Penelope answered the door wearing a Yale hoodie and silk boxers with little bulldogs. In lieu of staring at her legs, Genevieve mused that she couldn’t imagine Tori wearing anything with the word Harvard on it.

  When she saw who was standing on her stoop, Penelope raised her eyebrows. “Come to talk about how arguments went today?”

  “I brought beer.” Genevieve held up her recent purchase. “Are you busy?”

  Penelope stood aside and motioned for Genevieve to enter. “I’ve waited this long to watch the pilot of How to Get Away with Murder. What’s another night?”

  Genevieve helped herself to a spot on the couch and put the beer on the coffee table. “Do you have a bottle opener?”

  Standing just inside the door, arms crossed, Penelope studied her for a moment before shrugging and heading into the kitchen. While she fetched an opener, Genevieve extracted a bottle and started peeling off the label. She’d shredded it into small pieces when Penelope returned.

  “You want to talk about it? Whatever’s bothering you?” Penelope asked, handing her the opener and sitting down on the other half of couch. She turned so her back was against the armrest and pulled her legs up underneath her. This time, Genevieve made no attempt to hide her staring.

  It had been a long time since she’d seduced another woman, and if that was really going to be her endgame here, she was going about it all wrong. She took a drink of her beer and smiled appreciatively at Penelope’s legs before slowly raising her gaze to eyes so dark they seemed to envelop her.

  “Genevieve,” Penelope said with a hint of warning in her voice.

  “Would you like a drink?” She grabbed a new bottle and held it out.

  Penelope hesitated, then opened hers and offered a toast. “To unexpected visits.”

  “I’ll drink to that,” Genevieve said.

  They sat in silence, just drinking, before Genevieve said, “You’ve never seen How to Get Away with Murder?”

  “I have a love-hate relationship with Shondaland shows. She handles race well, but her female protagonists make awful, weak choices about the men in their lives.” She squinted at the television for a moment, even though it wasn’t on, before continuing. “I’m also hesitant to watch legal dramas because they get so much wrong about how the law actually works. And then I get mad. And watching TV isn’t supposed to make me mad—it’s supposed to be relaxing.”

  “Fair points, all. I haven’t seen it either. Tori has a television, but it’s in a built-in cabinet in the living room, and the doors are always closed. She used to have one in the bedroom, but she got rid of it after she was attacked. She associated watching it with staying up late, too anxious about stalkers and such.”

  “Understandable,” Penelope said, and Genevieve was reminded once again that she was the consummate diplomat.

  “I suppose. Anyway, if you end up watching How to Get Away with Murder, let me know what you think.”

  “You didn’t come over to talk about television.”

  The bottle in her hand was mostly empty, and she finished it off. “You did great today. I couldn’t have done any better. Really—well done.”

  Penelope smiled at her. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.” She took a drink and then grinned. “I almost laughed when Jamison asked that question. The look on Kellen’s face was priceless—it was as if he’d seen a ghost.”

  “I wish I could have seen it.”

  Giving her a long, open look, Penelope nodded. “I wish you could have too.”

  “I mean it—I couldn’t have done any better today. My friends were in excellent hands.”

  “I’m still sorry it came to this.”

  Genevieve nodded. “Relationships are tricky.”

  Penelope resituated on the couch, propping her head up with her arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you why I left France, did I?”

  Genevieve shook her head and opened a second beer. It was good—dark and crisp, with none of the heaviness of mass-produced brews. The label came off in one satisfying piece, and she slowly ripped it into pieces as she listened.

  “I loved everything about teaching in the Sorbonne—the students weren’t driven by money, like in the US. They wanted to understand the law in all its applications. I was teaching subjects I cared deeply about—the history of law, international human rights law, a course comparing constitutions of First World countries. My colleagues were great—open and supportive, beautiful and sophisticated; and I actually had opportunity to get to know them, which was a stark change from my transient life traveling for the UN.”

  It wasn’t hard for Genevieve to see where this was going. “You met someone.”

  “Raina. She was like waking up after a hard rain to find that the skies had cleared, the grass was greener, and the flowers were brighter. She had an eight-year-old daughter, Alaine, and I fell for her too. For a short time I thought we could be a family. Raina and I were so happy together, and at night we’d lie in bed and talk about how Alaine was going to grow up to be a legal scholar just like us.

  “We spent a summer together, the three of us. And when the fall started, Raina met a man that she thought could be a good father to Alaine, and that was that. I thought I could continue to teach, that we could be colleagues together, but it was too hard to see her when she’d thrown everything away for such an arbitrary reason. France was starting to feel like home, and I’d heard rumors that the US ambassador was stepping down, so I reached out to the State Department.”

  Somewhere during this story, Genevieve had put her bottle down and shifted so she was leaning toward Penelope. “I’m so sorry, Penelope,” she said, and it felt wholly inadequate. “She was a fool if she thought her daughter would be better off with a man she’s not in love with than with you.”

  The smile Penelope gave her was laced with sadness. “I said as much at the time, but she was unconvinced.”

  “That explains why you moved to the State Department but not why you moved back to the States.”

  “I like a challenge, and being the US ambassador to France wasn’t cutting it.”

  “But advocating for gay rights within the US would?”

  “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that the conservative streak in this country runs deep and wide.”

  “So ‘easy’ doesn’t interest you.” Genevieve said. Yet another thing she admired about Penelope.

  “Another reason Raina’s decision to choose a man over me was disappointing—she took the easy way out.”

  Genevieve shrugged. “Some people might say she chose the harder option. Depends on whether you’re evaluating her place in society or her emotional state. I can’t imagine leaving you would be easy on someone’s heart.”

  “You’re missing the point, Genevieve. People like us, we don’t do easy. Easy is fundamentally not in our constitution. This is why you’re drawn to Justice Victoria Willoughby, whose nickname, if I recall correctly, is Just-Ice. And why staying in a relationship with her will always be challenging. If it weren’t, you’d have walked a long time ago.”

  The aftertaste of beer in her mouth turned sour. “I didn’t come here to talk about Tori.”

  The look Penelope gave her made her feel as transparent as glass. “Then why did you come here?”

  Penelope’s lips were full and slightly parted and nothing like Tori’s thin lips that were often set in a grim line. They were perfect for kissing, and maybe other things too, and all Genevieve wanted to do was lose herself in them.

  “Genevieve.” Penelope’s voice was soft. Gentle. Like being surrounded by cashmere. “I’m no one’s other woman.”

  She thought briefly about denying Penelope’s interpretation of the moment, but really, what would be the point? She put her beer down and looked away. “I know.”

  “Then you’ve got a choice to make. I find you very attractive. And,” Penelope said wryly, “my track record clearly indicates I have no problem dating colleagues. You and I have a lot in common, and I’m…” Her gaze brushed over Genevieve’s lips, which tingled in response. “…interested. But you and Victoria—are you ready to give up on that relationship because of professional difficulties? Isn’t that how Victoria broke your heart in the first place? I’ve read the articles about your history.”

  “Why do diplomats have to make so much sense all the time?” Genevieve asked, running her hands through her hair.

  “What do you want, Genevieve?” Penelope asked, her voice husky. Those bedroom eyes roaming Genevieve’s body were going to be her undoing.

  “God, when you look at me like that, how can you expect a responsible answer?”

  “You don’t expect me to fight fair, do you? I’m not the one here who doesn’t know what she wants.”

  “And if I say I’ll break up with Victoria tomorrow, but tonight…”

  “I’d say I don’t believe you. I’m not asking for a lifetime commitment, but I won’t touch you while you’re with someone else. If you want to call her tonight and end it, you and I can see where this thing between us goes. Otherwise, you should take your sad eyes, your beer, and your ridiculously hot body and go home.”

  “Home. I don’t even know where that is anymore.”

  “Then it sounds like your problems are bigger than Victoria.”

  Genevieve leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes. “When I first moved here, I was so focused on the trial and seeing Victoria again after twenty years that I never really settled in to DC. Other than locating a grocery store and a coffee shop, I barely found my way around the city. I prepared for oral arguments in the trial, and once they were over, I launched into a crushing interview schedule that had me flying all over the country. And then the decision came down, and Victoria and I were together again, and what little time I wasn’t spending on work, or traveling for work, I spent with her. It was like last time, when we were together in law school—everything in my life became fuzzy and out of focus, and the only thing I could see was her. She blinds me to everything else. Honestly, if it weren’t for this same-sex parentage case pulling me out of the haze, I might have continued like that without even noticing.”

  “Then thank God for the case. You know all this is very unhealthy.”

  “I suppose.” Genevieve opened her eyes and gazed at Penelope, hoping the desperation she felt couldn’t be heard in her voice. “Isn’t this the shit they write movies and songs about? Where you love someone so much that nothing else in the world matters?”

  “Those movies are crap.”

  “The songs are okay, though?”

  Penelope shrugged. “Depends on the bass line.”

  “Well, how was your relationship with Raina? Did you maintain healthy friendships outside of it, and were you able to continue focusing on your work with as much rigor as you had before you two fell into bed together?”

  “It’s hard to compare a three-month relationship to however long you and Victoria have been in love with each other.”

  “So you’re as guilty of obsession as I am.”

  The slow, seductive smile on Penelope’s face indicated that being on the receiving end of her obsession would be nothing short of a sublime experience. “Oh, I know how to fixate.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment, and all Genevieve could hear was the thud of her heartbeat in her ears and the soft breath that made Penelope’s chest rise and fall. The thing was, if she wanted great sex, she could go home to her girlfriend. The real debate here, she was beginning to realize, was whether she wanted to commit to Tori or whether she wanted to embark on a brand new relationship with someone she was just getting to know. A relationship without twenty-plus years of baggage.

  But wouldn’t she be bringing that same baggage from her past with Tori with her into any new relationship? Wasn’t that the definition of baggage?

  “You look tired, Genevieve. Why don’t you borrow some pajamas and sleep on the couch? We can talk more in the morning. A bright new day always brings clarity. Or, so I’ve heard.”

  The two beers had gone to her head. She nodded, and while Penelope went to find clothes and sheets, Genevieve cleaned up the beer and the tattered bottle labels she’d shredded onto the coffee table and couch. Penelope returned with a pillow, some blankets, a Yale bulldog T-shirt, and a spare toothbrush still in its packaging.

  Later that night, she stared at the ceiling and wondered if Tori was sleeping. She briefly considered calling but had no idea what she would say or what she wanted to hear.

  Besides, she’d left her cell at Tori’s, which gave her the perfect excuse for doing nothing.

  She threw her arm over her forehead and managed to fall into a fitful sleep.

  Chapter 15

  The third time she called Genevieve’s cell phone, she was on her way down the stairs after changing out of her work clothes, and Genevieve’s ringtone sounded in the kitchen. Right next to her bowl of uneaten salad that Victoria didn’t have the heart to clear away.

  Well, that explains why Genevieve has been screening her calls.

  Or maybe it didn’t—maybe Genevieve wouldn’t have answered even if she hadn’t forgotten her cell at home.

  Home. Was this even a home to Genevieve? Victoria sighed and grabbed Genevieve’s cell, lighting it up. She’d missed three calls from Victoria and one from Jamie Chance.

  On the plus side, having Genevieve’s cell gave Victoria an excuse to track down her pissed-off girlfriend. At which point, maybe they could talk more rationally about Genevieve storming out.

  Victoria located her purse and keys and was selecting her black trench coat from the front hall closet when she spied Genevieve’s coat draped over her couch. Genevieve must have been freezing when she left. Victoria draped the coat carefully over her arm. The garage was chilly, and as she slid into the driver’s seat, Tori was tempted to put Genevieve’s coat over her lap. Instead, she gingerly hung it over the back of the passenger seat, making sure it wasn’t wrinkled.

  The drive to Genevieve’s had never taken so long. A thousand thoughts flittered through her mind, each one more dire. What if Genevieve couldn’t get past this same-sex parentage case and refused to be with a Supreme Court justice because she wanted to argue before the Court again? Maybe now that she’d spent actual time with Victoria, Genevieve had decided that the memory was better than the reality. Or she was fed up with Victoria’s slight OCD tendencies and didn’t want to date someone so tightly wound.

  Whatever the reason, it was clear Genevieve was running, and since Victoria was supposed to be the runner, she had no idea how to handle this role reversal. She was either supposed to chase Genevieve or give her space, and given her track record, it was highly likely that Victoria was choosing wrong.

  But this was who she was—tenacious and uncompromising—and if Genevieve didn’t like it, maybe they shouldn’t be together.

  Damn. The right answer was probably that she should stop overanalyzing and just wait to see what happened when she and Genevieve were finally face-to-face.

  It was always hell finding parking near Genevieve’s townhouse, and on the third time around the block, Victoria had to remind herself that showing up on her girlfriend’s doorstep irritated wouldn’t help anything. When she finally found a parking spot, it was five blocks away and tested every parallel parking skill she had.

  She arrived at Genevieve’s door out of breath from the chill in the air and the brisk pace of her walk. Closing her eyes, she inhaled slowly and tried to calm her nerves. It wasn’t like she and Genevieve had never fought before. They’d get past this. Or they wouldn’t, and she’d get over Genevieve.

  Right. Just like she did during those twenty years she’d spent imagining running into her randomly and rekindling their connection.

  She knocked and waited. And waited some more. And knocked some more. When no answer came, she took a couple of steps backward and peered at the upstairs windows. All dark. Not at home then, or else she really didn’t want to be found.

  Maybe she was at Bethany’s. Feeling desperate and yet unable to stop herself, Victoria punched Bethany’s address into her GPS when she got back to her car and started following the instructions of the automated voice.

  When she got to the door, she wondered at the wisdom of this. She was nervous enough about fighting with Genevieve—she certainly didn’t want to do it in front of Genevieve’s old roommate. But it would be even worse if Genevieve just threw her out and didn’t want to talk to her at all, she supposed. At least she had the phone as an excuse: It’s okay if you don’t want to talk yet, but I thought you should have your phone. That seemed like an acceptable opening line—certainly not one that would produce highly embarrassing responses.

  Bethany’s voice boomed behind the door, and there was no way she could pretend not to be home when Victoria rang the bell. Here goes, she thought, and pushed the button.

  The door was thrown open with the vigor Bethany brought to all she did. She made no attempt to hide the surprise on her face when she saw who had rung her doorbell.

  “Victoria! My, my. To what do I owe the pleasure?” She crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe.

  It hadn’t occurred to Victoria that Genevieve wouldn’t accompany Bethany to the door.

  “Uh. Hi, Bethany. I have Genevieve’s phone.” She held it out, feeling like a compete dolt.

  Bethany raised her eyebrows. “It appears you do. I have a bra of hers from law school. Are you here to propose a trade?”

  “Can I talk to her, please?”

  “Evidently not, if she doesn’t have her phone.”

  “Please don’t be obtuse. If she doesn’t want to talk to me, could you please at least give this to her?”

  Bethany stared at her blankly for a moment. “Oh! You think she’s here!”

  “She’s not?”

  “Haven’t seen her. In weeks. No thanks to you, I’m sure.” Suddenly Bethany’s posture looked less casual and more menacing.