The baby’s room was shades of heather gray and white, marked by the occasional shot of coral in the way of the blanket hanging artfully on the crib wall or the throw pillow in the rocking chair. The velvet loveseat had been converted to a twin bed where I’d lay my head for a little while, and Dean had made it up, complete with sheets, two pillows, and a downy comforter that looked like a heaping pile of cloud fluff. Ivy had left a neat pile of clothes for me on top of the changing table, and on the pile sat a phone charger and a note.

Good riddance to bad lays.

Love you. Sleep tight.

-Ivy

I laughed as I picked up the charger and plugged it in. Brock really was a terrible lay, which I’d seen from a new, horrible perspective today. I’d settled in so many ways, convincing myself that he was perfect. A wealthy, beautiful doctor, charming and smooth. A man who had never had to work for a woman, present company included, which meant he’d never had to impress a woman in bed. He got what he wanted and never cared to learn the topography of a clitoris. Given that he had a medical degree, the oversight was as gratuitous as it was grievous.

Curse of the Adonis. Why would he be bothered to care? An endless supply of women was apparently at his beck and call.

I clicked off the lamp—a sweet, star-studded thing—and slid under the comforter, sighing the weight of the day into the comforting confines of the nursery. I’d have to find a way to be around Natasha, and there was only one plan: ignore her and pretend like nothing had happened. Business as usual, tally-ho, onward we went.

Of course, I also knew Natasha to be manipulative—the youngest of the Femmes had a penchant for drama that her sisters paled beneath—and wondered if she’d be trouble. I couldn’t imagine a reason for her to sleep with Brock unless she wanted to get to me. Maybe for the sake of their show and any excuse to spark a fight in front of the cameras. I tried to tell myself she’d probably never see him again. He was too old and established for her, as her taste leaned more to the latest breakout DJ, other celebrity offspring, and whoever was making the most trouble in the media. She didn’t want anything to do with Brock other than to humiliate me.

The best—and perhaps only—revenge would be to don my armor and show her just how unaffected I was. It would likely drive her insane, and if that was to be my only recourse, I’d wield it unflinchingly.

And with that happy thought clutched in my fist, I closed my eyes and sought sleep, though I never quite found it.

5

Labradoodle-dee-doo

KASH