Chapter 15
DESIREE
I get to Calming Luxe Spa before Lizzie and Jetta, just early enough to sit down, set my tote beside me, and breathe without anybody asking if I’m okay.
The private suite is ready when I walk in. Robes hanging on gold hooks. Slippers lined beneath them. Warm towels stacked near the sink. A pitcher of fruit-infused water on the counter beside three glasses and a tray of cut fruit I am absolutely going to pick over before they get here.
I take the chair closest to the window and pull The Last Sad Love Song by Kimberly Brown from my tote.
I’ve been carrying it around for a week and reading the same two pages like my brain forgot how books work. Today, I almost make it through six pages before Lizzie strolls in.
“You reading romance at the spa?” she asks.
I hold up the book. “Black romance. Be specific.”
“My apologies to the culture. That’s the one you told me about?” she asks, sliding her sunglasses to the top of her forehead.
I glance at the cover. “Yeah.”
“Any good?”
“It is. I just haven’t had the attention span God gave a gnat lately.”
Jetta walks in behind her. “If y’all are talking books, don’t spoil a thing. I’m still trying to finish the last one you bullied me into buying.”
“Recommended,” I say.
“Bullied,” she says, dropping her bag into a chair. “You sent that Blk Shelf link four times.”
“Uh, yeah. Because you kept saying you were going to order it and then got quiet like a sinner in church when I asked if you started.”
“That sounds like accountability dressed up as harassment.”
Lizzie drops into the chair across from me. “It absolutely does.”
Jetta rolls her eyes, but she smiles when she does it, and for a minute, I let myself enjoy seeing it.
She’s been coming to work, doing her job, answering phones, checking clients in, keeping my front desk in order. That’s absolutely the norm. But a woman can keep her lashes done, her gloss fresh, and her calendar color-coded while her life’s rearranging itself in ways nobody else can fathom.
And Lizzie’s been the same way. Calling. Texting. Sending memes like usual. Coming by the house like she didn’t get blindsided in my living room by a man who used her heart like a side entrance. And I know how much that night could have cost us.
So today isn’t about pretending nothing ever happened.
It’s about giving all of us somewhere we can be at peace without pretending everything is simple.
“Before we do robes and fruit-infused water and whatever expensive steam situation I booked,” I say, setting the book on top of my tote. “I want to check on both of you for real. And don’t give me that typical Black woman spiel about ‘I’m good.’”
Lizzie leans back in her chair and looks at the ceiling like she’s asking Jesus whether she has the emotional availability for this today.
“I mean. Truthfully,” she says, “Better than I was a month ago.”
Jetta nods, her fingers playing with the strap on her purse. “Same.”
I can accept that because it’s honest, and honesty is the only thing I asked them for.
Lizzie takes her sunglasses all the way off and drops them into her lap. “I still feel stupid as hell most times, though.”
“You’re not,” I say.
“I know that up here.” She taps her temple, then lets her hand fall.
“But it’s different when you’re sitting with yourself at night remembering all the little shit you thought was sweet.
The check-ins. The ‘text me when you get home.’ The way he made it seem like it was about safety when really he was just giving himself another way in. ”
Jetta exhales through her nose. “That’s the exact part that’s been eating away at me too.”
She doesn’t stop there. “Nate, well ‘Linden’, used to ask about the clinic all the time. Not in a weird way. At least I didn’t think so.
He’d ask how busy we were, if my boss was strict, what kind of clients came in, if you were taking new appointments.
I legit just thought he was being interested in my day. ”
“He was studying for a way through an unopened door,” Lizzie says.
Jetta looks at her. “Yeah.”
Reaching for my glass, I try to keep my cool. “I still hate them for the shit they tried to get away with.”
Lizzie looks at me immediately. “Desi.”
“Theodore and I built the life we wanted, and I stand on that. But y’all were pulled into something without the truth initially, and I need you to know I never would’ve done that to either of you.”
Jetta’s expression eases a little. “Boss lady, for the record, I’m not mad at you.”
“Hell. I was,” Lizzie says.
Jetta looks at her while Lizzie keeps her attention on me. I appreciate her too much to pretend that doesn’t sting.
“For about an hour,” she says. “Maybe two. I don’t know. Time got away from me that night.”
I huff a small laugh. “Fair.”
“I wasn’t even mad because of what you and Theodore do,” she says. “That was your business. I was mad because he made me need information you never owed me, and then I had to sit there feeling like I should’ve known something I had no way of knowing.”
“I get that,” I tell her.
“And I was embarrassed,” she adds. “Because I brought him around like he was somebody worth being proud of. I told you about him all happy. I even let him meet my mama, Desi.”
“I know.”
“My mama asked about his trifling ass last week.”
Jetta winces. “Oof.”
“What did you tell her?” I ask.
“I told her he had a character defect that could not be repaired under warranty.”
Jetta presses her lips together, fighting a smile. “Your mama accepted that?”
“No. She told me that sounded like church hurt and tax fraud, then asked if he owed me money.”
That sounds exactly like Mrs. Jolene.
Jetta shakes her head. “Mamas will take one answer and turn it into a deposition.”
“Mine went on a fishing expedition,” Lizzie says. “Dates. Questions. Follow-ups. Asked me if he had ever borrowed money, had a secret baby, or wore shoes without socks.”
Jetta finally laughs for real. “Shoes without socks is diabolical.”
The attendant knocks before stepping in with lunch, and I’m grateful for the interruption. Some conversations need a place to breathe before they turn into something heavier than anybody asked for.
She sets out crab salad tucked into butter lettuce, crispy potatoes with garlic aioli, chilled shrimp, fruit, and little squares of something chocolate that Jetta immediately moves closer to her side of the table.
Lizzie chuckles at that. “Yo ass ain’t slick.”
“I didn’t come here to be slick. I came here for peace and chocolate.”
The attendant leaves us with lunch and a fresh pitcher of water, and for a while, we eat like women who have remembered food can be comfort without judgment.
Jetta reaches for a potato and looks at me. “The agreements, everything’s done, right?”
I nod. “Yep. All done.”
Lizzie wipes her fingers on a linen napkin. “I appreciate how Theodore handled that.”
“So did I.”
“He made sure it didn’t feel like we were being trapped.”
Realistically, I was worried about that the most. The confidentiality part mattered, but so did the other pieces: the language and its clarity, because I knew how it could feel.
Two women were already pulled into something they didn’t ask for, then handed legal documents inside the same house where they were exposed to so much.
If they wanted to understand it now, that understanding had to belong to them.
“The agreement protects me and Theodore,” I say. “It would never silence you about what happened. If either of you needs to talk to a therapist, an attorney, anybody who helps you process it, you can. Everything had to be clear enough that nobody was guessing about what they were signing.”
Jetta shakes her head. “I know. That helped.”
Lizzie looks down at her plate. “I blocked him before I signed it.”
“Good.”
“Then unblocked him for eight minutes.”
Jetta gives her a look, then screams. “Girl!”
“I know.” Lizzie lifts both hands. “I didn’t call or text him or anything like that. I just wanted to see if he had anything to say.”
“Did he?” I ask.
“He sent two funky ass paragraphs.”
My stomach does that ugly little roll cats do right before they hurl on your favorite rug. “You read them?”
“Unfortunately.”
Jetta leans forward. “What did he say?”
“The usual. He cared about me. He never meant to hurt me. He got caught up. He thought we could all have something intimate and beautiful if we were honest. Blah, blah, blah.”
My fork stops.
Jetta’s face goes flat. “Beautiful?”
“Beautiful,” Lizzie says. “As if he didn’t lie his way into my life and track me to my best friend’s house like a man who needed a hobby and a restraining order.”
I set my fork down. “I’m sorry.”
Lizzie points at me. “Don’t do that.”
I close my mouth.
“I know why you said it,” she says. “But don’t. He did that shit. Not you.”
I needed to hear that from her more than I realized.
Lizzie looks at me. “And for the record, I still want to slap him for saying fat like it was supposed to make you less fine.”
Jetta points her fork at Lizzie. “Because that pissed me off all over again.”
I lean back in my chair. “Please. Men like Bryce only insult what they want, when they can’t have what they want.”
Lizzie’s mouth curves. “Exactly.”
“He wanted this fat ass body when it made him feel chosen,” I say. “Then tried to weaponize it when it reminded him he wasn’t.”
Jetta lifts her water glass. “To the creation of new things.”
Lizzie raises hers. “And removing the old things.”
I lift mine. “And to bringing us all together.”
As we drink to that, my phone lights up beside my tote.
Theodore
How are my girls?
I read the message twice and almost smile into my glass. He knows I wanted the day for me and the girls to have some alone time and true peace together.
Better than we were.
His reply comes almost immediately.
Theodore
Good. Take your time with them.
Another bubble appears.
Theodore
But when you’re done being the shoulder for them, remember who you belong to. I saw that green silk you left on the bedroom chair this morning. I’m already thinking about where I’m putting my mouth the second you walk through the door.
My thighs press together so hard it’s a wonder my knees don't bruise. He’s got a lot of nerve talking to me like this while I’m trying to be a respectable friend.
You’re awfully confident, Sir, considering you don’t even know what kind of mood I’m in.
Theodore
I don’t care about your mood, Honey. I care about your position. So get your mind right and your body ready. And bring that attitude home so we can fuck it out of you.
I put the phone facedown because grinning at a screen in front of these women, I’ll never hear the end of it.
Lizzie sees me anyway.
“That him?”
“Mind your spa business.”
Jetta laughs into her water, her eyes moving between me and the phone. “Oh, he definitely said something nasty.”
I sit up straighter like that’s going to fix a damn thing.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I love these women.
I do. But my Alpha just texted me like he already has his mouth between my legs and both hands full of my ass, and now I’m counting down the minutes until I can get home, sit on his face, and ride his dick with all this attitude he seems to think can be fucked out of me.