34

Her Own Fucking Lakehouse

When Angel came downstairs, Kelly was in the living room looking like she’d stepped out of some cutesy women’s magazine with articles about healthy living and the benefits of yoga. The woman’s hair — in a bun on the top of her head, gleamed. She wore one of those padded vests, a cream, long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of tight jeans tucked into snow boots.

Kelly looked up at the sound of footsteps and gave her an uncertain smile.

“Oh. It’s you.” Angel said sourly.

Kelly’s mouth opened, but then she closed it again. They’d seen each other outside by the cars when Drew had been going over the route to get to the lakehouse with her. She’d just glanced over and then forced her eyes back to the map like looking at her too long would make her go blind or something.

“It’s slow going, once it gets dark,” Drew said, throwing her a warning look. “Why don’t you make us something to eat?”

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be?”

“Practice, isn’t it?”

“A nutrition consultant doesn’t fucking cook for—”

She cut off when Mr. Sugar face shifted into something approaching open amazement. “Didn’t you listen to a word I said upstairs?”

She licked her lips and chewed on her bottom lip for a second before replying. “Something about behaving, right?”

“Right. And what happens if you don’t?”

She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for punishment.”

Drew rose to his feet, dusting his hands. But Kelly caught hold of his sleeve, tugging until he looked in her direction.

“Leave it, Drew. You know how kids are. You tell them one thing, and they’ll do the exact opposite just to piss you off.”

Mr. Sugar let out a low laugh, giving her a quick glance from the corner of his eyes. “You’d think I’d know that by now.”

“You got booze in this place?” Angel asked, opening up the door she assumed led to the kitchen.

“Plenty. Had it stocked up today.”

“Good thinking, Mr. Sugar.”

She waited for a retort, pursed her lips when there was just silence. Leaving the kitchen door ajar, she stepped inside and paused for a moment to admire the collection of appliances and fittings. The stove wasn’t large, but it was a ton better than a two-plate running off a gas cylinder like she’d expected. The double-door fridge hummed quietly to itself in the corner, looking brand new and too shiny next to a span of polished wood that made up the counter.

Inside, she found a bottle of red wine and cola. In the cupboard, after much hunting, she located a tin of fruit.

The two lovebirds seemed surprised to see her when she came back into the living room holding a tray.

“And that’s…?”

“Calimocho. Or wine and Coke, if you prefer.” Angel glanced at Kelly. “You do drink, right?”

“I do,” the woman replied, a little frostily.

A small fire sputtered in the fireplace, licking tentatively at the log construct Drew had built inside.

“Well then. Help yourself.” Then, with an eye on Drew as she set the tray down on the coffee table, she added, “What’s mine is yours.”

Drew flashed her a narrow-eyed glare, but she just smiled and tipped the pitcher over one of the wine glasses she’d brought with.

Then she turned and went to the doors by the deck, staring out at the lake.

“Should be open,” Drew called out.

“Too cold. I’ll admire it from here.”

“It’s not cold — it’s brisk,” came Kelly’s voice.

“That’s what I like to think, too.” Drew laughed, and there was a clink of glasses.

When Angel glanced over her shoulder, they were standing less than a foot apart, their glasses touching, staring into each other’s eyes.

A flicker of anger wormed its way deep inside her.

What the hell was this man’s problem? The same day he proposed to her, he was making doe eyes at the chick next door like he was planning how many fucking children they were going to pop out? And he was sure taking his jolly sweet time telling her they were engaged.

Or had everything just been for show? The ring, the proposal, the paperwork.

She chugged down half her calimocho and turned back to the lake. The surface wasn’t as ruffled as it had been before — in fact, a sliver of moon had made an appearance low in the sky, and its reflection was almost identical.

“I can’t get over how beautiful this place is,” Kelly gushed.

Angel rolled her eyes, went back to the coffee table to top up her glass, and stared at Mr. Sugar until he turned to face her.

“I’m going upstairs.”

“No.”

She lifted her eyebrows at him. “No?”

“Dinner.”

“What about it?”

“Make it.”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t have a choice, Angel.” Drew set his glass down, coming around the table and walking so fast up to her that she backed away before she could command her legs to stay. “We had an agreement; I let you come with, you help out with dinner.”

She stared at him, her hand tightening around her glass until she thought it would shatter. Then she shrugged.

“Oh geez, I forgot.” She gave Kelly a brief, sarcastic smile. “I do that a lot. Forget stuff. Total fluff for brains.”

Kelly murmured something to Drew as she spun around and flounced into the kitchen. God, she wasn’t trying to be all drama and shit, but this guy was driving her nuts. She made it almost halfway through her glass before setting it down and giving the pantry another thorough inspection.

He wasn’t joking when he said he’d had the place stocked. A small army could bunk down here for weeks and not run out of food.

At the sound of Kelly’s laugh, she glared through the wall, wishing the woman would feel the heat of that stare. Angel grabbed a pot, filled it with water, and slammed it onto the range. Turning up the gas, she stared into the water for a second before dragging out a chopping board from its stand and crushing a clove of garlic with the blade of a knife.

But did he have fresh basil? She poked her head into the fridge, found the herb drawer, stared at it in fascination. He did. That, and fresh just about anything else. She grabbed out a handful of basil and went back to the chopping board.

Kelly’s next laugh almost had her slicing off her finger.

Angel spun around, stormed to the door, and slammed it shut. Hard.

The laughter cut off abruptly.

She smiled and went back to chopping up vegetables. After cubing a few carrots and defrosting a package of ground beef she found in the freezer, she tossed everything into the pan and began stirring, emptying what was left of her glass. The spaghetti sauce was about halfway done when the door opened behind her.

“Smells good.”

Angel stiffened at the sound of Kelly’s voice and then forced her hand to carry on stirring. She glanced at Kelly over her shoulder. “You lost or something?”

“Drew said—” Kelly licked her lips, let out a massive sigh, and then stalked closer to her. “Look, I’m not your enemy.”

“Yeah?” Angel turned her back to the woman, peering into the bubbling pot of pasta so she wouldn’t have to look at the woman’s pathetic expression. “So hard to tell, these days.”

“Please… can we just try and enjoy this weekend? I mean, it’s so peaceful out here… so romantic…” Kelly’s face softened. “Can’t you just… relax?”

Angel straightened, carefully setting the lid back on the pot. “He told you about us?”

Kelly came into view from the corner of her eye, and she turned reluctantly to face the woman, grabbing her near empty glass of calimocho and tossing the rest of her drink down her throat.

“Of course he did.” Kelly frowned. “Sort of, anyway. I mean, not in detail, but—”

“So you know he’s getting married?”

“Married?” Kelly spluttered. “To who?”

Angel laughed. “Jesus, he hasn’t told you.”

“Wait, he’s marrying you?” The woman’s face dissolved into slack-mouthed shock. “Are you—don’t you think—” She gulped a breath and rattled out, “Don’t you think this is all a bit sudden?”

She shrugged. “Haven’t you heard of love and first sight and all that bullshit?”

“Oh my God,” Kelly murmured, closing her eyes and bringing her wine glass up to her forehead. “This is unbelievable.”

“Believe it.” She waved away the woman’s perplexed face.

“No, it’s not that. I’m not—I mean, it’s definitely not what Drew told me, but—” The woman let out a huge sigh. “Then again, men can never seem to find a reason to be honest with me. They always find someone else. Usually…” Kelly gave her a quick, reluctant glance “Usually while they’re still with me.”

“That sucks.” Angel cocked her head. “You probably don’t put out soon enough.”

Tiny spots of color formed on Kelly’s cheeks as she pressed her lips into a thin line. “That’s not—”

“And you gotta suck dick. Men like that, you know. Do you suck dick?”

Kelly spun to her, mouth falling open. For a second, she thought the woman would slap her, but instead, she just made a few guppy noises and stormed out of the kitchen.

Snorting quietly to herself, Angel went back to stirring her sauce. And, as the seconds ticked by, she waited for the kitchen door to slam open. For Drew to rush in and spin her around and slap her or kiss her or fuck her right next to her simmering spaghetti sauce.

But he didn’t.

When she couldn’t handle the tension in her shoulders anymore, she peeked out of the kitchen.

They were on the deck, a blanket around their shoulders as they gazed out over the quiet lake. Consoling her, now that she knew they were engaged?

Angel glared at their backs, retrieved the almost empty pitcher from the living room table, and disappeared back into the kitchen.

Fuck it. She’d enjoy this weekend if it killed her.

Her tryst with Bryce had been anything but a last Hail Mary like she’d thought; instead, it had forced Drew into action. Two weeks had been cutting it close, even for her, but now everything was moving along as smoothly as a train on a new railroad track. So what if she hadn’t figured out Drew yet; did it matter? By Monday, his signature would be dry, and she’d have him so enthralled by her that he would never consider calling off their engagement. Even if it was just a way for him to get back at his brother, she’d turn it into something more.

She’d make him fall in love with her.

Make him unable to see anything but her.

Have her sign away his life to her.

Smiling at that, she poured the last of the pitcher into her glass and brought it to her lips. She let out a small giggle as she ran her hand down the smooth marble countertop.

She wasn’t going to let anyone — not even Miss Prissy — spoil her engagement weekend at this lakehouse.

Her lakehouse.

Her own fucking lakehouse.