Because I’d had Jake that morning, his mouth, his hands, his body, and he gave so much even while taking, nothing could compare.

Nothing.

Not even Henry.

He lifted his lips from mine and looked in my eyes.

He saw it because I didn’t hide it.

His voice was again an ache when he murmured, “Fuck, I fucked us up.”

My throat closed and I could do nothing but step away.

His hand dropped away when I did.

My eyes again filled with tears when it did.

How could it be that I felt with Jake like I was getting everything and at that moment knowing Henry was walking away, knowing Gran was gone, it felt like I’d lost everything?

“I wish for you to be happy,” he said gently and I swallowed, the tears now stinging my eyes. “I truly do.”

“I hope you’re happy too.”

My throat started aching as Henry tipped his head to the side and said, “Good-bye, my Josephine.”

“Good-bye, Henry,” I forced out.

He smiled. It was sad. It was adrift.

It gutted me.

Then he walked away.

* * * * *

I sunk my feet into the tub filled with warm water and bubbles.

The instant I did, Alyssa said, “Okay, honey, tell momma all about it.”

My surprised eyes went to her.

It was obviously after Henry left. After I gave up on the garden, went inside and saw I had a flurry of very verbose texts from Alyssa explaining how things would go with Ethan, Bryant and Sofie.

It was after I dropped Ethan off, he raced away with Bryant, I met Sofie (learning that Sofie was the oldest, Bryant the youngest and there were three in between). It was further after I saw that Sofie was a younger, shier, quieter Alyssa and noted in the five minutes I was with her she was very sweet.

And it was after Alyssa swept us out to her car. After she’d driven us into town and parked behind her shop. After she let us in, turned on lights and got the pedicure chair prepared. After I’d taken in her shop, which looked not one thing like a Maude’s House of Beauty, but instead like a rather posh spa you could find in New York, Los Angeles or even Paris. It was decorated in gold, silver and cream with modern lights hanging from the ceiling with a multitude of crystal lightshades that cast prisms that were very attractive.

It was after all that I looked to her, saw her looking at me with warm concern in her brown eyes and she stated, “I’m drowning in bitches all day, been doin’ that shit for years. I know a face like that when I see one. So tell me.”

It was then I lifted my hands, covered my face and burst into tears.

I did this for some time before a large bunch of tissues was pressed into the hand she’d pulled away from my face and I turned teary eyes to her.

“Tell me,” she urged.

I didn’t know why, maybe it was her tone, the kindly look in her eyes, the things Jake told me about her.

But I did.

I wiped my face, blew my nose and told her.

Everything.

I told her how my grandfather treated my grandmother. How my father and uncle did the same as they grew up, in their way, doing precisely what they learned to do from their father. Disrespecting her. Verbally abusing her. Getting into trouble. Carousing. Making her life that was already a living hell much worse. And not giving a damn. Never giving a damn.

I told her of my first living memory with my mother and father and a few more besides.

I told her about Andy. How wonderful he was. How he was the best first boyfriend in the world. How he seemed to understand my father was awful and how he tried in many marvelous ways to make up for that. How he was so gentle with me. How he was so careful in keeping our relationship a secret. How I heard from my friend Alicia that after my father had hurt me, he’d gone quite mad and the police had to come and get him after he broke into my father’s house and was shouting at him and destroying things.

I told her how that ended and how my relationship with my father ended.

I told her about how I left Andy behind.

I told her about Gran. How she saved me, took care of me, made me whole again.

I told her about going to university, being carefree and happy and meeting a charismatic, handsome fellow student, falling in love and moving in with him after we graduated.

I told her how he then cowed me, scared me with his temper, and finally beat me.

I told her about how I escaped again to Gran, found Henry, put on my disguise and lived my lie.

I told her about Gran dying, the will, Gran giving me to Jake, and Jake taking me.

And last, I told her all that had happened since then, with Jake, with Jake and Mickey, with Jake and Henry, finishing with my heartbreaking meeting with Henry just hours before.

Through this, she worked on my feet, she worked on my nails and she listened. A woman, who in our limited communications would barely let me get a word in edgewise, said nothing but a few “okays,” “mm-hmms,” “shits,” “holy craps,” and the like.

But when I was done, she looked me right in the eye and stated, “Sister, that is one helluva crazy fucked up story.”

And strangely, her saying that, her seeing it that way, her confirming what I knew to be true in my heart seemed profound. So profound it opened something inside me that felt like it shone out, starting to burn away the last vestiges of my disguise.

“And hearing that makes you more legend than you were before,” she went on.

What she said before felt nice.

That, however, confused me.

“Pardon?” I asked.

“Girl, your dad bein’ that big a dick, your mom takin’ off on you, your first man fucking you over that huge?” she asked, shook her head and kept speaking. “That’d break a lot of women. Especially that shit happening since freaking birth. Even before, you knowin’ your grandmother lived that same life. Fuckin’ crazy. But you?” More shaking of the head. “Didn’t break you. You got yourself a fancy-assed job trotting around the globe hobnobbing with the coolest of the cool, soaking in all that style and turning it back on the world. You freakin’ rock.”

“But…um…” I stammered. “Don’t you think it’s rather weak that I hid and didn’t—?”

“Babelicious, we all do what we gotta do to survive. You survived on designer dresses, first class plane tickets, champagne and caviar.” She grinned at me. “I think you did all right.”

I hadn’t thought of it like that.

And thinking about it like that, it occurred to me that I actually did.

“Mrs. Malone, totally the shit,” she stated. “Giving you to Jake in her will?” She shook her head, her lips curved up. “Always knew that old broad had it goin’ on. Didn’t know she totally had it going on.”

“This is true,” I said on a grin.

Alyssa winked at me then looked back at my nails.

“Sucks what happened with that Henry guy, though,” she continued. “I mean, I’m sad for both of you, all that unrequited love for years. It’s like one of those messed up art house movies that you think is going to be this epic love story but ends with no one getting what they wanted and makes you want to go straight to the bar after the movie and down a dozen shots of vodka to forget you saw that shit.”

“That is what it makes me feel like doing,” I confirmed and smiled at her when she looked up from polishing my nails. “But a mani-pedi from a kind woman who’s a good listener might be better,” I finished quietly.

She gave me a soft look that made her prettiness even prettier before she noted, “What’s even better is that I’m gettin’ that vodka in you after this shit dries.”

“Yes, that’s even better,” I agreed.

She again focused on painting my nails.

So I said to the back of her head, “Although I’m much looking forward to that, I don’t relish telling Jake what happened with Henry today.”

When I did, her head snapped back and I saw her eyes were huge and definitely her voice was shrill when she cried, “Say what?”

“I…uh…well, don’t relish telling Jake what happened with Henry this afternoon.”

She shook her head in short shakes like she was trying to clear it even as she shoved the varnish brush back into the bottle. Then her gaze locked on mine.

“Sister, you cannot tell Jake any of that shit.”

I felt my brows draw together. “Why not?”

“Why not?” she asked back incredulously.

I nodded.

“Because, girl, he’s Jake Spear.”

This didn’t explain her words or reaction for I knew he was Jake Spear and I was still confused.

“Alyssa—” I began but she cut me off, rolling her little stool even closer to my side.

“Listen to me, Josie. You haven’t had a man in a while and the ones you had before were first class asswipes so you don’t get this. But when you got a man, that man bein’ Jake Spear, you do not inform him that the hot guy who’s been in love with you for decades came to your home and lowered the boom when he was not around to look after you. You definitely do not tell him that hot guy laid one on you. Not when it’s fresh. Not five years down the line. Not ever.”

I didn’t think this was good advice, not with Jake. He was very open and candid and in being so, I would assume, would appreciate the same.

So I said, “I’m uncertain Jake would like me keeping that from him.”

She shook her head. “Babelicious, I’m gonna tell you a story ‘cause Junior’s cut from the same cloth as Jake. Now, it happens we go out for a drink and I might have a guy look at me. And it happens that one will approach, not givin’ a shit I got a kickass rock my man gave me on my finger. This happens when Junior isn’t close by because if he is, that shit never happens. But if he’s around, say, comin’ back from the john, and he sees it, I get that guy gone and I do it quick and when Junior asks me what’s up, I say the guy was askin’ for the time. Or if I knew the score of the game. Or whatever. I do not tell him the guy was comin’ onto me. If I did, Junior would stalk his ass, whip his ass and then I’d be scrapin’ together money to pay for his bail.”

This news was alarming on a variety of fronts.

“You lie to your husband?” I asked.

“Abso-freakin’-lutely.”

How odd.

“Do you think Jake would seek Henry out?” I inquired.

“Abso-freakin’-lutely.”

Good God.

“But Henry’s flying to Paris tomorrow,” I told her.

“He’d have to go to the fuckin’ moon to get away from a pissed off Jake Spear who learned that guy paid you surprise visit number two, was an asshole again and that conversation ended in a kiss. Won’t matter to him that kiss went nowhere because you’re all about Jake. Right or wrong, a man like that takes a woman as his woman, she…is…his and no one goes there. I don’t care if you and that Henry guy were unrequited lovers since you were fifteen and learned what sex was by sneakin’ a watch of Blue Lagoon. They definitely don’t blindside her with a nasty confrontation. He might have let shit play out between you and this guy once, allowing you to handle it. That guy instigates a part two,”—another shake of the head—“unh-unh.”

“He has asked quite frequently if Henry’s been in touch since that first time,” I confided.

“I bet,” she replied.

“And when he ordered me to break my date with Mickey, he stood right in front of me with his hand on my neck when I did it.”

“I bet he did that too.”

I bit my lip for these things gave credence to her advice.

Alyssa didn’t bit her lip. She spoke.

“He asks you if that guy’s been in touch, you say no. Later, you tell him Henry phoned and it’s over between you two. You never tell him about that kiss. Ever. You hearin’ me?”

I nodded my head.

I was hearing her.

Her face softened and she kept speaking.

“Honey, I’ll tell you this straight, a woman’s got it in her to handle a guy like Jake, like Junior, the reward…shoo-ee.” Yet another shake of her head. “Nothin’ better. They don’t give as good as they get. They get what they get and give better. Knock themselves out doin’ it. Work themselves in the ground doin’ it. You give it good, he’ll rock your world and do it again and again.”

That sounded marvelous and I knew it to be true since Jake was already doing that.

However, Alyssa wasn’t finished.

“But as that’s happening, you gotta learn to handle him. The way you look, the way you dress, the way you are…sister, Jake’s all that and I’m pretty sure he knows he’s got the full package, that don’t mean he isn’t gonna know he’s got it good with you. And he won’t want anyone turnin’ their eye to you and he’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. He dealt with Mickey”—she lifted a hand and gave a sharp snap of her fingers—“gone. They’re friends, he saw he had competition and he swiped you right out from under him and did it fast. Now, what would he do to keep you from a famous hotshot photographer? And what would he do if he thought this guy was harming you in any way or makin’ a play?”