The Last Eligible Billionaire(76)

“Good afternoon, Begonia. Having fun today?”

Goosebumps break out on my arms at the sound of his warm voice. He woke me early this morning after keeping me up late last night, and I can honestly say my body has never been more satisfied. “You brought me Hyacinth.”

“You seemed to be missing her.”

“I—I was. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Dammit. My eyes are getting hot again. Chad used to complain about how much time I spent with my sister, even though I never felt like it was enough. And here the man who wants me to agree to fake being engaged to him just does it, despite how little time we’ve known each other. “I don’t think I can explain how much this means to me.”

“No need, bluebell. Just enjoy your time.”

How is it possible that the sweetest man on the entire planet is hiding under that grumpy exterior?

It’s a good thing we’re having sex now.

I don’t know if I could thank him properly with anything less.

“B, you wash up yet?” Keisha calls.

An hour later, we’re touching down in New York City.

I text a selfie with Hyacinth and the skyline to Hayes. OMG! I can see the Empire State Building! Is there anything I should know about spa days and shopping with Keisha?

He’s working, so I don’t expect an immediate answer, but I get one anyway. Tell her to use my credit card and have fun. Follow her lead and don’t talk to anyone she says to not talk to. But mostly, have fun.

We do.

It’s limousines and hours of spa treatments at what Keisha tells us is a secret spa. But I recognize the name. Silver Crocus was the brand of lotion Hayes had at his house in Maine, and the Silver Crocus logo on the spa’s front door matches.

This spa is so classy that I’m pretty sure I’m lowering its reputation just by setting foot inside the door. Everything smells like eucalyptus and lavender, the floor is marble, the walls a deep burgundy damask—to absorb light and sound, Keisha says—and the light fixtures flicker like candles, even though they’re modern bulbs. The orchids, lilies, and crocuses are real, displayed in real crystal vases, and the sheets are smooth as silk, and the towels are fluffy and perfect.

I get my hair touched up so that it glows even brighter, and Hyacinth and I have a couples massage where she only has to get up and pee once. Then there’s a body scrub. All three of us have facials in the same room while we’re getting pedicures and manicures.

“Usually they’d be separate treatments, but we’re on a timeline,” Keisha tells us as we recline in heated chairs with organic, fresh-picked cucumbers on our eyes and our feet soaking in bath salts and our hands being massaged with fancy oils before our nails are painted.

We leave carrying the spa robes and our old clothes, along with more sample products that look like full-size products than I could use in three years. Anything for Hayes Rutherford’s girlfriend, the woman at the counter whispered to me while she slipped two more full bottles of that amazing hand lotion into my bag. Be sure to tell people you love these, and we’ll send you more. Here’s a card with our public website. And another with our private website for exclusive clients.

I have no idea who went shopping for us while we were being buffed and polished to within an inch of our lives, but I’m now in new jeans, an emerald green halter top that matches my eyes, and the most comfortable ankle boots I’ve ever worn. I’m even in a new bra and panties.

Hyacinth is glowing in a soft pink maternity dress, and Keisha’s bodysuit is now black. She’s topped her ensemble with a beret and blue-lensed sunglasses.

“You okay to walk two blocks?” she asks Hyacinth.

“I chase two toddlers all day. I can handle walking two blocks by myself.”

She nods to someone on her security team, and it’s not until we leave the building and step onto the busy Manhattan street that I understand the question.

And possibly why Keisha’s on sabbatical.

“Keisha! Keisha, look here! Keisha, when’s your next album? What do you say to the rumors that your ex-girlfriend is dating a man? Were you involved in Thomas Rutherford’s death? Is that your cousin’s new girlfriend? Begonia! Begonia! Look this way!”

“Keep walking,” Keisha murmurs to us as her security team surrounds us. “Don’t speak. Either of you. Just keep walking.”

Hyacinth grabs my hand.

I squeeze.

And as much as I like people, I’m exhausted by the time we push into a shop two blocks away. “Is it always like that?” I ask Keisha.

“Yep.” She waves to someone in the back of the empty shop, and a curvy Black woman glides out with a broad smile.

“Keisha, my darling. So good to see you.”

They share air kisses, then Keisha introduces us. “Begonia, Hyacinth, this is Cecily. She’s a goddess, and she’s going to find us the perfect dresses for the Windsor Gala tomorrow night.”

“Lovely to meet you, my angels.” Cecily air-kisses my cheeks, then Hyacinth’s, and doesn’t blink when we both get it wrong in return. “Come, come. I have the perfect gowns.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m going,” Hyacinth says. She points at her baby bump. “I mean, not that you thought I was.”

Cecily smiles. “I dressed Emma Roberts during her pregnancy.”