Inheritance (The Lost Bride Trilogy, #1)(132)

“You’re right about that. I gotta dance.”

Bree ran out to the dance floor and joined a group of four who didn’t seem to mind.

“Do you want to dance?”

“Observe first, dance soon.” After sitting, Sonya turned to Trey. “Either they’re really good or I haven’t heard live music in much too long.”

“Could be both.” He trailed a hand along her hair. “This is new.”

“Takes work, trust me.”

He leaned over to kiss her. “Thanks for the effort.”

Cleo set a glass down in front of Sonya. “They actually have a very solid wine list.”

“One lonely beer.”

Once Owen set the beer down, Cleo grabbed his hand. “We’re dancing.”

On a laugh, Sonya took a quick sip, then grabbed Trey’s. “We’re dancing.”

She danced with Trey, with Owen, with Cleo, with Bree, with a few complete strangers. And forgot everything but the movement and the music.

When the band took a break, she met Manny, who turned out to be both nerdy and sweet. And when he squeezed into a chair with Bree, the nerd and tattooed chef looked perfect together.

When Rock Hard started the next set, Sonya turned to Bree. “Okay, Manny’s adorable.”

“He totally is. And he’s a monster in bed.”

“Bree, Jesus.”

Bree waved a dismissive hand at Trey. “Oh, shut up. You were no slouch. He’s no slouch,” she said to Sonya as Cleo laughed like a lunatic.

“He’s no slouch,” Sonya agreed.

To cut off the topic, Trey grabbed Sonya’s hand. “We’re dancing.”



* * *



After midnight, Trey pulled back up at the manor. Mookie and Yoda curled together on the back seat of the truck with Cleo.

“That was a night. I could become a Rock Hard groupie. You coming in, Trey?”

He glanced back at Cleo, then looked at Sonya. “I’ve got an eight o’clock. But—”

“You go home.” Before Sonya could lean over to kiss him, Cleo touched her fingers to her lips, then his cheek. “Yoda and I will say good night and thank you. Loved every minute.”

“’Night, Cleo.”

“I loved every minute, too.” Now Sonya leaned over to kiss him. “I like your friends.”

“I like yours.”

“That’s a nice bonus, isn’t it? Go home, get some sleep.”

“You’re sure you’re okay for the night?”

“We’re all good. We’ve got a nice lull going.” But she kissed him again, lingered over it. “Don’t get out.”

“Sleep’s not really that important.”

Laughing, she nudged him away. “Go get some,” she said, and opened the door. “You, too, Mookie.”

He waited while she walked to the door, let herself in.

Cleo walked back down the hall. “All the cabinet doors open in the kitchen and butler’s pantry. And this time, the doors on the buffet and server in the dining room, too. I think someone was unhappy we took the dog for so long.

“Someone,” Cleo added, “Yoda greeted by running in circles, then actually dancing a little on his hind legs. I think all is forgiven.”

“Good. Because I danced my ass off, and I want bed.”

“I’m there with you. In my own bed. That was so much fun,” Cleo added as they walked upstairs, arms linked.

“I almost forgot what it was like to just let go and dance my ass off.” She stopped outside Cleo’s door. “You’re the best friend anyone could ask for.”

“Who’d know better than you?”

“I mean it. You really didn’t like Brandon at all.” She drew back, met Cleo’s eyes. “I can tell, because you really do like Trey.”

“I really do like Trey.”

“Me, too. Good night, Cleo.”

In her room, she managed to clean off the makeup, slap on some moisturizer. She stuffed the red dress in her dry-cleaning bag, then pulled on pajama pants and a T-shirt.

Yoda already snored lightly in his bed.

She got into her own.

“Please, everybody, just one more night. Just a full twenty-four hours of quiet. I just want to sleep. If there’s more, save it for tomorrow.”

And closing her eyes, she dropped straight into sleep and stayed there.

Whatever passed through the room, whatever wandered the halls, did so quietly. After so many years, one night wasn’t long to wait.





Chapter Twenty-eight



She knew the lull couldn’t last, but it stretched through the next day, and into the following. She worked while a spring snow shower whisked tiny flakes outside that melted the moment they hit the ground.

And midmorning, she accepted an offer to design another book cover. That called for a celebrational Coke and a bowl of pretzels.

While she ran final tests on the Doyle project, she thought about her years with By Design. At this point in a project, she’d have other eyes on the work, and now she only had her own.

There would have been coworkers or bosses to bounce around ideas with or discuss solutions to problems.

Now, again, she had only herself.