If Only You Knew by Denene Millner Page A

chitter-chatter ringing in my damn ears.”
    â€œSorry, Mom,” Sydney offered quickly. She put the top back on her bottled water and made her way over to the bedroom. Lauren didn’t say a word—just kept flipping through the channel guide, looking for an old episode of Law & Order: SVU.
    Keisha eyeballed her daughter and shouted, “Lauren! I said come on!”
    Lauren slowly turned off the television and headed for the basket of candy strawberries. She took a bite, then waltzed up to her mother and gave her a sloppy, chocolate-covered kiss. “Thanks for the spa date, Keish. You’re the one.”
    Keisha chuckled and shook her head as she watched her daughter prance into the bedroom, but her smile vanished as quickly as Lauren disappeared. She took a sip of her champagne and swallowed hard, her eyes focused on the door long after it closed.
    â€œThis treatment originated in seventeenth-century Indonesia,” the masseuse practically whispered as she poured the fragrant drink into Keisha, Sydney, and Lauren’s teacups. “It was a purifying ritual performed on Javanese princesses on the night before their weddings. First, you’ll sip this infusion of warm water and ancient herbs, which will help your muscles release toxins…”
    Lauren took a sip of the tea and almost threw up. Honestly, she wished the woman would shut up and get to it already. Sydney, who was clinging to the masseuse’s every word, was wearing the hell out of the goody-two-shoes thing, and Lauren, who was never, ever in the mood for dissertations, especially didn’t want a two-hour lecture on Indonesian royalty and old herbs and what was about to happen to her; she just wanted to get up on a table in her own private massage suite and get her rub on.
    â€œWe’ll follow your full body, aromatic hot-oil massage with a deep-penetrating mask, followed by an invigorating scrub and a private steam shower. You’ll then be invited to soak in a sea of rose petals in our luxury bath, which—”
    â€œUgh. Can you take this tea? It’s nasty,” Lauren demanded, cutting off the woman. She held up her cup as if it was a rogue, stinky sock. Sydney tossed Lauren a look so cold it could have solved the global-warming situation, but Lauren didn’t give a damn. Of course, neither did Keisha. After all, Lauren had learned the art of demanding servitude from the best: her mother.
    â€œOh, sure thing,” the woman stammered, taking the cup from Lauren’s hands.
    â€œCan you show me to my room? I’m ready for my princess massage,” Lauren said, standing and letting her robe fall open enough to give her breasts a little Beyoncé jiggle.
    â€œWell, um,” the woman stammered again, this time facing Keisha. “You don’t have a separate room; we’ve arranged for a three-way massage, as requested by Mrs. Duke.”
    Lauren, confused, pulled her robe tight around her neck and tossed a “what the hell” look at her sister, who had the identical quizzical look on her face.
    â€œA three-way?” Sydney asked, frowning. “How’s that going to work?”
    Keisha sucked her teeth. “Simple. She’s going to show us to the room where they’ve set up three tables side-by-side so that we can chat while we get our rubdowns,” she said. She turned toward the tea lady and asked in a firm voice, “Where’s the room?”
    â€œUh, yes, yes, Mrs. Duke—it’s right this way,” shedirected, her hands outspread toward a double-door suite just down the hallway. “I’ll go fetch Jade, Lisa, and Beth directly so that you may begin your massages.”
    â€œUh-huh, thanks,” Keisha said, tossing her chin in the direction of her girls. “Let’s go.”
    In a jif, the three were in the room. Sydney and Lauren were still dumbstruck by Keisha’s decision to include them in her own normally private spa