Page 78 of Igniting Sparks

Actually, I never thoughthewas going to ask—for any of it.

But he did. Something changed on that dance floor, and suddenly, we weren’t faking anymore.

And last night was perfect. Just like every love story I’ve read or watched.

So now I get it.

I get what the fuss is all about with sex. I totally understand why people are such raving lunatics for it—all thanks to Braden.

I’m still smiling an hour later when Braden and I stroll onto the breakfast patio, but it slides from my face when I see my aunt already seated at the table, a predatory smirk on her face.

As we edge closer, I notice a manila envelope by her side. It’s positioned in such a way that I know she means for me to see it—and to question its contents.

What is she plotting now?

In between our marathon lovemaking sessions, Braden and I talked about my situation with Bitsy. He’s worried she’s playing with me, stringing me along and dancing on my emotions in a pair of stilettos.

He can’t stand the woman, and I know the feeling is mutual.

But Braden has several reasons to hate Bitsy. She’s treated him with disdain from the beginning, simply because he doesn’t wear Ralph Lauren or summer in Nantucket.

It doesn’t matter how he treats me. How he protects me.

Those are of little consequence to Bitsy Farnsworth.

Braden warned me—in the most loving fashion—that if I don’t play along with Bitsy, she might hurt me out of spite.

I waved off his concern, despite knowing he’s probably right.

So, my solidarity with Braden last night—combined with my aunt’s glare this morning and her mysterious envelope—doesn’t bode well for me.

Or my chances with the studio.

“Good morning, Aunt Bitsy.” I slide into a seat and open the napkin on my lap.

But Bitsy doesn’t even look at me.

No, her gaze locks on Braden—bold and unflinching—as her manicured nails tap the table in an erratic rhythm.

Braden doesn’t bother sitting. Instead, he rests his hands on the back of an empty chair, a wary expression on his face.

He realizes something is about to go down, too.

In fact, everyone at the table, Leo included, sits frozen, awaiting their verbal tennis match with bated breath.

Bitsy serves first. “Braden, I’m curious. How long have you been cheating on my niece?”

What the fuck?

Braden scoffs, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Be careful what you say,” Bitsy replies, tapping the envelope with a nail. “I’ll ask again. How long have you been cheating on my niece?”

His grip clenches around the wood of the chair. So hard I’m afraid it might crack.

“Aunt Bitsy, where would you get an idea like that? Braden would never cheat.”

My aunt swings her gaze to me as she passes me the envelope. “Oh, but he would.”