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“Look, in the morning I’ll be sober, and I can guarantee I’ll still want to marry you.”
“Say yes now, and later, I’ll spend as much time on my knees as you want.”
“It would be utterly remiss of me to leave without giving my fiancée a kiss goodbye.”
She was a total fucking goner. Whatever magic Tansy was made of, Gemma wanted to drown in it, revel in the honeyed heat burning her up from the inside out. It was better than the finest bourbon she’d ever had the pleasure of sipping.
Something about going on more than three dates with the same person unlocked a treasure trove of fresh anxieties, most of them stemming from how she’d start imagining their fourth date, picturing what her life might look like with someone else in it, and then feel her hopes start to rise. The idea of falling in love, falling faster than the other person, if they even fell at all— No, thank you. She had her store and her books, and it was—enough. It was enough.
“Now, Tansy, I figure since you’re going to be marrying one of my best friends in this entire godforsaken world, you and I should get to know each other properly.” “I haven’t actually agreed to anything yet, but . . . okay?” “What do you do for fun? What do you like? Perhaps you have a dark, painful secret you’d like to share? Trauma, while terrible, is fantastic for bonding.” Her head spun. “Just dive right into the deep end, why don’t you?”
“Taylor’s lucky all he kept was her scarf.” Gemma pursed her lips. “He made off with a pair of my La Perla panties.”
“The point is that you don’t know a lug nut from your left nut and therefore have no business wielding power tools, my friend.”
God help her if she ever had the pleasure of tracing the southward spread of Tansy’s flush. If she ever got to put her mouth on parts of Tansy other than her lips. She just might lose her mind.
In the center of the room, Bitsie, Sterling, and Victor were engaged in a shouting match, the gist of which Gemma struggled to catch, hearing words bandied about like disgrace and daughter and—oh, it was about her, how nice.
“Careful.” Gemma took a smaller sip of scotch. “Curiosity killed the cat.” “You’re forgetting the second half of the saying. But satisfaction brought it back.”
“The things I want to do to you, the power you could wield over me, Tansy. You have no idea. I’d worship you, if you’d let me.”
“Gemma.” “Fuck,” Gemma muttered, panting softly against Tansy’s throat. “’s even better than I imagined.” Trying to string her muzzy thoughts together was an exercise in futility. “What is?” Gemma lifted her head and stared into Tansy’s eyes, her lids low and her smile wicked. “The way you said my name.”
“I take care of what’s mine, okay?” Gemma’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “And you are mine, aren’t you?”
“I’m glad it’s you,” Gemma said, eyes wide, looking almost frantic. “I thought my grandfather’s will—the stipulation, I mean—was a curse. But now . . . now it doesn’t feel like that. If it had to be anyone, I’m so glad that it’s you.”
Gemma (8:18 p.m.): Tansy, sweetheart, just . . . I’ve never gotten the chance to woo anyone before. It’s new. All of this is new for me.
I think gin drinks taste a little like I’d imagine going down on a Christmas tree would taste,
Accurate
“I’m traumatized. Brooks! My mom! There was—there was cavorting.” Tansy snickered. “Cavorting? Really?” “Yes,” Gemma stressed, hands clutching Tansy’s waist over her coat. “Cavorting.” “Oh, the horror,” she said, all mock severity. “And we know what cavorting leads to.” Gemma’s brows rose. “Canoodling,” she whispered, bursting into laughter at the horrified look on Gemma’s face.
“Glitter was too good for you, you lily-bellied, yellow-livered, son of a one-eyed prairie dog,” Teddy snapped. He frowned. “Wait, that’s not right. Lily-bellied—no, lily-livered, yellow—you know what? Fuck you.”
