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  You’ve heard about me? Pauline had almost asked. From who?

  But she’d just said thanks, because she was too embarrassed to admit she hadn’t realized that Dwight had any real friends from college. Pauline had never thought it was odd because she’d never felt the need for many friends, either. Sometimes she thought it was one of the reasons why she and Dwight felt so well-matched; why theirs seemed like a perfectly arranged marriage. She was his escort at dinners and galas, where she remembered names and made small talk to cover Dwight’s shyness; they had sex three or four times a month; and they never fought. She’d never had an orgasm with Dwight, either, and had never been consumed by a rush of love when she walked into a room and unexpectedly discovered him there. But she admired Dwight’s mind and his innate sense of fairness, and was amused by his interest in comic books and computer games. Her man-child, she sometimes thought of him. If she had to pick one word to describe her emotions about their marriage, it would be contentment: This was the life she’d expected, the one she’d yearned for. She believed Dwight felt the same way.

  But during Allie’s party, she’d seen another side of her husband emerge. She’d watched as a woman named Tina burst through the door, dark curls cascading down her back, a handsome man at her side and a gaggle of kids hanging on her like ornaments dangling from a human Christmas tree.

  “Sitter canceled,” Tina had gasped, and Allie had flapped her hand toward the basement door. “Bring the kids down there,” she’d said. “I’ll put on a movie and bring down a bowl of potato chips. You go get a drink.”

  She’d watched as Tina had spotted Dwight on her way to the bar set up on the kitchen counter, and how she’d hugged him, too, and had offered him a shot of tequila, teasing him about a party in which they’d both tossed back four straight shots. Dwight had turned bright red, leading Pauline to think there was more to the story than that. But he’d accepted the shot, and clinked glasses with Tina.

  “To college,” she’d said. “We had no idea how good we had it back then, did we?”

  “You, ah, still look every bit as pretty,” Dwight had said, a flush lingering on his cheeks.

  Was he flirting? Pauline wondered, more amused than jealous. She couldn’t imagine Tina would be his type, with her huge breasts spilling out of her V-neck sweater and jeans that looked like they were about to split at the knees.

  Pauline had been intrigued by the other college friend who came to the party, a tall redhead named Savannah, who’d dipped a finger into the chocolate frosting on the cake and slowly sucked her fingertip, not caring if anyone noticed. Now if she tried to flirt with Dwight, Pauline wouldn’t be quite so amused.

  “Where’s Gary?” someone had asked.

  “Working, as usual,” Savannah had tossed back. Then her eyes had widened.

  “Dwight Glass! I haven’t seen you in ten years!”

  “A-actually, fourteen and a half,” he’d corrected her, but she’d covered his mouth with her hand, laughing. “Stop it! You’re making me feel old!”

  Pauline had promptly wandered over to join them, and Savannah had embraced her as warmly as Allie had.

  “Never would’ve gotten through math classes without your husband,” Savannah had said. She’d seemed to be a little tipsy—she was leaning heavily against Pauline, and speaking too loudly—and Pauline had shifted away on the pretext of covering a cough. She’d listened as Savannah reminisced about a pancake house where they’d gone on Sunday mornings, where bottomless cups of coffee and heaping plates of carbs had cured their hangovers.

  “So you spent a lot of time together in college?” Pauline had interjected.

  “With Dwighty?” Savannah had laughed instead of answering. “He’s always been a sweetheart. And he’s looking good! Are you working out, Dwight?” Savannah had squeezed Dwight’s biceps—Pauline had felt herself stiffen—but then Allie’s husband, Ryan, had clinked a glass, quieting the room for his toast.

  “To my wife,” he’d begun.

  “Which one?” a prankster had hooted from the back of the room.

  “The one who made the chili you’re eating!” Allie had shot back, but she was smiling.

  “To my wife!” Ryan had repeated as two young girls carried out a birthday cake. “Our family’s Superwoman. Happy thirty-fifth, honey. I love you.”

  “Awww,” Savannah had called as Allie took a deep breath to blow out the candles. Pauline had looked around the room at the colorful paper streamers, the smiles, the raised glasses of beer and wine. Then she saw the look on Dwight’s face. It was as if he’d been illuminated from within; she’d never before witnessed such a pure expression of joy on his face. On anyone’s face. It was as if he’d finally been chosen to play kickball after a lifetime of watching from the sidelines, as if he’d come down the stairs on Christmas morning to see Santa himself filling the stocking by the hearth.

  He really liked these people, she’d realized. Her shy, sweet husband loved being part of a group.

  That was when her idea was born.

  She wanted to do something for him, something spectacular—to make him realize she could make him that happy, too. No, it was more than a want. She needed to. She’d filled her wineglass again as she began plotting the details. By the time they left the party, the foundation of her plan was in place.

  Dwight had been tipsy by then, all loose-limbed and clumsy, and after they slid into the backseat of their Town Car, she’d hit the button to raise the tinted partition, separating them from their driver.

  “Lean your head back,” she’d whispered, her voice low and husky, and then she’d scooted across the seat. She’d bent down and unzipped his pants, taking him in her hand and feeling him grow instantly hard.

  “Pauline . . .” he’d said, but it wasn’t a protest.

  She’d run her tongue up and down his length, then slowly circled the tip, teasing him before taking him into her mouth with quick, firm movements, not letting up on the pressure for a moment. He hadn’t lasted long, which had pleased her. He wouldn’t want sex for another week or so, which meant there would be a plausible excuse for why she wouldn’t get pregnant this month.

  She’d found a handkerchief in her purse and wiped her mouth. His head was lolling back, and she knew he’d drift off before they arrived home. She’d taken a deep breath and put her lips close to his ear.

  “Honey? I’ve got a great idea for your birthday . . .”

  Chapter Three

  * * *

  Sunday Morning, Dulles International Airport

  “WOO-HOOOOO!”

  The whoop cut through the thick, humid air as Savannah flung open the airport’s private exit door, stepped onto the tarmac, and spotted the rest of the group.

  Holy cow, what happened to her? Tina wondered, lifting up her sunglasses for a better look. Savannah’s hair appeared lighter, and it flowed down past her shoulder blades. She wore a wisp of an emerald-green, silky dress that showcased her toned, tan legs. She seemed taller, somehow—or maybe she’d just lost a few pounds in all the right places—and her skin glowed.

  “Girlfriends!” Savannah threw her arms around Tina and Allie. “Are we going to have an amazing time or what?”

  “Hey, gorgeous!” Allie said, hugging Savannah back. “How do you keep on getting prettier?”

  “Clearly she’s a witch,” Tina joked. But her laugh sounded forced, and she suddenly felt frumpy as she watched Savannah greet Gio and Ryan. Tina knew her own thighs were sausaged into her tight white capris, and her blue tunic wasn’t fooling anyone—it had clearly been chosen to camouflage her muffin top.

  “Okay, enough chitchat,” Savannah ordered, turning back to Tina and Allie as she held up a silver thermos. “Who wants a Sex on the Beach shooter? I didn’t bring cups, but it’ll be more fun to pass it around. Just like at the football games in college, right?”

  “Oh, I don’t know . . .” Tina began. She’d been up past midnight packing and organizing the house, and Jessica had woken her at th
ree a.m. by climbing into her bed. She’d finally dozed off again, but Angela, their six-year-old, had fallen asleep too early, and was raring to go at a little after five-thirty. Tina was so tired she’d probably pass out if she had a shot. Plus she couldn’t stop thinking about the way little Sammy’s eyes had filled with tears as she’d said good-bye. He’d tried to be brave, but he was going to miss her so much . . .

  “I’ll take that as a hell, yes,” Savannah said, pressing the thermos into her hands. “Drink up.” Tina shrugged, unscrewed the top, and took a little sip. It tasted like summertime—fruity and sweet, with a strong kick of rum. Her mood instantly lifted. Suddenly she remembered how Sammy had been expertly distracted by Allie’s mom, who’d swooped in with promises of cookie making and new tins of Play-Doh.

  “That was totally wimpy. Unworthy of a UVa girl. More!” Savannah ordered, and Tina took another sip, a bigger one this time. The sky was a brilliant blue, the sun was shining, and she was about to go to Jamaica! Who cared if Savannah looked like a Victoria’s Secret model while she looked like an elementary school class’s room mother on a field trip to the zoo? Gio loved her, and even though they fought too often these days, and never had time to talk anymore, their sex life had always been good. Occasionally it was even great. She knew her husband was attracted to her, belly roll and all. Gio was Italian—he liked a little meat on his women.

  “Thanks, Van,” Tina said, surprised that Savannah had been the one to make her feel better. Usually Allie took on that role. Tina licked a drop of alcohol from her lips and passed the thermos to Ryan.

  “So where’s Gary?” Allie asked, craning her head to look back at the door Savannah had just emerged from.

  Tina couldn’t see Savannah’s eyes behind her oversize sunglasses, but her smile stayed bright. “Oh, the big jerk is working,” she said. “We’ll have more fun without him.”

  “Gary’s not coming?” Tina asked, feeling her eyebrows lift. She didn’t know if she’d be comfortable going away on a vacation with three other couples without Gio. No, scratch that, she definitely wouldn’t be comfortable. And yet Savannah acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  There was an awkward silence, then Allie broke it. “Well, we’re glad you made it, anyway!”

  “I’m dying to get a look at this plane!” Savannah said. “Have any of you ever been on a private jet? We need to have a code for the bathroom in case you guys decide to join the mile-high club. Maybe a scarf around the handle means come back in ten minutes.”

  “Savannah!” Allie said, laughing.

  “Sorry, fifteen minutes?” Savannah asked sweetly. “I wasn’t implying anything about Ryan.”

  Allie swatted her on the rear and blushed as Tina glanced around at the half dozen private planes resting on the tarmac around them. “So which one is ours?”

  As if on cue, the engines turned on in the jet closest to them—a snow-white machine with a long, pointy nose and lines of black and red running down its sides. Stairs unfolded out of the side of the plane, and Dwight and Pauline appeared at the top of them.

  “That’s their jet?” Tina asked. It was the biggest—and most expensive-looking—one in the area.

  “Oh, I likee,” Savannah said. “I likee very much.”

  “Welcome!” Pauline shouted, waving for them to come aboard.

  “They look like a royal couple,” Allie breathed. Tina realized Allie was right; even Dwight appeared handsome from this angle. He had on a white linen shirt, baggy khaki shorts, and a Washington Nationals cap. Of course, Quasimodo would probably look hot, too, if he was standing next to his personal plane.

  Gio and Ryan began reaching for the bags, but Pauline called, “Just leave your luggage. The steward will carry it all on board.”

  “Amen to that,” Tina murmured as she walked toward the steps. “Gio, can you believe it?”

  “Eh. Not bad,” he said, and she elbowed him in the ribs. A moment later, she reached the top of the steps and stopped walking, almost causing Gio to crash into her. Instead of too-small seats covered in itchy fabric and crammed into narrow rows, the interior of Dwight’s plane featured twelve black leather club chairs in groupings around low coffee tables. The carpet was white with black and red streaks—matching the color scheme of the plane’s exterior—and the walls were paneled in wood. A man in a crisp navy blue uniform stood by with a tray of drinks, smiling.

  “Would you like a Bellini?” he offered Tina. “Or Perrier? Or would you prefer something else?”

  “Um . . . could I have a Bellini? I’ve never tried one.”

  “Of course you can!” Pauline, who had been standing back with Dwight to let everyone enter the plane, hurried forward and kissed Tina’s cheek. “We’re so thrilled you could come!”

  “No, trust me, I’m the one who’s thrilled,” Tina said. She turned to Dwight. “This is so great. It’s your birthday, but you’re the one giving a present to all of us.”

  Dwight smiled and started to say something, but then Savannah launched herself at him, squealing, and Allie and Gio and Ryan were crowding onto the plane, and suddenly everyone was hugging and laughing and slapping high fives.

  “This is so gorgeous!” Allie said, running a hand over the soft leather of a seat. “Dwight, I can’t believe it. You actually own a plane!”

  “Nice, man,” Gio said. He plopped down in a seat and looked around. “Yeah, I could get used to this.”

  “Remind me to buy you one for your next birthday,” Ryan said and grinned.

  “There’s beer and vodka tonics if you don’t like Bellinis,” Pauline was saying. “And of course we’ll have a bite to eat after takeoff.”

  “We’re a little bit ahead of you on the cocktails,” Savannah said, gesturing with her thermos. “Here’s to Jamaica!” As everyone cheered she took a guzzle and passed the thermos to Gio.

  Did Pauline’s smile slip just the slightest bit? Tina wondered, glancing at the tray of already prepared beverages. Maybe Pauline had wanted to be the one to make things festive, to offer a toast.

  Savannah didn’t notice—she was too busy exploring. “The bathroom is marble!” she shouted, peering inside a door at the back of the plane. “Ooh, and there’s a shower!”

  “What time is takeoff?” Allie asked as she plopped down in a seat with a sigh. “Ah, cashmere blankets!”

  “Whenever we want,” Pauline said.

  Tina chose the seat next to Allie’s and slowly leaned back and shut her eyes. She took a deep breath and felt herself exhale for what felt like the first time in years. Whenever we want. Those three words seemed to capture the essence of this trip: Tina would do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, during these seven precious days. She’d drink Bellinis and get tipsy and maybe she’d even see if that bathroom sink would hold her up, after all. Gio would love it . . . Tina glanced at Pauline, who was wearing an immaculate cream-colored sleeveless dress and crisply telling the pilot they’d be ready to take off in five minutes. Well, maybe not.

  But she and Gio were going to fool around on the beach, under the moonlight, at least once. She reached back and yanked the elastic out of her hair, letting it spill down around her shoulders. She’d managed to squeeze in a haircut last week, and her skin was already brown from splashing around in the neighborhood pool with the kids on sunny afternoons. Plus she had her new red bathing suit. Her kids would be fine; Sammy hadn’t coughed once this morning, and Allie’s mom had promised to call her if he became ill.

  She felt, quite suddenly, as if she’d been working an endless shift in a hot, busy restaurant and had just been told to go off duty. It was almost unsettling—she kept expecting to need to leap into action.

  Could she really relax?

  “Your Bellini, madam,” the steward said, placing a tall, frosted glass on the table in front of Tina. “And would you care for shrimp cocktail or a selection of assorted tropical fruits once we’re airborne? Or perhaps both?”

  Tina laughed out loud. She felt
twenty-one years old again, vibrant and hopeful.

  “Both, please,” she said.

  * * *

  She’d have to keep an eye on Savannah, Pauline thought as she stood up from her seat next to Dwight and went to make a phone call at the front of the plane. An extra single woman always upended a group’s dynamics—especially when the woman acted like Savannah. Didn’t she realize her skirt was too short, and that whenever she crossed her legs, she revealed far too much skin?

  Of course she did. And it certainly hadn’t escaped the notice of any of the guys on the plane, either—even the steward, and Pauline was fairly certain he was gay.

  Pauline touched a button on her cell phone, and after just one ring, her call was answered.

  “Caleb? We’re in the air.”

  “Everything’s ready,” he said. “I’ll alert the house’s staff that you’ve taken off.”

  “And the drivers at the airport,” she said, keeping her voice low. “They should be there at least a half hour early.”

  “Of course.”

  Pauline glanced back and saw that Savannah had moved into the seat Pauline had just vacated and was leaning over to talk to Dwight.

  “ . . . so drunk that when we first met, I thought his name was Wright,” Savannah was saying with a giggle. “Remember how confused you were when I kept asking if you were related to the inventor brothers?”

  Pauline let out a measured breath. She’d tried to anticipate every detail of this trip, but she suddenly realized she’d forgotten one: College was the lone common denominator linking this group. Would they talk about anything else all week?

  “Ms. Glass? Is that all?”

  “No,” she said. She closed her eyes and mentally reviewed the layout of the house. She’d never seen it firsthand, but she’d viewed the photos so many times that she could diagram it from memory.

  She cupped her hand over her mouth and turned her back on the others. “I’d like to assign bedrooms. Please instruct the maid to put our bags into these rooms when we arrive: Dwight and I will stay in the master suite upstairs, and Allie and Ryan will take the room next to us. Tina and Gio will have the large en suite downstairs, and Savannah will be in the smaller room next to them.”