Part of Your World(8)

“Is that a hickey?”

My head shot up. “WHAT!?” I bolted off the couch and ran to the mirror over the credenza, looking at my neck.

“Damn,” I breathed, seeing the quarter-size purple blotch by my ear.

“That’s a little tenth-grade retro, don’t you think, sis? And I’m slightly pissed at you for not telling me you got back with Neil.”

I groaned, touching the splotch with my finger. “I didn’t.”

Derek eyed me. “Then who gave you that…” He seemed to notice my hoodie at the same time. “And since when do you wear camo?”

“I don’t,” I said, groaning at the mark. I was going to have to put a Band-Aid over it, it was so big. I pulled the hoodie open and rolled my eyes. There was a hickey on my breast too. I looked again. Both of them.

Derek waited in silence for me to elaborate.

“I met someone. It’s over,” I said, abandoning my examination, dropping back down on the sofa, and scrubbing my hands over my face.

“You met someone? When?”

I lolled my head to look at him. “About ten hours ago?”

He blinked at me. “Okay. You’re having a midlife crisis. I’ve seen this before. We can get you help.”

I laughed. God, I probably was having a midlife crisis. How else could I explain this?

“My car got stuck on the way home from the funeral and this guy towed me out. He was nice and very cute, and I went home with him to eat a grilled cheese—which was really good, actually. He made it from stuff in his greenhouse. Then there was this loose pig running around and it got mud all over me—”

“A pig?” He looked amused.

“Yeah. It came running out of the woods. Scared the crap out of me. It was like three hundred pounds. I guess it got loose from a nearby farm or something? It was friendly. I petted it. Then a dog jumped on me too. The guy had a baby goat in pajamas and—”

He put up a hand. “Say no more, that explains everything.”

I laughed tiredly.

“Anyway, it’s not going to be a thing,” I mumbled. “I didn’t even get his last name.”

“Did you use protection?”

“Yes. Of course. I still have my IUD and he used a condom.”

A few of them, actually…I blushed thinking about it.

“Good. Well, I’m glad you’re having fun—and that it wasn’t Neil.”

I scoffed. “Yeah, same.”

“I see his stuff is still here.” He nodded to the garage.

I rubbed my forehead. “I packed it all up, but he refuses to come get it.”

Derek leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when it happened,” he said seriously.

“It’s fine. You were saving the world,” I said wearily.

Derek had been gone for six months doing volunteer work with Doctors Without Borders. He was a plastic surgeon. A good one. He was out there treating burn victims and children with cleft lips. I could hardly be upset that he wasn’t here to tell Neil to go to hell in person—though as I understand it, he definitely did via satellite phone.

I looked over at him. “Why are you back? They let you out early?”

A slow smile crept across his face. “I can tell you, but you have to sign an NDA.”

I laughed, thinking it was a joke, but he reached into a messenger bag resting on the side of the chair and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen.

I blinked at him. “You’re kidding me.”

“Look, I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t to keep a promise.” He slid it across my coffee table at me.

I eyed him. “You want me to sign an NDA before you, my brother and closest confidant, can tell me why you’re in my living room.”

He pushed the paper toward me another inch and tapped an index finger on the signature line.

I shook my head and picked it up, scanning it. “What is this?”

He put up a hand to quiet me. “Just sign, and then I can tell you everything.”

I sighed. “Okay,” I mumbled, scrawling my name on the dotted line. I set it back on the table and tossed the pen on top. “You have your paperwork. Tell me.”

“I got married.”

I bolted straight up. “WHAT?!”

He was beaming. “Last weekend. I’ve been seeing her for six months.”

I gawked at him. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I couldn’t. I promised. It was important to her.”

“But…but you tell me everything,” I said, incredulous.

He nodded. “I know. Which should tell you how important her trust is to me.”

I sat deeper into the sofa, my eyes moving back and forth across my lap. “Married…” I breathed. I looked up at him. “To who?”

“Her name is Nikki. She’s a recording artist. A famous one. She was in Cambodia setting up a women’s home for survivors of sex trafficking.”

I scanned my limited knowledge of current recording artists. “Nikki…Nikki who?”

“Her stage name is Lola Simone.”

“No,” I said.

He was grinning.

“You are not married to Lola Simone.”