The Life That Mattered (Life Duet 1)

My anger pointed at myself as much as her. But I wasn’t engaged. I didn’t have as much to lose as Lila did. As I started to lecture her, more concern and regret built in my conscience. We were stupid. Really stupid.

Tears filled her eyes as she looked away and blotted the corners before a single one could creep out. “It’s funny …” She shook her head on a painful laugh. “I wanted nothing to do with him, but then you begged me to give him a chance. And the big jerk made me fall so hard for him that I hate to think how it would break me if he decided he didn’t want me.”

I reached for her hand, sandwiching it between mine. “Gauge your love for him by his love for you.”

“That sounds selfish. Like I love myself more.”

A smile stole my mouth, and I think she got my point before I said it, but I said it anyway. “Love yourself more.”

After a few silent moments, Lila returned a sad smile. “Will you ever forgive me for molesting you?”

Barking out a laugh, I shut off the lights. We scooted under the covers, facing each other. “Your tongue ring though …” I sighed.

“You liked it?”

I grinned, but she couldn’t see me. “Goodnight, Lila.”

I fell asleep next to my best friend like we’d done a million times over our twenty-nine-year friendship. If I was honest, the idea of something going wrong between Lila and Graham scared me to death. I would choose her; everyone knew that. However, Graham helped save my dad. He saved my family. Losing him would have felt like its own death.

CHAPTER THREE

Two weeks later …

I left my worries over Graham and Lila in Canada—even the weird threesome thing. Really, Lila was a grown woman. If he became the next governor and she willingly quit her job to support him, that was her choice. If she chose to invite other people into their bed, again … her choice. I just knew it would never be me again.

Besides, they didn’t invite me into their bed; they ganged up on me in my own bed.

It didn’t change my feelings for Lila. She was and would always be my best friend, not my twin. We chose different career paths. We had different tastes in culture, sports, future aspirations … and sexual adventurousness.

Our friendship spanned too many years of personal struggles and laughter to let our differences be anything more than the beauty of our own individuality.

In the back room (my lab) of my bath shop, I unpacked a shipment of herbs while Sophie watched the desk. September marked the beginning of holiday preparation with limited edition scents and gift boxes. And decorations. Yes … it was time to start marketing for Christmas. I loved Christmas in Aspen. It was my favorite time of the year.

The bell on the door chimed, signaling customers that we needed. Sophie chirped her bubbly spiel about the shop. I couldn’t make out her words, but I’d heard them before. People loved her gleeful routine and the way so much joy flowed from the pint-sized redhead.

“Psst! My future husband is here to see you. Probably wants to get your blessing. Should I send him back so you can do that?”

I glanced over my shoulder, lifting my eyebrows.

Sophie fanned herself while mouthing, “Oh my god!” Her eyes rolled back in her head for a brief second.

A seizure?

“I’m not sure how to respond. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend since the Ben incident.” I used the code words for he cheated on her. We didn’t talk about it. And we never said the C word.

“I’ll just send him back. Then you can give me all the details later.”

“Um … o—kay.” It was rare for Sophie to come to work high, but that day she might have been on something.

“Hey!” Ronin peeked his head around the corner.

My body shot to attention, swiping my hands along my head to tame my messy hair. It was my lab day which meant recycled hair, threadbare yoga pants, and an oversized long-sleeved T-shirt.

No makeup.

No sexy dress.

Ronin witnessed the opposite of the woman he had dinner with in Vancouver.

“Bonjour, Monsieur Alexander.”

The grin on his face swelled with my greeting.

I’d been home a week. A week of jumping every time the door chimed, constantly straining my neck to look out front, hoping for my handsome ski patroller. That was the first day I didn’t jump when the bell chimed because I’d given up on him, resigned that my gut feeling I would never see him again was in fact true.

It felt fantastic to be wrong, even if I looked rather hellish at the moment.

“I tried to play it cool and not show up on the doorstep to your shop the same day you arrived home from Vancouver.” He slid his hands into the front pockets of his black jeans—silver jacket, black scarf, and a white beanie atop his head of thick jet-black hair.