In England it was still warm, and I was covered in a wonderful coating of slimy residue from sweating before—and during and after—the wedding. Turning the whole force of my focus , I massaged furiously and tried to ignore Luke.

Which proved to be hard to accomplish as he reached out and wrenched the soap from my fingers.

“Ass!” I told him. I swung around and faced him full in the eye. “I was using that!”

He smiled at me, that thin grin again, but this time I felt I caught a trace of mocking behind it. “Why do it yourself when it's so much pleasure for someone else to...