Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(57)

Abby just looked at her friend not wanting to lie also not wanting to share.

She didn’t have to, Jenny already knew. “Shit. He is. He’s good in bed.”

“Jenny –” Abby started.

Jenny interrupted her, “How good?”

“Good,” Abby answered quickly.

“How good?” Jenny pushed. “God-like good or just, you know, good-good?”

Abby thought about lying, then because she was stupid, stupid, stupid, she decided against it.

“God-like good,” she muttered.

“Oh God,” Jenny breathed.

Then, going for the gusto, Abby whispered, “Better than Ben.”

Jenny’s face went pale and Abby held her breath.

Here we go, Abby thought.

“Really?” Jenny asked softly.

“Really,” Abby replied, her eyes began to fill with tears again and she took a deep breath to control them before saying, “We had a nice weekend, Cash and I. He’s different than Ben. He doesn’t talk as much but he’s more intense. He doesn’t move around as much but somehow he radiates more energy. He takes all my concentration. And,” she paused then went on, “I like giving it to him.”

Jenny regarded Abby for long moments and finally came closer, her voice going soft. “Abby, you’ve got to be careful. You have to remember what this is.”

Abby closed her eyes and sighed.

When she opened them, she said, “I know.”

“Are you going to be able to do that?” Jenny asked.

“I might not have to. That fight was ugly, Jenny,” Abby told her. “He might not want me around anymore.”

“I still don’t understand about the fight,” Jenny said.

“I was trying to pull away from him. I threw the diamond bracelet in his face, saying he was treating me like a whore.”

Jenny sucked in a sharp breath then whispered, “You did not.”

“I was trying to maintain a distance,” Abby defended.

“Is he treating you like a whore?” Jenny asked.

“No. Yes. I don’t know! I’ve never been a whore,” Abby answered, frustrated. “I’ve also never received cashmere robes and diamond bracelets like they were flowers and chocolates.” Abby pulled her hand through her hair, bunching it in a fist at the back and looked at her friend. “I don’t know what to do.”

Jenny stared at her a moment and then said quietly, “Abby, you do your job. You do nothing but your job. If you like it, okay, it’d be hard not to like. If he wants to give you stuff, okay, take it. That’s his deal. But you have to remember, always, it’s a job. Just a job. So when the time comes and he’s through with you, you can walk away, put this behind you and get on with your real life.”

Abby bit the side of her lip, not liking the idea of Cash being “through with her”, not at all even after The Fight but she nodded because she knew Jenny was right.

Very right.

It was then Mrs. Truman bustled in with a tray.

“You don’t have cucumber. All you had was broccoli and carrots. Carrots don’t take the puff out of your eyes.” She slammed the tray down on the bedside table and turned, hands on hips, to Abby. “I had to go to my house to get cucumber,” she declared, as if her house was in Bangladesh, not next door. “You’re lucky I had some. Now lie down,” she ordered and turned to Jenny. “Do you have the outfit sorted?”

“No,” Jenny admitted.

“What have you two been doing?” she snapped and then stomped to the wardrobe grumbling, “I have to do everything.”

Thus ended the drama and for the next half an hour, Abby lay on the bed with two slices of cucumber on her eyes covered in a cool, wet washcloth. She had to take them off to inspect the different outfits Mrs. Truman and Jenny brought from every corner of the house to show her.

Not one of them would do.

Mrs. Truman was holding up (and imperiously shaking) a strapless, baby-blue, knee-length dress with a full skirt made of acres of netting and a satin sash as a belt that Abby was relatively certain her mother wore to the prom (if she went to the prom) and demanding, “This is perfect!” when Jenny came in with more clothes.

“Mrs. Truman, I can’t wear that,” Abby said.

“Why not?” Mrs. Truman returned. “It’s just the thing.”

“That is not the thing,” Jenny butted in, her lip curled in disgust, her eyes on the dress Mrs. Truman was holding.

“It most certainly is,” Mrs. Truman shot back.

“It is, if Abby was going to the dance-a-thon where she’d end up doing the hand jive with Danny Zuko. It is not when Abby is having dinner at a castle with Famous-Worldwide Hot Guy Cash Fraser,” Jenny retorted then before Mrs. Truman could respond she looked at Abby and stated, “I think this is the thing.”

Then Jenny held up the dress Abby wore to Ben’s work Christmas party the last Christmas he’d been alive.

A taupe that was so light it was almost cream, the dress was made of soft wool, clingy in all the right places but providing maximum coverage. It had a cowl-neck and the hem fell to mid calf. Abby wore it with her high-heeled, mocha suede boots and matching wide belt.

It had cost a fortune though the boots and belt cost more, and Ben had loved it. He loved it so much, they left the party early so he could take her home and take it off.