I plucked a champagne flute off of a caterer’s passing tray and took a fortifying gulp.
“That champagne is probably cheap garbage.” Freddy perused the room. “And who did the interior design? It looks like a little girl’s birthday party exploded in here.”
I ground my teeth so hard that my jaw popped. “You should mingle on your own.”
He huffed like a petulant child. “You dragged me here and now you don’t even want to talk to me? What’s the point?”
I glanced over at Rocco and Jamison, who smiled brightly at me. Only me. I wanted so badly to join them, but I didn’t want to inflict Freddy on them. No point in ruining everyone’s fun.
“You know why I need you here,” I said. “It’s supposed to be a win-win. You get more money, and I get credibility.”
I didn’t feel like I was winning, but there was nothing I could do about that for the moment. People liked to see their matchmakers in loving, healthy relationships, and, unfortunately, that hadn’t been the reality for the Cozzi sisters. Until recently, Tori had spent her entire adult life as a serial monogamist, dating men who didn’t deserve her. I’d married Freddy, a serial cheater, who I stayed legally bound to for the sake of our children. The truth about our love lives would destroy our reputation as matchmakers and make me prey for the paparazzi. The thought of our sons seeing their parents’ marriage dissolution play out in the press was enough to make me sick to my stomach.
“Go get some alcohol,” I suggested. “Free drinks, remember?”
“I can afford to buy my own drinks.” I was afraid he’d stick to my side all evening, but his eyes drifted over to the bar and he relented. “Fine. I’ll mingle.”
Grateful to be shed of him, I joined Rocco and Jamison who were standing in the reception area near one of the giant couches. The crowd was growing by the second, and I had to turn sideways to scoot through a group of people. Someone’s glass tipped onto my shoes, dousing my toes with champagne. Fantastique.
“Hey, sweetie.” Rocco gave me a kiss on the cheek. “I see you brought your French handbag with you.”
I looked distractedly at the tiny Coach bag on my arm before I realized he was talking about Freddy. “Very funny.”
Jamison smacked his husband’s arm. “Ignore him. He’s off gluten and it makes him cranky.”
“Seriously, though…” Rocco glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice, “if you ever need to get rid of him, I’ll help you hide the body.”
I snorted and took a swig of champagne. The bubbles tickled my nose, bringing on a sneeze that I successfully suppressed. “Thanks. I’ll take that into consideration next time I’m feeling homicidal.”
The three of us watched Freddy lean against the bar that was set up for the event. He was already flirting with one of the bartenders, who looked about half his age.
“It’s not worth doing prison time for him,” I said.
When Freddy sauntered away from the bar with his drink in hand, the bartender’s eyes tracked his movements. He was still trim and suave at fifty-three, and it wasn’t the young woman’s fault she was ogling a married guy because he never wore a wedding band, even before we separated. His excuse was that European men didn’t wear wedding rings, which was either true or one of the convenient explanations that he was so good at finding for his behavior.
“Look at him.” I nodded my head toward Freddy. “He has no problem picking up women wherever he goes.”
Rocco and Jamison exchanged side-eyed glances.
“Honey, you’d meet someone else if you divorced him,” Jamison said. “You’re gorgeous, funny and smart, not to mention loaded. You don’t need him.”
“Tori is all loved up now,” Rocco added. “While the media is focused on her new relationship, this is your chance to dump Freddy.”
“Did I hear my name?” Tori appeared at my elbow.
I swiped my thumb over her cheek where someone had left a lipstick kiss mark. “I thought you had to talk to other people?”
“I said that because I can’t be around Freddy without wanting to kick him in the nuts.” She leaned in and stage whispered, “Now, what are we talking about?”
“I was telling Lauren she needs to get rid of him once and for all.” Rocco cupped his hands around his mouth and hissed, “Divorce.”
“We want her to be free to meet someone else,” Jamison chimed in.
“Meeting someone else is the least of my concerns.” Seeing their raised eyebrows, I added, “Seriously. When we get divorced—which we will eventually—I’m going to be too busy dealing with a media cyclone to think about dating. I’ll probably have to hide out in my apartment for a year.”
“Then why not get it over with now?” Rocco asked. “The longer you wait, the more years you lose.”
I sighed and stared into my empty glass. “If you’re trying to make me feel better, it’s not working.”
