
“Where is she?” JoJo asked.
Another high-pitched wail caused Kyla’s skin to crawl. “In the closet.” She flicked the light switch on as JoJo rushed by her.
They found their sister wide-eyed, shaking violently, the silk comforter bunched to her chest, her face panic-stricken.
“Oh, dear God. Lainie.” JoJo kneeled and wrapped her arms around her, rocking. “Wake up, honey. Come on, wake up.”
Stooping beside the pair, Kyla stroked her little sister’s hair. “It’s okay, baby. We’re here. Nothing can hurt you now. No one will ever hurt you again. Forever safe. Remember?” She sat on her heels and took Lainie's trembling hand into her own and wrapped an arm around her.
Lainie rarely woke right away and tonight was no different. Unpredictable, sometimes she remembered the nightmare and a round of tears would tear her apart. Other times she seemed confused. Occasionally she showed a combative nature.
She came fully awake a minute later, out of breath, eyes darting from corner to corner, restless.
Kyla and JoJo helped her from the floor to the bed, stepping over clothes and shoes, then aided her into the kimono, soothing her like a colicky newborn, the same gentle way they’d calmed their baby sister as teenagers when she’d made her entrance into the world.
“It was d-different this time,” she said on a sob.
“Don’t talk about, don’t even think about it,” Kyla ordered. She sat on the bed beside her. “It’s over. Banish it from your mind.” The same commanding tactics had worked for years.
JoJo shook her head. “I think she should. It might help.”
“That’s what her damn shrink is for. Why the hell are we paying the ho an ungodly amount of money if she can’t do her job?” Kyla snapped, rising, one hand riding her hip. Why should she hold anything back? Charge it, hit the problem center-hard, and knock the hell out of it. “She’s worthless. Look at Lainie. She’s scared shitless. We’re changing doctors tomorrow. In fact, I’ll take her in and let the silly heffah know this is her last damn appointment.”
“She’s only seen her for two months,” JoJo replied. “Give her a chance to do her job. It’s not easy, I’m sure. And you’re not going anywhere near her office.”
“Watch me.” Kyla stalked across the carpet. “We gave the last punk a damn year, Josephine, and he didn’t help her worth a shit either.”
“Stop talking like a street thug. Cursing doesn’t help.”
“Sure makes me feel better.”
“Stop it anyway. Go to bed. Get some sleep. I’ll stay up with Lainie.”
“How can I sleep with this kind of crap going on? She’s our baby sister and, damn it, I hate seeing her like this.” She tightened the belt to the gold satin robe without missing a step. “Jesus.”
Something odd smelling hung in the air. Kyla sniffed then glanced to her right, saw splintered, reflective glass scattered on the carpeting. Slowing her pace, she came to a stop and lifted her gaze. “Ah, hell.”
With sweet, timid begging, her spoiled little sister had finagled into her possession what once resembled a beveled antique. How could she refuse Lainie, refuse any child?
“What the hell happened to,” she began in a high-pitched tone. “Jesus Christ, Lainie, that was my fav…I need a damn drink.” A full-fledged tic took control of her right eyelid. She reached into her pocket.
Where are my glasses?
“Girl, your mouth,” JoJo mumbled and clucked her tongue.
“I’m sorry,” Lainie said, sniffling. “I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up. Get it fixed too.”
“Hush, baby, it’s just a mirror. Kyla, buzzing around like a housefly won’t fix it. Neither will cursing. You’ve been running yourself ragged for the last week. Calm down. Everything will be fine.”
“I know, I know.” Agitated, she massaged her temples, palmed her eyes. Still flustered, she ran both hands over the buzz-cut of dyed platinum-blonde hair. “I need a brandy or something. I’ll check all the locks while I’m at it and get this mess cleaned up. Either of you want anything? I don’t want to wake Sadie and worry her. You know how she worries. Gets on my last damn nerve.”
Thank God her bedroom’s at the north end of the house and she’s half-deaf.
“Relax. Slow down,” JoJo ordered. “Lainie, do you want something, sweetie?”
“Tea.”
“Tea?” Kyla snapped. “Of all the…What you need is a good, stiff drink.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Never mind, Josephine,” Kyla muttered. Hands held up in surrender, they flopped to her sides. “I know you want that mess too.”
She returned ten minutes later, carrying a silver tray loaded with a delicate china pot, two matching cups and saucers, a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies, and one warmed snifter filled with an inch of Courvoisier VS.
“I might as well stay up with the two of you,” Kyla said, setting the tray on a brass cart. She pushed it toward the bed. “Sadie locked the place down tight as usual.”
Passing a cup and saucer to Lainie, plus a cookie on a napkin, JoJo grabbed two for herself. “What about Connecticut? You’ll be dead on your feet.”
Holding back an answer, Kyla delicately gathered large chunks of broken mirror from the carpeting and dumped the jagged pieces into the small trash container. She sashayed back to the cart and picked up the snifter. “I’m canceling.”
“Cancelling?” Suddenly, Lainie’s voice sounded better than it did ten minutes ago. “You’ve been planning this trip for weeks, cancelled twice already.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, sweetie, it’s impolite,” JoJo slipped in.
Kyla screwed up her face and said, “So? Trevor’ll understand.” She ignored the tight frown on her little sister’s face.
Setting the teacup down with a loud click, Lainie asked, “You’re going with Bainsworth? I thought you had a shoot to do.”
She took another sip of Courvoisier, rolled the warmed liquor over her tongue, and swallowed. Nothing soothed the mind and soul better than a fine cognac. Tonight’s session with Lainie’s hellish nightmare had pounded a spike into one of many tender nerves. “I didn’t say it was a shoot. Calling off the trip isn’t a problem.” Well, depending on Mr. Bainsworth’s ego.
“Good.”
“Keep your thoughts to yourself, Lainie. She dates whomever she wants.”
“Yeah, I don’t need any shit from the peanut gallery.” Kyla chugged the last of her cognac. “And you, my dear,” she said, tweaking her baby sister’s nose, “need to grow up. I’m taking a soak in the hot tub since you’re looking and sounding better. No more dreaming, babycakes.” She sailed out of the room like a fast-moving storm cloud, never looking back.
JoJo shook her head, sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t start with her every time she mentions his name.”
“He’s Caucasian.”
“So what? We’re all part Caucasian, part Indian.”
“He’s using her.” Lainie never hid her yawns, and this one should’ve cracked her jaw.
“How would you know? Besides, nobody uses Kyla DuVray. She has a heart made of stone and a volcanic temper. Add in those unnerving cat eyes of hers and she’d scare the arrogance out of most men. Use? Never. She’d crush anybody outside our family who thought they could.”
Yawning was like a highly contagious disease, but JoJo contained an approaching one. Instead, she sighed deeply with a twinge of regret. Kyla was hard as steel and as cool as the Arctic’s gusty wind with the opposite sex.
“No, sweet thing,” she continued. “To use her, he’d have to penetrate her thick skin. I don’t think that’s possible.”
When Lainie yawned hugely again, tears watering her eyes, she took the china from her hands and set it on the cart.
“JoJo?”
“What, baby?”
Sliding down the satin sheet, Lainie rolled to her side and wrapped her arms around a pillow. “Will you leave the lamp on?”
“Sure, honey.”
“Your golden eyes don’t scare anybody. What’s your heart made of, JoJo?”
She went around the bed and tucked the covers around Lainie’s shoulders. “Go to sleep. Chamomile always makes you sleepy.”
“JoJo,” Lainie whispered groggily, snuggling deeper into soft pillows. Another noisy yawn escaped, and the last little tear rolled across the bridge of her nose. “What’s your heart made of?”
Shoving her hands into her pockets, she shrugged, watching Lainie drift off. “Who knows? I lost it long ago.”
Barefoot, Kyla traveled across the bamboo flooring she’d recently had installed. She pick up miscellaneous items from her dresser, moved them to different locations, tested the look, then set them back in their original place. She’d wasted an hour this morning dreading the phone call. She finally punched the speed code to Trevor. As expected, he answered on the first ring.
“Have to cancel. Something came up.”
“Again? What is it now?”
He sounded agitated. She knew he would be. Kyla parked her buns on the black leather chair, entwined her legs into a yoga position. “Don’t get shitty with me, Trevor. I said something came up.”
“Something or someone?”
Gritting her teeth, she counted to ten. It didn’t help. Why did men start this mess? “You know, Trevor, you can be a pain in the ass…correction…in my ass.” She hung up.
The phone rang before she had a chance to rise from the chair. “What?”
“Don’t hang up.”
“What do you want, Trevor? I’ve got things to do and I don’t have time for your crap.” She stood and, during the silence, busied herself, returning to her original project; rearranging makeup, perfume bottles, and lipsticks on the vanity. Satisfied, she marched into her walk-in closet.
“Is that what you call our relationship? Crap?”
Sorting through clothes, she found an interesting outfit. “First thing to come to mind.” She heard him sigh, a longing one. “Anything else?”
“What do you mean—anything else? No apology?”
“Apology for what? I said something came up. Which means the trip’s off. At least, for me it is. Simple as that.”