Remi swallowed hard. “Gerard handled everything—our finances, our bills. I feel like I’m drowning in the details while trying to catch up on a life that was running fine without me.”
“I can help,” Leo said softly. “Anything you need, I’m here.”
She hesitated, then admitted, “I brought his laptop. Stuffed every document I could into my suitcase. I just haven’t had the chance or energy to dig into it yet.”
“I’m here when you’re ready.”
Remi turned to him, her eyes glistening. “Thank you for letting me be honest. I can’t tell you how much that means.”
“Always.” Leo gave her hand a gentle squeeze, then nodded his head toward her empty wineglass. “Can I refresh that for you?”
Remi smiled. “Sure, why not?”
He reached for her glass. “Merlot, right?”
“You know that’s my fave.”
“You with the Merlot, Gerard with the yack.”
“And you with the whiskey and Viv … well, Viv with the sweet tea, because she was likely your designated driver.”
Remi laughed and Leo joined in, his grin wide. The white linen shirt he wore seemed to glow against his smooth chocolate skin, catching the firelight just right. He was always handsome.
“Exactly. One of us had to stay sober,” Leo said, still smiling. “I’ll be right back.”
Remi watched as he walked across the patio and exchanged a quick word with the bartender. Then, out of nowhere, Bianca rushed from the dance floor, leaving her dance partner confused and standing alone. She made a beeline for the bar, sliding up next to Leo like she’d been waiting for her cue.
Remi’s eyebrows lifted. She shook her head. “This girl,” she whispered to herself.
Bianca touched Leo’s arm and whispered something in his ear. What she said made him laugh. She lingered beside him, smiling up at him with a look that was too eager. A schoolgirlcrush, Remi thought, or something more desperate. Ever since her divorce, she thought Bianca had been too eager for attention. Remi shook her head. Her friend could be persistent, sometimes too much so. She often wondered how she’d managed to lose Harry in the first place. He had doted on her, adored her … until, suddenly, he didn’t. One day he was gone, just like that—moved out, with no real explanation. Bianca had just blown it off as they had grown apart. Yet she seemed jealous about the woman he was currently dating. It just didn’t add up.
Bianca never gave Remi full details about what happened. She’d been vague, evasive, which pissed Remi off, because they’d always been straight with each other about everything—or so she thought. The secrecy had caused Remi to draw her own conclusions. Watching her now with Leo, she couldn’t help thinking it was this same behavior that had driven Harry away. And while Remi didn’t want to judge her best friend, she couldn’t help feeling a bit of embarrassment in this moment. She didn’t have the heart to tell her that she wasn’t at all Leo’s type. She was nothing like Vivian, who had been quiet, poised. Bianca was neither of those things. Still, she clung to Leo’s arm, laughing, wobbling slightly as he steadied her with one hand and walked back toward the sofa.
“I’m going to walk her home,” Leo said, and handed Remi the glass of wine. “Looks like she’s had a little too much.”
“Looks that way.” Remi gave Bianca a pointed look.
“I’m calling it a night, Rem. Had a bit too much tequila.” Bianca winked, barely able to stand. “I’ll see you at home.”
“Fine. I’m going to finish my wine first and then I’ll be home soon.” Remi took a long sip as she eyeballed Bianca.
“No rush, honey. Enjoy yourself. I’m in good hands.”
Remi raised her glass “Indeed, you are.”
Remi watched as the pair crossed the patio and disappearedinto the night. Then, at last, she leaned back and closed her eyes. The breeze was soft against her skin as she breathed in the beautiful California night air. The fire danced beside her, its scent mingling with the warm, woodsy candle burning on the table. Somewhere in the background, the sound of Michael Franks’s “The Lady Wants to Know” played, mellow and teasing. It wrapped itself around her, pulled her deeper.
Chapter Seven
Bianca
Bianca opened one eye as the sunlight crept through the sheer curtains and unforgivingly struck her face, causing her to squint. She winced, groaned, and pulled the covers over her head, trying to hide from the intrusive sunlight. Too late. There was no escaping it. Her head throbbed like a distant drum, dull but persistent. She wasn’t ready to face the morning, not with this hangover.
Laughter trickled in from the kitchen—light, familiar, high-pitched giggles.
She sat up slowly, the room tilting for a moment before settling. “Shit,” she muttered to herself, her voice hoarse from last night’s shenanigans. “Are the girls here already?”
The last thing she needed was Mila seeing her like this—disheveled, groggy, still smelling faintly of last night’s tequila. She had hoped for more time to collect herself, scrub her conscience clean a bit, and pull it together before Mila arrived. The tension between them was already thick enough. Mila still hadn’t forgiven her. And maybe she never would.