The master bedroom is for Scott and his girlfriends.
There were several separate beds and one massive bed for all of them to share.
The place always smelled like sweet vanilla and very expensive candles.
But today it was mostly Emma's rising panic.
She was pacing again on the heated marble floor as her silk pajama shorts rode up with every turn. Her chocolate brown hair kept falling into her face no matter how many times she shoved it back.
"And then there was Jeremy… sweet, dumb Jeremy who wrote me poetry and the second Mom baked him those stupid lavender macarons he literally forgot my name."
She held up a trembling fist.
"Forgot. My. Name. Scott, are you listening?"
Scott sat at the vanity, shirtless, running a wide-tooth comb through his still-damp hair with the focus of a bomb tech defusing an IED. He tilted his head left, right, squinted at the mirror, then reached for the sea-salt spray.
"Mhm. Jeremy. Macarons. Tragic."
Emma spun around, hands on hips.
