And the sex?

The sex was amazing.

She still needed her gear to feel sexy, of course. What was broken wasn’t going to be fixed overnight. She knew that, and she didn’t even feel guilty about the fact that all the lights were on in the house all the time, and that Sebastian sometimes had to sleep with a baseball cap over his face to block out the lights. He wanted her to be comfortable, he said, and that was that.

And so she wore her derby gear when they had sex. And they had sex a lot. In the kitchen, with Chelsea sprawled on top of a counter. In bed, with Sebastian pounding into her from behind as she clung to the blankets. In his study. In the living room, on the sofa. In his study again. Actually, she really liked surprising him in his study, when he was intensely lost in concentration. She’d show up in skates and then they’d make love for hours.

It was pretty darn awesome.

She was slowly removing pieces of her uniform, too. Last night, she’d worn only the skirt, the knee-high socks, and her skates. No top. Her breasts had jiggled free, and Sebastian had lavished so much attention on them that she hadn’t felt weird about it. She hadn’t had the mental energy for it. Eventually, she’d be able to go on to stripped-down sex, but until then, they were having fun with her in her uniform. And Sebastian never made her feel like less, or that there was something wrong with her.

He made her feel beautiful. Perfect. Happy.

Which was why she wanted to kick herself when she had doubts.

They never talked about their relationship. Never discussed if it was a real marriage, or if it was still pretend-with-bonus-sex-now-included. They were friends, of course. She’d stopped texting Pisa her every thought as they hit her and instead found herself spending more time with Sebastian, asking him about new soap orders or sharing a derby anecdote with him. It was Sebastian who went skating with her at the park. It was Sebastian who held her when she woke up at night from a nightmare flashback. It was Sebastian who assured her that things would be all right. Her world was full of Sebastian, and it was wonderful.

But was she just clinging to him because Pisa had left her? Was she a sad sack who had to cling to someone and he was just her most recent someone?

More than that, she worried she was attaching way too much to the relationship. That she was the one with the feelings. Sebastian was a private sort of person, and he tended to keep things bottled up. She still hadn’t approached him about doing Gretchen’s portrait. The last time she’d mentioned his art, he’d grown so uncomfortable that he’d shut down and she’d switched subjects. He had trouble opening up, and she got it. She knew that Pisa had a hard time talking derby with people, especially after being dumped over it.

And Chelsea had her own skeletons in her closet. She’d never judge him.

But every time he called her “love,” she wondered. What of their relationship was real and what was in her imagination?

*   *   *

Sebastian was at one of his rock-climbing meet-ups with Hunter when Chelsea got a mysterious text from Sebastian’s mother. She’d opted to go shopping for more soap supplies, looking for different strains of rose scents to make some test soaps for Gretchen as requested. They were still a long way off from the wedding, of course, but Chelsea liked to plan ahead. Plus, okay, she liked experimenting with her soaps, and this was going to be an especially fun experiment.

They hadn’t heard from Sebastian’s mother since the big “confrontation” on camera. How she’d gotten Chelsea’s personal phone number, Chelsea wasn’t sure. But there was no mistaking that the unknown-number text was from her.

Unknown: We need to have a private conversation, away from Nugget. I need you to meet me at this cafe. Come in disguise. This is urgent. Don’t tell my son we’re meeting, either. That will only be worse for you.

Well, gee. That was all kinds of ominous. The cafe was just around the corner, though. Chelsea quickly texted her back, saying she was on her way. It might be a mistake, but since she was already out, she might as well see what the woman wanted.

Then she could tell Sebastian all about it, and he could step in, if needed. But Chelsea wasn’t afraid of a little confrontation. If she had to personally tell “Mama Precious” Cabral that she needed to step off, she would.

Chelsea entered the restaurant and looked for a familiar head of gray hair streaked with bold colors, and a cluster of cameras. She didn’t see anything, so headed for the bar to wait. Rufus was her ever-present shadow. He never talked to her, just kept a few paces behind. She watched as he sat at the other end of the bar and nodded at her. She must have gotten there ahead of Mrs. Cabral. Chelsea set her bags down on the stool next to her and smiled at the bartender, but before she could order a water, someone approached from the other side.

“Psst.”

Chelsea turned, and stared.

Mrs. Cabral was there, after all. She wore an enormous white wide-brimmed hat, the kind you’d see at the Kentucky Derby. Enormous dark sunglasses covered her eyes, and she tipped them down to look at Chelsea. “I’m going to sit at a booth in the back, and then you should wait two minutes and join me.”

Okay, this was officially weird. Chelsea nodded and watched as Mrs. Cabral walked away. She wasn’t wearing one of her garish, loud-colored suits today. Instead, she wore black trousers and a black jacket. Huh. Why the need to go incognito? Were they not filming this? Didn’t this woman have everything in her life filmed, including the personal and embarrassing?

So why be anonymous now? It didn’t make sense.

Chelsea drummed her fingers on the counter, and then when it felt like two minutes, headed to Mrs. Cabral’s table. She slid in and the woman held a menu to her face, obscuring it. “Where’s my son today?”

“He’s working out with a friend,” Chelsea said. “Then he’s going to look at real estate.”

“Real estate? For what?” Mrs. Cabral wrinkled her nose. “The man has a perfectly fine town house.”

Actually, the town house was nice and spacious by Manhattan standards, but it had a lot of tiny, unused rooms. Sebastian’s art room was a cluttered, dark pit no bigger than some shoe closets. Chelsea wanted him to have an open, bright studio to work in, and when he’d been looking for real estate for rock-climbing gyms, she’d been shopping for a new condominium for him. Maybe a penthouse in one of the new buildings that boasted spacious, open rooms and lots of windows. She’d shown him a brochure and had casually mentioned that the place was a lot closer to derby practice, and had room for his art, and he had been intrigued.

So she was spending his money for him. So what? She’d asked him how much was in his trust fund from his father once, and had choked at the amount. Billions. Just sitting there. So yeah, he could spring for a new place, even if it cost him thirty million or more.

“He wants a new art studio,” Chelsea said. “He’s trying to move ahead with his art.”

“Those silly doodles? Is he still into that?” She shook her head. “Childish foolery. He needs to grow up.”

“He’s talented. Have you seen his work? He’s very good.”

“So is a monkey if you give him a crayon.” Her mouth pursed as if she’d tasted something unpleasant. “You’d be better off encouraging him to play the stock market instead of playing with paints.”

No wonder Sebastian was so private about his art. Chelsea was immediately sorry she’d brought it up. Mrs. Cabral could be downright vicious at times. “Why don’t we just talk about why we’re here?”

“I’m here because you need to leave my son.” She set the menu down and folded her hands. “I’m afraid it’s not going to work out.”

Chelsea gave her a curious look. “Uh, what exactly is not going to work out?”