“Wow,” Landon says. “This is…”

“Beautiful,” Breslin whispers.  

Asher’s eyes become saucers as he looks around the spacious French country kitchen. “Awesome.”

“It’s one of my favorite rooms in the house.” I point to the large granite island. “When I was little I used to sit on top of there and help my mom make dinner.” My throat tightens as the bittersweet memory streams in. “Although help is a bit of a stretch. I usually made a mess and gave her more work to do.”

Preston’s hand finds mine, offering me unspoken security.

Breslin’s smile fades when she looks at our adjoined hands. I brace myself for a cynical remark, but she flicks her gaze past us and says, “I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s somehow big and cozy at the same time. It’s—” Picasso’s barking cuts her off and she digs around her purse for his leash. “I think he needs to go out for a walk.”

I gesture to the French double doors. “There’s a deck and a backyard out there. It’s all fenced-in so you don’t have to put the leash on him if you don’t want to.”

“Perfect.” Breslin stuffs the leash inside her purse and whips out a tiny plastic bag. “I’ll make sure to clean up the present he leaves you before we go.”

Asher turns the handle and Picasso dashes out the door like his ass is on fire. “You know…” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe if we get a deck and a bigger backyard, he’ll stop peeing on my lucky jersey.”

“The dog isn’t so bad after all,” Preston mutters and I nudge him with my elbow.

Landon gives his head a shake. “We live on a plantation, Asher. Our backyard is huge.”

Breslin nods in agreement. “Any bigger and we’ll need our own zip code.”  

Beside me, Preston goes rigid. “Must be nice throwing around a dead guy’s money so you can live the perfect life.”

Asher pales. “I—”

“You make me sick.” Preston’s eyes swivel to me. “I’m gonna take the boxes out of the car.” When I protest he says, “Relax, I’m not leaving. I just need a breather from this shit.”

An awkward silence fills the room in his absence.

“I guess we finally know what his issue with Asher is,” Landon whispers, sadness shading his features.

I pick at my cuticles. “You guys did come off a little like you were bragging.” When they look insulted I quickly add, “I know you guys aren’t like that, but it probably stings to hear how big his brother’s home is while he’s spent the past three years living in a crappy motel.”

“Oh, please,” Breslin exclaims. “If he thinks living in a crappy motel for three years is hard, he should try living in a rundown trailer for eighteen years.” I can practically see the steam coming off her. “Look, I tried to be civil, but I’ve had about enough of his crap. It’s not Asher’s fault that Preston gambles all his money away.” She points a finger in the direction Preston left. “And if he’s going to put his brother through hell because he’s mad Asher won’t hand over the money he worked his ass off for, so his narcissistic brother with an attitude problem can shit all over it, your precious husband can go fuck himself.”

It’s safe to say what’s been simmering between me and my best friend for the last three days has officially come to a head.

But I’m ready to rumble.

“Worked his ass off for?” I place a hand to my head dramatically. “It must be so hard to have the money your asshole father left you sitting in your bank account for a rainy day.”

She takes a step closer. “So Asher’s supposed to feel guilty his father left him the money instead of his gambling addict brother?” She tips her head back. “Ha, that’s awfully hypocritical coming from you of all people.”

Maybe I’m not as prepared for this as I thought because her words knock the wind out of me.

I can see the regret on her face, but I don’t give her a chance to speak. “It’s not the same.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’d give the money back in a heartbeat if it meant I could have five more minutes with them. Asher and Preston can’t say the same about their father.”

She blows out a breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

Asher rubs the back of his neck. “Almost everything I buy is with my own money, not his.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself,” Landon cuts in. “What you do with your money is no one else’s business.”

Landon’s right. I was way out of line. I’m just so tired of everyone ganging up on Preston and acting like his feelings don’t have merit. Even though he’s wrong for lashing out, and even though he won’t talk about it—his resentment is coming from somewhere.

“I’m sorry for being a bitch, Asher.” I shrug helplessly. “I was trying to be a good friend to your brother, but I ended up being a lousy friend to you in the process.”

He digs his hands in his pockets. “It’s cool. I know your heart’s in the right place.”

My eyes swing to Breslin when a scoff pushes through her lips. “I know you don’t like him, but can you please cut Preston some slack?”

“I can cut Preston all the slack in the world, but it won’t change things.” A frown pulls at her mouth. “I know I’m supposed to be a good friend and tell you I’ll support you, but that would be like cheering you on as you walk into the lion’s den.” She looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “When someone you love is starting to go down the rabbit hole, you do the right thing and pull them out of it.”

Hell must have frozen over while I was sleeping, because out of the two of us—I’m the dramatic one and she’s the responsible, level-headed one. “Preston isn’t a rabbit hole, B.”

“You’re right. Rabbit holes would at least offer you shelter.” She purses her lips. “He’s quicksand.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“That’s my point. You’re not acting like you, Kit. Last time I checked, you hated Preston Holden.” She starts ticking things off with her fingers. “But now, you’re married to him, holding hands, and taking showers with him.” She throws up her hands. “Help me understand what’s going on because right now I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.”

I wipe my palms on my jeans. “Nothing is going on, Breslin. Preston and I…” My voice stalls and I straighten my spine. “It doesn’t fucking matter, okay? I’m still very much a lesbian.”

Something passes in Asher’s gaze, but Landon takes a step forward and says, “This sounds like a personal conversation.” He grabs Asher’s hand. “I’m gonna help bring in boxes.” He winces. “I’ll supervise the brothers and make sure they don’t kill each other.”

They leave and Breslin starts pacing. “I’m not trying to be a bitch. I’m just trying to wrap my head around why you married Preston Holden of all people.”

She has every right to be concerned and confused about all this, but I don’t know how to explain something I don’t understand myself. Especially when her hate for Preston is so palpable.

I plop down on a stool at the island. “I know it doesn’t make any sense.” I trace the patterns in the granite countertop. “I’ve been avoiding having this conversation because I don’t want your hate for Preston to spill over to me.”

She takes a seat next to me. “I could never hate you, Kit. Who else would I confide all my dark secrets to?”

I snort. Breslin’s record is as squeaky clean as they come. The dirtiest thing she’s ever done was…well, Asher and Landon.

“So if I told you I kissed him you won’t judge me?”

She makes a face. “Was it because the priest forced you to at the wedding?”

My forehead hits the counter with a thud. “See? That’s my point—I can’t talk to you about him.” I tilt my head so my cheek is resting on the counter. “But for the record, there was no priest. We were married in a drive-thru. The dude who performed the ceremony wore jeans and a t-shirt and I’m pretty sure he shit his pants at some point because Preston kept growling at him to hurry up.”

“What a prick.”

“He was really sweet actually, he was just jumpy because Pre—”

“I was referring to Preston.”

“Oh.”

When the silence has stretched too long, I whisper, “I don’t think it’s in Preston’s best interest to tell you anything else.”

“Probably not.” She rests her cheek on the counter, facing me. “But I care about what’s in your best interest. I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me anything because I’m judging you. Therefore, I’m going to do what I do when Asher talks about him and try my hardest to listen to your feelings and not let my own judgment interfere with my best friend duties, okay?”

“Really?”

She nods. “It’s not always easy for me. Just hearing his name makes me want to stab teddy bears. But when we have girl talk—I promise I’ll do my best to keep it under wraps.”

“What if we come up with a pseudonym for him during girl talk?”

Her face scrunches. “You mean like a secret code-name?”

“Yeah. This way you can separate the Preston who makes you stabby from the guy who confuses me and sometimes does nice things for me.”

A wicked grin spreads across her face. “Can I choose his name?”

“Sure.”

Her grin grows wider. “Princess Monet.”  

“Do I want to know your reasoning?”

She shrugs. “It’s simple really. When you call someone a Monet, it’s because you think they’re attractive from afar, but repulsive up close. Just like Monet’s paintings.” She chews on her thumbnail. “Preston’s gorgeous on the outside, but he’s a big ol’ disaster on the inside, so it fits the concept.” Her nose crinkles. “I added Princess purely for my own enjoyment.”

I can’t help but laugh. “You’re terrible.” I give her hand a squeeze, glad to have my best friend back. “Thank you for agreeing to this. Fighting with you kills me.”

“Same here.” She draws in a breath. “Okay, I’m ready. Tell me what’s up with you and Princess Monet.”

“I’m not sure where to start.”

I can see her mulling it over in her mind. “Well, I already know you got married in Vegas because of your grandmother’s stupid stipulations, right?”

I nod.

“And I’m guessing he agreed to go along with it in exchange for the money he owed that mob guy?”

I nod again but don’t bring up the two million. This is our first girl talk regarding Preston that didn’t start with me in tears and end with either myself or Breslin plotting his death. I’d like to keep it that way.

She traces her own pattern on the countertop. “Okay, so I get why you needed to get married, but I still don’t understand why you chose Princess Monet to be your husband.”

I look her in the eyes. “Because I trust him. And I didn’t want that mobster to kill him. I know it’s a bad subject for both of us, but he did pull me into the elevator and save me. I saw the opportunity to return the favor and I took it.”

She stares at me for a long moment. “Is that why you trust him so much? Because he kept you safe?”

“If I say yes does that make me an idiot?”

“Not at all. It just makes him a really good manip—” Her lips form a tight line. “Sorry, I’ll rein my judgey cunt back in.” Her expression evens out. “I think I’m beginning to understand now. It makes sense that you’d feel a certain attachment to him given the traumatic experience you went through.”

“Yeah.” When her expression doesn’t change I add, “Princess Monet is an asshole, but I know I’m safe with him.”

I can see the apprehension in her eyes. “It’s not so much Princess Monet I’m worried about as it is the people he gets involved with, you know?”

“I get that.” As much as I hate to admit it, it’s a valid concern. “But he’d never let anyone hurt me.”

“Including himself?”

I don’t follow. “Preston would never lay a hand on me.”

She shakes her head. “No, I mean emotionally. I know you two have a bond, but Preston’s not the type to settle down.” She blows her bangs out of her face. “That heart of yours already tends to give way more than it gets in return, and I don’t want to see it get broken again.” She narrows her eyes. “Because then I’ll have to kill him, and I’m not sure there’s enough blow jobs or make-up sex to make Asher forgive me for murdering his baby brother.”

I feel my cheeks heat with shame. Breslin—or anyone for that matter—sticking me and Preston in the couple box and throwing away the key doesn’t sit well with me. At all.

Caring about Preston and being close to him doesn’t negate me being gay. A few kisses with a male doesn’t mean my lesbian card has been revoked.

Straight people kiss members of the same sex all the time and chalk it up to simple curiosity or inebriation and no one bats an eye. Why do they get a free pass to do whatever they want, but I don’t?

“It’s not like that between us. Other than a few kisses here and there—it’s completely platonic. We’re friends.”

“Kit?”

“Yeah?”

“How many years have we been friends?”

I think about this for a moment. “Since our freshman year of college, so about seven years, give or take.”

“Have you ever stuck your tongue in my mouth?”

“No.” My cheeks go a shade darker. “I know how it sounds, but there’s really nothing going on between us.” To my absolute horror, my voice cracks and my eyes become glassy. “I have no desire to have sex with him, okay?”

She wipes what I assume must now be mascara streaks from my face. “Okay.”

I give her a skeptical look. “Okay?”

“Yeah. You’re a big girl and if you say it’s not like that between you two, I believe you. I’m sorry for pushing the issue.” She drums her nails on the counter, appearing lost in deep thought. “Maybe you like being close to him because you miss having that intimacy with someone, you know? You haven’t had that since—”

“Becca,” I finish for her, my heart making its objection to her name known.

Breslin has a point. I’ve had sex with girls since she ripped my heart out, but I haven’t allowed myself to fully go there with someone. Not even with Jess and I was crazy about her…up until she revealed her true colors.

It’s like Becca permanently cut out the part of my heart that made it possible for me to get to that final level again.

Breslin’s nose turns up. “You mean Becca—the giant thundercunt.”

My face twists. “Or, Becca—the two-timing skank.”

We burst into laughter but make no move to stop hurling insults at my ex.

Breslin slaps the counter. “Becca—the dirty sewer whore.”

She holds her fist out and I bump it. “Becca—the cum guzzling dumpster snatch—”

“That counter must be really comfortable.”

Asher’s voice jolts us from our conversation and we turn to face him.

Breslin’s hands fly to her face and I gasp when I see his split lip and what looks like the start of a black eye.

Landon steers Asher over to the sink. “Stop talking so I can clean that cut.”

Breslin races over to them. “What happened?”

Their eyes float to the entryway at the same time Preston wanders in, shaking out his hand. His knuckles are split and bleeding, and the finger that was already fractured looks worse. “Got any ice?”

Oh, no.

I trek over to the freezer. “I thought you said you were supervising them, Landon?”

“I was. Everything was fine until…” His sentence trails off and he grips the back of his neck.

“Until what?” Breslin questions.

Landon shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Until I went into the bathroom to take my insulin. That’s when Asher cornered Preston and confronted him about something.”

“Traitor,” Asher hisses.

Landon throws up his hands. “I’m sorry, but they weren’t going to believe your story about flying monkeys attacking you.”

I open the freezer door and frown. “I don’t have any ice. How about a few bags of peas that are probably as old as I am?”  

Preston nods. “That’ll work.”

Breslin tips Asher’s chin, checking him out. “What did you confront Preston about, baby?”

From opposite sides of the island, Preston and Asher exchange a menacing glance.

“Nothing,” they mumble in unison.

It’s most definitely something.

Arms crossed, Breslin and I turn to Landon again.

He shrugs innocently. “Don’t look at me. I’m just as clueless as you two are. By the time I came back, Preston already had Asher in a headlock.”  

I pick up the bags of peas and chuck one at Asher. “He told you he needed space.”

I chuck the other one at Preston. “Stop attacking your brother.”

Preston places the bag on his hand. “What makes you so sure it was me who attacked him? Maybe it was self-defense.”

I blink. “Was it?”

He smirks. “No.”

Breslin’s eyes become tiny slits. “Why did you have to punch him in the first place?”

Preston’s gaze draws inward. “None of your business.”

Breslin rolls her eyes and looks at Asher. “Why did he punch you?”

“I—” Preston glares daggers at him. “I called him a douche for eating my bagels.”

Preston smiles wide. “There. Everyone happy now?”

I’m not stupid enough to believe it’s the real reason, but I’m not going to question it since Asher and Preston are finally in agreement about something.  

Breslin grabs her purse. “We should probably head back to the hotel.” She looks at me. “Are you free tomorrow?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I leave for New York.”

She pouts. “That sucks. Our flight home doesn’t leave until Tuesday.”

“Don’t worry. After this stupid merger with Porn Rub is settled, I should have some free time to visit.”

She cringes. “Ugh, I forgot about that. Call me and let me know how it goes.”

After they find Picasso, we exchange our goodbyes.

Well, everyone but Preston who just stands there.

I close the door and lean against it after they leave, a strange sense of relief washing over me. I feel like I just crossed the finish line of a marathon. Not that their absence makes me happy, but it does ease my anxiety to know I won’t have to juggle Asher and Preston being in the same room anymore.

I catch Preston silently studying me. That’s when I remember I have another big favor to ask him.

“So, I’m leaving for New York tomorrow.”

“I heard.”

I look down at my shoes. “Those people will be coming here to do those stupid renovations while I’m gone.”

“Make me a list of everything you don’t want them to touch and I’ll make sure they don’t.”

I stare at him wide-eyed. “Really?”

It’s not that I didn’t think he would do it, I just figured I’d have to beg and offer…

I cover my face with my hands when it dawns on me. “Crap, I promised Max nudes.”

“What?” Preston roars so loud I jump.

Hand clutching my chest, I tell him, “Relax. I was gonna paste my head onto some hot porn star’s body.”

“Yeah, that’s never happening. He’s not choking the chicken to what he thinks are naked pictures of you.”

“It wouldn’t actually be me, silly.” He motions for my phone, but I don’t give it to him. “He did me a favor, Preston. If I don’t deliver, it goes without saying he won’t help me out the next time.”

“There will be no next time.” His nostrils flare. “I don’t want you calling him again, you hear me?”

I’m a little taken back by his hostility. “Or what, Daddy? You’ll ground me?”

“Bishop.” There’s a dark note in his tone. “I don’t want you talking to Max anymore. Not without me present. And I definitely don’t want you sending him naked pictures. It’s a deal breaker.”

I don’t like this controlling side of Preston one bit, but not talking to Max or sending him nudes is without a doubt something I can live with. However, I’m going to take a cue from Preston and use what he wants to get something I want.

Like security that he’ll stay. If he’s comfortable and feels at home, maybe he’ll reside here for longer than a few nights.

Maybe he won’t leave while I’m in New York.

“I won’t talk to Max or send him nudes,” I say, and he visibly relaxes. “If you let me take you shopping.”

Getting Preston out the door was like pulling teeth, but he finally agreed when I said I would deduct whatever we bought today off his two-million-dollar marriage of convenience fee.

“Are we done yet?” he gripes as we walk through the store.

“We only got here three minutes ago.”

His face sets. “That’s three minutes longer than I wanted to be here.”

We turn down the first aisle and I get down to business. “Are you pro loofah?”

“What the fuck is a loofah?”

I reach past him. “Washcloths it is then.”

With no help from Preston, I spend the next fifteen minutes filling the cart with various bathroom essentials.

We turn down the bedding aisle next. “Do you have a preference?”

“For blankets?”

I fidget, nervous to broach this topic with him. “No. I was thinking more along the lines of…do you have a preference for your bedroom?”

When he stays silent, I play with the hem of my shirt. I don’t know why telling him we should have separate bedrooms is so difficult…it shouldn’t be. We’re not having sex and we’re not in a relationship. In fact, sharing the same bed will put the kibosh on having either of those with someone else.

My mind drifts back to what Breslin said earlier about intimacy. Maybe I’m utilizing Preston as my crutch because I miss the real thing.  

When the minutes stretch I say, “There are two guest bedrooms—”

“I know. I picked the one with the adjoining bathroom.”

Oh.

And just like that my chest sinks. “Good choice.” I thumb through some throw blankets. “At least now you won’t have to kick your wife out of bed before you fuck some other woman.”  

I ignore the dirty look the lady scoping out a flannel comforter gives me.

I don’t know what to make of the expression on Preston’s face. “Is that what you want?”

I’m honestly not sure how to answer that. Or rather, I can’t decide if the twisting in my gut is due to the thought of Preston having sex with someone…or remorse, because I’ll never be the girl he has sex with.

I just want to be the girl who gets all his other parts. The parts that actually matter.

I try to get ahold of my emotions because having a mental breakdown in aisle twelve at my local Target wasn’t on my agenda for the day.

Drawing myself tight, I tell him, “Doesn’t bother me either way. Do whatever makes you happy.”

It’s the truth. I want Preston to be happy. I want him to conquer his issues and have the best things life has to offer.

Including the things I’m unable to give him.  

My heart knocks against my chest with every step he takes toward me. It threatens to break free entirely when he leans in and his lips brush my ear. “I was talking about the blanket in your hand.”

I look down. I’m clutching a plush throw blanket so hard my knuckles have turned white.

My stomach swoops and my face goes hot. I’m so mortified I can barely speak. “Right. Sorry.”  

He eases back, and those intense orbs examine my face. I don’t know what he sees, but it causes the corners of his lips to turn down in a frown and his forehead to crease.

But it’s his words that send a kick of pain straight through my heart. “Me too.”