This was her mantra for the rest of the day.
* * *
“Mom, seriously.” Marti forked a bite of steak into her mouth andchewed.
Spencer also ate, but kept herself quiet. She was never any kindof match for Cookie Daniels, so she tended to take the high road more oftenthan not and let Marti do all the talking.
“If you would just let me pay…” Cookie’s voice trailed off on thesentence she’d begun about seven hundred times since Marti had informed her ofher engagement to Spencer several months ago.
“I don’t want you to pay,” Marti said, her standard response.Spencer stopped noticing that Marti continually said “I” rather than “we.”
“But you could have something big. A celebration.” Cookie’s voicebordered on whiny. She was a beautiful woman…in an artificial kind of way.Bottle blond, acrylic fingernails, Botox injections in her forehead andcollagen in her cheeks, a deep bronze tan all year round. In fact, she was awalking stereotype. When Spencer tried to conjure up an image in her mind of awealthy socialite and widow, Marti’s mom fit the picture to a T, right down tothe silly first name. She could be aRealHousewife. She’d fit right in. Cookie loved her daughter very much;Spencer knew that. But it was pretty obvious she was more concerned about imagethan much else in life. The Daniels family was very wealthy, and when Marti’sfather had passed away five years earlier, his wife was left with more moneythan God and assets that, had Spencer been in her shoes, she’d never in amillion years be able to decide what to do with.
“I’ve told you a hundred times, I don’t want to invite people.”Marti had patience, there was no denying that. Her voice stayed calm. If shewas irritated with the conversation, she didn’t show it. It was one of thethings that made her so good at her job: it was nearly impossible to tell howshe was feeling if she didn’t want you to know. “I want a quick and no-nonsensething at the courthouse. No guests. No fuss. Simplicity at its finest. Right,honey?”
“Hmm?” It took Spencer a beat to realize the question was directedat her. She was so used to not being included in conversations about money orbusiness—and lately, about her own marriage—that she tended to zone out when atdinner with Cookie Daniels. “Oh. Right.”
Cookie sighed, the loud, put-upon sigh of a woman used to gettingher way, but having trouble doing so now. “I wanted to invite the Carsons. Andthe Mangiones. And the Harringtons…they invited me to their daughter’swedding.”
“Well, you can’t.” Marti wiped her mouth with her napkin, then setit on the table, indicating she was finished. A glance at her plate toldSpencer she’d eaten half her steak, none of her asparagus, and a few bites ofher potatoes. In contrast, Spencer’s plate was almost clean. She shruggedinternally. When she had nothing to contribute to the conversation, what elsewas there to do but eat her dinner?
“I just don’t understand it.” Cookie also put her napkin down. Herplate also still held a good portion of her dinner. “You have such a healthyappetite, Spencer.”
Spencer smiled and nodded. It wasn’t the first time Cookie hadsaid that to her. And it wasn’t a compliment. “It was very good,” Spencer said.“Thank you.”
Later that night, they were at Marti’s house, going through theirusual routines. Marti was already in bed, in her glasses, reading a book fromher favorite genre of true crime. Spencer removed her makeup and washed her face.There was a full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. With a glanceat Marti to see that she was immersed in reading, Spencer closed the doorquietly, then stripped off her pajamas.
Standing naked in front of her own reflection was never somethingshe’d enjoyed doing. Ever. She did her best to be gentle with herself, to lookwith possibility rather than disdain, but it wasn’t easy. Being critical waseasy. Still, she took a deep breath, focused, and tried to look with an openmind. It took effort, but she made herself stand there and look anyway. Itwasn’t a bad body, really. Her thighs were a bit bigger than she’d like. Alittle soft. But she wondered if that was actually the smallest bit of muscledefinition in her quads she was seeing. Probably not. Was that even possible?It had only been a few weeks. But maybe…
Suddenly, Rebecca’s voice was echoing in her head.
Fitness isabout how you feel.
Spencer turned so she could see her naked behind. Her ass and hipshad always been problem areas for her, but she also knew that spin class wouldtarget both of those things as well as her legs and her heart. And while herquads were beginning to poke at her with a bit of soreness that would mostlikely blossom in the morning, the pain was good.
She narrowed her eyes when the thought hit.The pain is good? Really?
But it was. It meant she’d succeeded. It meant she’d go again.
Hit with a weirdly unexpected surge of confidence, Spencer staredat herself for another moment or two before putting her pajamas back on andheading to bed, realizing just how tired she was. As she slid under the covers,Marti closed her book and took her glasses off, set both on the nightstand.With a flick of the switch, the lights went off and Marti rolled toward her.
Thankful for the darkness so Marti couldn’t see her expression,Spencer suppressed a sigh. She wasn’t really in the mood—she rarely wasanymore, if she was being honest—but their sex life had become so depressinglysporadic that she didn’t dare brush it off. She took Marti’s weight, moved herlegs so Marti could settle between them, and when Marti’s mouth closed overhers, Spencer kissed her back.
When had this started? This play-along thing. This “go through themotions, it’ll be over soon” mentality. Was it recent? How recent?
Marti pushed Spencer’s shirt up, took a nipple into her mouth,sucked gently, Spencer laid a hand on the back of her head. Marti wasn’t a badlover, really. She was considerate if not passionate. She took her time,focused. Spencer closed her eyes, willed herself to relax, to melt into thesensations, to try to enjoy herself, even if she could predict Marti’s everymove.
As their sex life had tapered down to a couple times a month, thenonce a month, then hardly ever, something else had become a regular occurrence:Spencer knew in a matter of minutes whether she’d get there or not, whethershe’d climax or end up doing a bit of…performing in order to finish things up.Tonight, she’d be performing, which seemed to be the norm now.
Most of the time, Spencer tried not to think about it, tried notto analyze when, why, all those questions that she probablyshouldbe askingherself. And she always did her best to banish the thoughts and worries fromher head, to just concentrate on feeling. On where Marti was touching her. Onwhich body parts were experiencing what sensations. But she knew how it went:tell somebody not to think about pink elephants and suddenly, their mind wasfull of them.
It helped that Marti rarely changed up her act. Some kissing, afew minutes on each breast, fingers sliding through (sometimes) heated and wetflesh, done. And as Spencer cranked up her acting skills, the guilt settled inlike an old friend, making itself comfortable next to her, because seriously?Was this how her sex life was going to be? For the rest of her life? Shouldn’tshe fix it? Attempt to fix it? Spencer closed her eyes tightly, tried to focus.
She couldn’t pinpoint when exactly it happened. She hadn’t wishedfor it. She didn’t see it coming. But suddenly, in her mind, it wasn’t Marti ontop of her, kissing her, sliding fingers between her legs.
It was Rebecca McCall.
What in theworld?
