Luxury Model Wife by Adele Downs

crinkled then his eyes flashed as understanding dawned. “Did you think I was married when I—? When we—?” He glanced at Beverly and stopped talking.
    Victoria met his eyes and mentally added the word, kissed . “I hoped not.”
    For the first time in a long while, Victoria’s mood lifted.

Chapter Six
    The circus tent that housed the doll auction sweltered at eighty-five degrees and ninety percent humidity by seven thirty a.m. Hundreds of collectors and dealers strolled down the aisles of damp green lawn to inspect the merchandise for sale.
    Frilly laced porcelain, vintage vinyl, and antique bisque dolls stood upright on their stands as if watching the overheated crowd. The pungent smell of freshly cut grass and clover filled the still, heavy air, where the buzz of excitement was palpable.
    The scents of old hay, cotton candy, and peanut shells that clung to the faded brown canvas wafted through the makeshift room. Victoria half expected the clown doll poking from a cardboard box to spring to life.
    She checked her watch. The bidding would start in ten minutes, after the preview. She and Beverly made their way to the third row from the front and sat on folding chairs, fanning themselves with catalogs until the auction commenced. “Rule Number One for my charity auction: No tents. Rule Number Two? Choose an air-conditioned venue,” Victoria said.
    “Damn right,” Beverly replied. “Sweat’s running down my butt crack.”
    They were streaked with perspiration despite the portable air conditioners on site. Humidity wafted through the open tent flaps, canceling out the filtered air. “There’s only one thing I like to sweat for, and this ain’t it.” Beverly shot her a lascivious grin.
    Victoria stifled a groan. “It’s been so long for me I can hardly remember.” Though she’d never admit she related to Beverly’s comment in theory only.
    The memory of Steve’s hard body against hers made her feverish. She felt sure Steve Carlson could make her sweat.
    Victoria touched her fingers to the pulse of her perspiring throat and wondered how it felt to be so consumed by sex that her body turned slick. She envied Beverly that knowledge.
    “You’re overheating,” Beverly said, concern written on her face. “Are you all right?”
    “Sure, I’m okay.” Victoria shifted irritably in her seat. Her tank top, khaki shorts, and leather sandals did little to abate the heat. She fanned herself with her catalogue and wondered how Beverly withstood an ankle-length denim sundress in these temperatures.
    Beverly smirked and tilted her head as her expression turned knowing. She flipped her long, wavy hair over one shoulder, and then fanned the damp, exposed skin with her auction catalogue. “Got to get you some.”
    Victoria frowned in confusion. “Some?”
    “Oh, c’mon, Vic, don’t play coy. You know exactly what I mean.”
    Victoria waved away Beverly’s sarcasm. “I’m in denial. Can’t deal with that right now.”
    “Dealing with that is just the prescription you need. Time to move forward.”
    “You are a buttinski, you know that? Are you suggesting I forget James? I can’t. He gave me everything .”
    Instead of taking offense, Beverly stopped fanning herself and reached for Victoria’s hand. Her voice softened when she met her eyes. “Your loyalty is admirable. Beyond reproach. All I’m saying is that you can remember your dead husband and still find joy in your new life. The world is waiting for you, Vic. Jump on.”
    Victoria stayed quiet for what seemed a long time. When she finally spoke, she barely noticed the whirlwind of activity around her as the auction tent swelled with hot, fidgeting people. “Fuck off.” There was no malice in her words because she knew Beverly was right. Her grieving was almost done, though she resisted admitting that fact to anyone, including herself. While she’d healed, James had become a sweet, faded memory.
    “Ah, the society lady swears.” Beverly cackled