“Yes, I did.” Merrin rolls her eyes with good-natured exasperation. “You’ve probably forgotten. I knew right away this book would sell.”
“Now you have to tell us about it,” one of the authors chimes in from midway down the table, his eyes glinting with interest.
“He’s being so bashful,” Merrin says. “I have no idea why, but I’ll tell it. I did have to pitch it all over, after all.”
“Oh, no.” My gaze flies to meet Sinclaire’s curious stare. “We don’t have to—”
“So there’s a guy who ends up at his brother’s house for an uplanned visit,” Merrin says, red-painted lips spreading into a grin. “Because his flight gets canceled and he has to crash with his brother and sister-in-law for the night.”
“I really don’t think they want to hear—” I start, heart pounding, demanding liberation from my chest.
“Not realizing,” Merrin continues, pausing for dramatic effect. “That they’re swingers.”
Murmurs of interest rise from the table, sounds of encouragement and humor.
I drop my forehead into one hand, shielding my eyes from Sinclaire’s penetrating glower.
“So he’s in the office, jet lagged,” Merrin says, eyes lit with glee. “And one of the swingers stumbles into the office where he’s asleep on the couch.”
I lift my head. “Please don’t—”
“And she sits on him,” Merrin cackles, clapping her hands once, really warming to her rapt audience now. “This girl’s husband has gone off with a couple for a threesome, and she didn’t want to play.”
“Prude,” one of the authors lobs with a laugh.
“Oh, no,” Merrin says, delight evident. “She asks him, the little hussy, if he’ll fuck—”
The scrape of Sinclaire’s chair, shoved back across the hardwood floor, slices into Merrin’s story.
“Excuse me,” Sinclaire says, the curves of her mouth flattened into a forbidding line. “I feel . . .sick. I’m going to lie down.”
The mirth on Merrin’s face quickly fades to concern. “Oh, baby. Did you eat the airplane food again? You know it never agrees with you.”
“No, I didn’t, Mom.” Sinclaire hurls the napkin onto her barely touched meal, her movements jerky. Her words staccato. “It’s just been a long day. I’m exhausted and . . .”
She takes in a deep breath, presses her hand to her stomach and forces a grin on everyone watching with various degrees of curiosity and concern.
“I just need to lie down, I think,” she finishes, heading for the dining room door. She pauses to drop a kiss on Merrin’s hair. “I’m fine.”
Once Sinclaire departs, the conversation falls back into little social pockets, various topics with different groups gathered around the table.
“Your restroom?” I ask Phil. “Could I . . .?”
“Oh, of course. Down the hall second door on the left.”
I stand, pushing my chair back, and swiftly following the hall that curves and puts me out of sight for those in the dining room. I walk past the bathroom, glancing at the photos hung on the wall. If only I had used the bathroom earlier, I would have seen Sinclaire’s face sprinkled liberally throughout the family photos displayed. A few feet further, light slips under a closed door. Glancing furtively over my shoulder, because this could be a real dumb ass move that jeopardizes everything, I knock.
There’s no answer.
“Sinclaire,” I hiss to the door. “It’s Harper.”
Nothing.
“Look, we need to talk. Just open the door and I can explain.”
Still nothing.
“Sin, I—”