Chapter 11 #2
Chanel shrugs. “Maybe he’s meeting with them earlier in the day, because he’s taking you on a business dinner. Clive already confirmed. Warner’s assistant will reach out Wednesday afternoon with logistics. Which means…”
Priscilla shimmies her fingers like her evil plot is all coming to fruition.
Against every bone in my body, I take the bait.
“Which means?” I press.
Ebony stands to plant herself in front of me. Pulling me up, she takes my glass of rosé. “Here’s your chance,” she says sweetly.
Tatiana nods. “Just see what the vibes are at the meeting.”
“And when your doctor discusses next steps, take it as a sign to live fuller,” Ebony says. “Infuse your life with love, adventure.”
“And all six-foot-infinity of Warner Easton.” Tatiana grins excitedly.
Priscilla hugs me from behind. “I’m going to hold your hand when I say this. There was real chemistry between y’all.”
“And before you question it”—Chanel drags out the moment—“it was a two-way street. Which is probably why he ran.”
Ebony, my voice of reason, who’s had her marriage, identity, family, and career dragged through the mud and somehow came out shining diamond bright… That’s who I turn to. She’ll break through the noise.
“You really think I should try this?” I ask. “Not that I’m even sure I can love romantically, but isn’t it kind of shady to try to build a relationship with this man when I could be on my deathbed? Especially after he already lost Sherry?”
She doesn’t even hesitate. “Not if it’s real, Whit.
” She nods repeatedly. “That’s the very reason it matters.
That’s the difference. A woman in lust strictly wants her physical needs met.
No strings. No expectations. No emotional commitment.
But a woman in love? She wants more. The sex intensifies everything, emotionally, mentally, socially, all of it.
And she gives that in return to feel seen and cared for. And that’s timeless.”
“Oh wow.”
“Linc and I had to really learn each other.” She shrugs lightly. “And that requires shared vulnerability.”
Ew. I frown. “I don’t even know Warner.”
“So you’ll feel him out. And if he’s not for you, that’s cool, too,” Tatiana says, glancing from me to Priscilla.
“Men are not complicated. They’ll let you know if they want more from you.
He’ll find the time. Period. It’s up to you to decide whether you’re the one with commitment issues or the one lacking self-respect. ”
We all stare at her, dumbfounded.
Honestly, I’m a little in awe that with one sentence she’s just read each one of us for filth and reframed everything. It’s that simple.
And also that hard.
As much as our Restroom Rendezvous has cemented the headlines about me and Warner, my divas have a point.
Lust, I know organically. But I’ve never been in love.
There’s been no man with whom I’ve felt even a spark, let alone a genuine southern tingle worthy of meeting with repeat offenders.
Until Warner. And we haven’t even kissed.
But where there’s smoke, there must be fire, right?
So, if there’s anyone I’d consider sharing myself with on every level, I guess it makes sense that I’d start with him.
And, technically, he did find me at the gallery, so…
“Hypothetically,” I say, clinging to my boobs and feeling completely out of my wheelhouse, “how would a woman looking for, um…love go about things?”
Priscilla beams proudly. “Show interest in him.”
“Not too much, though.” Chanel flicks her a warning look. “Gauge his interests first. Is he watching you? Is he actively listening?”
“Ooh, watch his body language.” Tatiana sits up on her knees. “Gives it away every time.”
“It’s about building a deep, meaningful connection. Trusting each other to be vulnerable,” Ebony says. “And that can’t just be about sex.”
I laugh. “What? How did we jump to sex?”
Chanel dips her chin, building the suspense. “What if you had a little incentive?”
“I’m listening,” I say begrudgingly.
“I’ve got zero doubt you’ll end up exhibiting the collection,” Chanel says. “That’s beside the greater point I’m getting at.”
“Which is…”
“Clive said Warner’s taking you to view the collection Friday the nineteenth, right?
So start then.” Her wide-eyed look is back.
“If you’re worried about building a relationship on your deathbed after he already lost Sherry, spare him.
Wait until you’ve had your follow-up to have sex.
Your appointment falls on the first. That’s ten days exactly. ”
“Uh…” I’m so confused how fast this is escalating. “You make me sound like some sex fiend. I go without sex all the time. But really, this is your big solution? I could be dying, and you want me to have less sex?” Is reality in the room with us?
“In the meantime”—Chanel steamrolls right over my logical wrench in her plan—“you actively try to build a meaningful connection with him. It’s got to be mutual.
And if you do”—she tilts her head, deepening her stare.
Uh-oh—“I’ll book us an all-expenses-paid girls’ trip to your tropical island of choice.
A paradise adventure, if you will. And if there’s nothing and he’s the coldhearted, cultureless cash machine with no soul that you think he is—and you actually abstain until it feels like something real—I’ll never ask you about your love life again. ”
Another collective gasp echoes through the room.
Oh.
It’s unheard of. Chanel never asking again?
“And we’ll all carve out the time for a girls’ trip, Whit.” Priscilla’s smile builds slowly.
An island adventure?
I chew the inside my cheek.
It’s my Achilles heel. It’s what I’ve wanted for years. More than our New Year’s Eve countdowns. More than our quarterly lunches. It’s why I’ve watched The Lost City and Romancing the Stone and freaking Shotgun Wedding countless times.
I want the adventure we used to find in every getaway.
Before life and work—and their love lives—shifted us slightly off track.
Before we were mentally exhausted, and apparently violently allergic to bold resolutions.
Before a mortality missile launched double-whammy abnormal lab results at me, threatening to detonate my entire life.
My heart drums in my ears.
“If you fail, I want dibs on Sherry’s paintings, though,” Chanel adds, dead serious.
And there’s the catch.
I’m laughing as Ebony searches my eyes, smiling softly. “All you have to do is try.” Try to love. To live. Before it’s too late.
“Okay. Hello, voluntary dry spell.”