His Best Friend's Sister. Sarah M. Anderson

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       Four

      Renee came awake slowly. It was so quiet here. New York was never quiet. There was always someone shouting, horns honking, sirens blaring. A person could barely think in New York City.

      She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so deeply. Usually, it was because terrible nightmares woke her up every few hours, panting and crying. Right now, she felt surprisingly calm. She wouldn’t go so far as to say peaceful, but she was thrilled with calm.

      A thunk from somewhere below her finally got her eyes open. She started when she focused her eyes on the clock. Was it four thirty already? She had been asleep for hours. She needed to get up and...do something. What, she had no idea.

      But it wasn’t like her to laze the day away. Even back when she’d been little more than a trophy wife, she’d still kept busy. She’d been on the boards of several charities, including her favorite, One Child, One World. She liked helping kids but...since the Preston Pyramid collapsed, she’d resigned from all those boards rather than taint their good works with her family’s scandals.

      Which left her at loose ends. But it was fine. No one was missing her in New York, that was for sure. This was part of her plan to hide in Texas. If she wanted to nap, she would nap, by God.

      She tossed back a blanket and forced herself from bed. It was tempting to go right back to sleep, but...

      Oliver had said he would wait for her to wake up.

      She was hungry and she had to pee. She stretched, trying to get the kinks out of her shoulders. Over a dresser there was a large mirror and she recoiled in horror when she caught sight of her reflection. Her hair was lopsided and her makeup had not survived the nap. Plus, her dress was wrinkled horribly, and besides, it really wasn’t very comfortable.

      But her lawyer had recommended that, if she went out in public, she maintain a somber, mourning appearance. It wouldn’t do anyone any favors if she were seen looking frivolous or, God forbid, happy. Not that there was a lot of risk of that, but Renee understood the point.

      Her entire life had been about keeping up appearances. The bereft widow, the horrified daughter—they were all just another role to slip into.

      She tore the dress off and kicked it under the bed. She couldn’t wear it for another moment, couldn’t maintain the fiction that she mourned her husband.

      She looked around the room. Had she fainted? She didn’t remember coming into this room. She only remembered...Oliver’s arms around her, holding her close. His deep voice rumbling in her ear, although she couldn’t remember the words. A light touch on her forehead, then her cheek. The smell of his cologne.

      She remembered feeling safe and cared for. That was all she needed.

      But this was a nice room. There was a small sitting area with a low coffee table—her bag was on it. The love seat ran along one wall and a fancy desk that looked like it belonged in the parlor instead of a guest room was on the other side. The walls were a pale green and the bedding was pristine white. It was calm and peaceful and reminded her of a garden in the early-morning sun.

      She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She could breathe here.

      She dug into her bag. Along with her wedding ring, she had left most of her couture and designer clothing for the feds. Her wardrobe had been worth hundreds of thousands of dollars—but it had been just another prop in her never-ending role as the adoring wife, the picture-perfect daughter. She was tired of living that lie.

      She dug out leggings and a slouchy tunic. This was her normal outfit for yoga classes—but it was forgiving enough that she could still wear it comfortably. She might even get several more months out of the top. She’d love to take her bra off because the damned thing barely fitted anymore and sleeping in it had not been a good idea. But the thin, creamy cotton of her shirt wouldn’t hide anything from anyone. Especially Oliver.

      A chill raced over her and her nipples tightened, which was exactly why she had to keep the bra on. She really hoped Oliver wasn’t involved with someone else. But the moment that thought crossed her mind, she scowled at herself in the mirror. Okay, he was amazingly hot. And yes, he was being really sweet to her. That didn’t mean there was any mutual attraction here and even if there was, what was she going to do? Seduce him? Please. She was the hottest of hot messes and almost five months pregnant.

      Fine. It was settled. No seduction. At least...not on her end anyway.

      Purposefully not thinking of what Oliver might do if she paraded around braless, she used the en suite bathroom and fixed her hair and face, opting for a simple ponytail and just enough under-eye concealer to hide the worst of the dark circles. When she was done, she took stock again.

      She looked not-quite-so-pregnant in her loungewear and the nap had helped a lot. She didn’t look like the woman СКАЧАТЬ