True Bliss by Stella Cameron Read Free Book Online Page A

you weren't alone here the way good old Lennox thought you were." Fabiola never gave up a point easily.
    "Good thing," Polly agreed, sliding a berry pie into the oven. She ran water into the large mixing bowl she'd used, and washed her hands before washing the bowl.
    "No reason you can't save that for the coffee when you've finished cleaning the bowl," Fabiola remarked. "Waste not, want not."
    "I have a son," Polly said grimly. "I don't want my Bobby blaming me because he's going to be deprived of the natural joys he's got a right to."
    "For crying out loud!" Fabiola threw wide her arms. "Bobby's only five, and / don't have any children—thank God."
    "Your children thank him, too."
    "Polly, you can be so—"
    "What are you going to say to Prue?" Polly asked, turning her back on her sister. "She called three times this morning."
    "Nothing," Bliss said shortly, but her stomach clenched so hard she opened her mouth to breathe. Life as the daughter of

    difficult parents had taught her to avoid issues too hurtful to confront. "I'll deal with Prue later."
    "We read the piece in the paper," Polly said. Wiping her hands, she moved to her sister's side. "We didn't know you were on some committee."
    "I'm not." Prue had violated every confidence Bliss entrusted to her. "What they printed is a mistake."
    Fabiola set the linens on a counter and pulled a chair up to the table. "It says you're the chairperson."
    Dragging another chair, Polly approached.."We think it's very interesting. All this corruption stuff."
    "I don't," Bliss muttered. How had she managed to convince herself she was over Sebastian Plato? "I think it's disgusting. But it's nothing to do with me."
    Polly crossed her arms on the table and rested her chin on top. Her blue eyes took on a contemplative light. "We weren't going to bring this up, were we, Fab?"
    "No. We won't if Bliss doesn't want us to."
    "I don't." She felt sick, and too hot. "No, I can't talk about it."
    "Polly and I are women of the world, you know. We've lived."
    Bliss wiped sweating palms on her pants and raised her eyes to the level of a row of empty wine bottles of questionable vintages ranged along the plate rack that surrounded the big kitchen. Each bottleneck contained the remains of a candle.
    "Every one of those is a notch," Fabiola announced, following Bliss's gaze. "Each one is a testimony to passion. Nights of ecstasy. Isn't that so, Pol?"
    "Too true," Polly agreed, but she didn't look at the bottles.
    "I remember every man to go with every bottle," Fabiola continued. "I used to be wild, but I had my standards and my rules."
    "One bottle per man," Bliss commented. They weren't going to stop talking about the newspaper article, and Sebastian. Taking off her metal-rimmed glasses, she polished the fogged lenses on the tail of her loose shirt. "One candle per customer."
    "They were not customers," Fabiola said.

    "Just an expression," Bliss told her. She was the boss around here and she could just get up and walk out. We never walk away from an argument. Bliss's father had made very sure that his lifelong instructions played loud and clear, and right on cue.
    "I never wanted a long-term thing." Fabiola sniffed and pointed to a tall, dark green bottle with very little candle left, but a great deal of globby old wax running in congealed rivulets down its length. "He was the best of the lot. You should have seen him. His eyes were—"
    "The same color as that bottle," Bliss finished for her. "Is there a reason for bringing this up now?" She was afraid she knew the answer.
    "We don't want you to think you're the only one . . . That is, we don't want you to feel embarrassed about having a secret past. We want you to know we're not shocked."
    Bliss opened her mouth, but couldn't decide what to say.
    Polly reached to clasp Bliss's hand. "What Fab means is that we're glad you've known passion, too. We're glad you're not a repressed prude after all. And we want you to be proud of your womanhood, not