Marina looked in the mirror and blinked. Was that really her? She moved closer and saw the uneven hips and the bulges on her back created by her bra. Her thighs were still too big and too white, and her biceps had seen tighter days.

She didn’t just look pretty damned good.

She looked fabulous.

And she wasn’t just telling herself that. She really felt it. Not just because of the skin or the hair or the push-up bra that had probably been designed by engineers at NASA, but because something in her own mind shifted. She was forty-eight years old. She wasn’t supposed to have a twenty-year-old body or skin. She wasn’t supposed to look smooth in a stretchy dress. Her boobs weren’t supposed to stand at attention without serious hardware giving them a boost.

And she was perfectly fine with that.

No.

She. Was. Happy.

To hell with the media and society and commercials and magazines telling women they were supposed to look eternally young. Not only was that impossible, it was a lie. That didn’t mean she shouldn’t take care of herself, and she hadn’t done a great job of that the past several years. Putting everyone’s needs in front of her own had taken a toll. But that was all about to change. And loving herself didn’t mean she wouldn’t wear makeup or style her hair or wear clothes that suited her body type. You could love yourself and still like things to look a certain way. But it would all be within reason.

For the last several years, she’d watched a handful of senior women in town, and had always admired how attractive they remained, even though they were in their sixties and seventies. Dottie was one of them. And certainly, she was always impeccably turned out, which helped. But it struck Marina now that the reason those women were so attractive wasn’t because they were what would be considered traditionally beautiful. It was because of the way they carried themselves. It was because of the way they felt about themselves. Their confidence made them more attractive, just like neediness and uncertainty could make a naturally beautiful person look less than what they were.

It was so simple. Yet so difficult to achieve because it meant embracing all her “flaws.”

Marina was ready.

It was her time.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Marina knew she was gawking like a teenager, but the man standing on her doorstep was so handsome in his custom black suit. He’d been dressed well in court but had looked the part of the lawyer then. Now he was totally Bayou James Bond—sexy and dangerous. But more important was how he was staring at her.

There was no disguising his appreciation. The long lingering gaze, the slow smile.

“You look fantastic,” he said.

Marina blushed. “So do you.”

He offered his arm to her. “Then let’s go piss some people off.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Cars lined the street and the circular drive to the Southern mansion the LeDoux called home. Luke offered to let Marina out in front of the house, but she was too nervous to stand there alone. Not because she was afraid of a confrontation. She was kinda expecting one of some sort, even if it was conducted quietly. She was more afraid of what she might do if there was no one else there to rein her in.