Claire.”
“Um, thank you.” Claire adjusted her shirt. Any minute now, Oliver would know that she’d seen Jace. He’d see that something was different.
Wait. What exactly was different?
“Are you with the firm, Trina?” she asked, avoiding Oliver’s gaze.
“Mmm. Hmm. How did the fitting go?” Oliver asked.
“The fitting?” Her mind still swam with images of Jace’s smile. His hand on Bels’. The little whispers they exchanged here and there. “Good, it fits perfectly. They did an amazing job.” Was her voice too high?
“Oh, your wedding dress?” Trina cooed. “Is it strapless? You have great shoulders.”
“Thanks. Uh, so do you.” The oddness of the compliment knocked on her buzzing brain. Should she tell Oliver about lunch now? In front of a third party to create neutral ground? “I love your boots.”
Oliver got them wine and sliced some cheese and crackers. If these two were here to hammer out a deposition or go over testimony, Claire might head to bed before dinner. Sleeping off this buzz sounded like a good idea. If she could sleep.
As Oliver moved the conversation along, though, and Trina’s lashes lowered again and again, her legs crossing and uncrossing, a previous conversation crawled into the light—and her memory.
Oliver hadn’t brought Trina home to ... No.
No way. He wasn’t that kind of guy.
Or was he?
Another bat of Trina’s eyelashes. Claire gulped down her wine. Yep. He was.
A low roar seemed to hum inside her. The collapse of a very well laid plan, all in one fell swoop. Oliver had gone too far. How could she not have seen this coming?
She’d told herself it was a guy thing. A rude guy thing, but still. She’d blamed that conversation about Jace.
Jace.
Guilt panged her chest hard enough that she rubbed the area.
Trina smiled at her, seemingly oblivious to what Oliver prattled on about in nervous tones. She leaned in close, and whispered in Claire’s ear. “Don’t worry. I’m here for you. Not for him.” She pulled away and looked meaningfully into Claire’s eyes, and then slowly leaned forward, her pink-glossed lips parted.
Claire fell off the couch. Her wine sloshed all over her. Her disbelief got trampled under the heels of intense outrage.
“Shit, are you okay?” Oliver scrambled to help.
“Am I okay? That’s it ?” She moved to get up, but Trina just about straddled her and then dragged her to her feet. She was strong for a skinny thing. “Um, I think my fiancé here misled you, Trina.” Claire brushed at her wet clothes, glaring at Oliver. “ Leave. Now. ”
“Wait, Claire, we talked about this,” Oliver said, motioning for Trina to stay, following her as she headed to the door, red-faced. “I swear, Trina, we did.”
“No,” Claire said, her hold on her patience breaking. “ You talked about it because you are completely insecure.”
“Uh, I’ll let you two work this out.” Trina didn’t let the door hit her as she left.
“I’m not insecure, Claire. I’m a man. I have needs. We are about to spend the rest of our lives together, and all I wanted was to know what I might have missed. Isn’t that what you said, Claire? What you wouldn’t give to ‘just know’? So you could never think about it again? How is this any different?”
“That is entirely different, dickhead! That was love. Love! This is porn. I’m not into porn. Never will be. I mean, really, Oliver, what the hell are you doing with me if that is what you want?”
“It isn’t like I was out to cheat on you, Claire. I wanted to share something with you.”
“It isn’t sharing if the other party isn’t interested, Oliver! It’s misogyny!”
He slowly shook his head. “I won’t be ashamed of who I am, Claire. I’m just sorry you couldn’t handle it. I thought I could trust you.”
Claire sputtered. “Trust? Trust?! ” He couldn’t be serious. “How does protecting our future—our love and fidelity for each other—make me not
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