Page 29 of The Fiancée Farce
Rather than change, Tansy tied the sash of her nightgown’s matching robe around her waist. With a quick downward glance tomake sure it wasn’t too sheer, that none of her, um,bitswere on display, Tansy made her way to the front door and down the stairwell to the lower level that split in two directions—to the right was the bookstore, closed for the night, and to the left was the service door that led out into the alley. She turned to the left, hoping Gemma wasn’t waiting by the front door.
Her instinct was right. Standing just outside the service door, four whole feet from the overflowing dumpster, amber streetlight casting a golden glow against her champagne hair, was Gemma. An irate Gemma, if the way her foot was tapping against the cobblestone street was any indication.
Goose bumps sprouted along Tansy’s skin, and she crossed her arms against the chill in the air. And the chill in Gemma’s eyes. “Do you want to come in?”
Gemma gave a curt nod and followed Tansy inside. Neither spoke until they’d made it up the stairs and inside Tansy’s apartment, the door shut firmly behind them.
“So,” Tansy started, dropping her arms to her sides only to cross them again quickly. Stupid nightgown, stupid robe. Neither had pockets for her to tuck her hands into. “What, um, brings you by?”
Gemma’s eyes swept the room, taking in Tansy’s living space. “So. This is where Tansy Adams lives.”
“It’s not much.” She nodded, sweeping her hand along the back of the couch, trying to inconspicuously rid it of dust and cat hair. “But it’s home.”
With its original dark wood trim, hardwood floors, and art nouveau archways, this apartment was the only real home Tansy had ever known. It was small and cluttered with books and knickknacks, picture frames, and the sort of detritus one couldn’t help but accumulate in almost thirty years of living. It was home and it was hers. If Gemma found it lacking, well, tough.
Gemma shucked off her trench and tossed it on the arm of the couch. Beneath, she wore a cobalt blue chenille cowl-neck sweater molded to her curves and skintight black jeans. A pair of black ankle boots gave her at least three extra inches. “It’s nice. It’s—”
“Quaint?” Tansy quipped.
Both of Gemma’s brows rose. “I was going to say cozy. I like it.”
Heat flooded Tansy’s cheeks, shame quelling the fire in her gut.Sorrywas on the tip of her tongue, but if anyone should apologize for being presumptuous, it was Gemma for showing up at Tansy’s home out of the blue. “I just wasn’t expecting company.”
Gemma turned her focus from Tansy’s overflowing built-in bookshelves to Tansy.
“I can see that,” Gemma said, eyes tracing Tansy’s body in a heated perusal that left her light-headed. Dizzy. “Nice negligee. It’s pretty. Vintage?”
Tansy nodded, tongue-tied, speechless.Damn it.This was her domain, her—herturf. If anyone should’ve been sure-footed, it was her. Instead, all she could think about was whether her nipples were visible through the sheer fabric of her negligee and robe. “Like I said, I wasn’t exactly expecting anyone.” She paused, manners kicking in. “Sorry. Can I get you something to drink?”
Gemma took a seat on the couch. “Whiskey, if you have it. Irish.”
Her footsteps faltered on the way to the kitchen. “I don’t.”
“Scotch, then,” Gemma said.
She didn’t have that, either. “How does water sound?”
Gemma laughed, a throaty sound that made the hair on Tansy’s nape stand on end. “Sure. Water’s perfect.”
She filled a glass and brought it out to the living room, setting it down in front of Gemma. “So. What brings you by?”
“You aren’t happy to see me?”
Butterflies flapped traitorously inside her gut. Her blood pumpeda little faster, coursing through her veins. “I’m notnothappy. I’m just confused. Curious, I guess.”
Gemma laughed. “That makes two of us.”
She frowned. “Two of us?”
Gemma stared at her, green eyes narrowed shrewdly. “The night we met, I asked you how you knew my cousin. You told me you went to Montlake Prep. That Madison is your step-cousin.”
She swallowed hard, not sure where Gemma was going with this but not liking it. She had a bad feeling, a sort of sixth senseick, the kind that made her want to shove Gemma out the door and lock it, then hide beneath her covers and pretend the outside world didn’t exist. The way she had after the shit had hit the fan years ago. But burying her head in the sand hadn’t worked then and it wouldn’t work now.
“Ididgo to Montlake Prep. Madisonismy step-cousin.” Nothing she had told Gemma had been a lie.
Gemma nodded slowly. Those full, ruby-red lips of hers pursed, her eyes narrowing farther, lashes lowering, sweeping against her cheek. “And?How else do you know my cousin?”
Panic dug its claws in, words clogging in the back of her throat. “How else?”
