Page 86 of Too Good to Be True

They were here the first night, and tonight.

But not last night, when I didn’t get any flowers.

Both nights, they’d disappeared early.

It was Daniel, but probably Portia.

I knew it.

I sucked in a breath.

It was then I realized Jane was holding my hand on her knee.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” I mumbled.

“This house can be overpowering. You get used to it, though.”

Never.

I was having my talk tomorrow with Portia, then I was taking Lou, who this house and the people in it was giving migraines, and we were getting the fuck out of there.

I jumped nearly out of my skin when I saw movement at the door.

Daniel in nothing but boxer briefs, and Portia, in a baby-pink, short, lace-edged, obviously expensive nightie.

Ian brought up the rear.

The new arrivals both looked disheveled and that groggy-alert you get when you’re woken up by something important: you’re awake, but you’re still half-asleep.

“Tell her,” Ian demanded.

Daniel was staring at me.

“Tell her!” he roared.

“It was just a joke,” Portia said in a small voice, also staring at me, looking ludicrously guilty.

Goddamn it.

Portia.

“Oh my Lord,” Lady Jane breathed angrily.

“Get out of my sight,” Ian ordered.

“Ian—” Daniel started.

“Danny, get her…out of my…sight.”

Straightaway, Daniel herded Portia out the door.

But my sister kept looking back at me.

Guilty.

Ian turned to his mother.

“I’ve got this,” he declared.

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