“Next time we happen across Mom’s car outside the grocery store, I’ll be sure to wait on you to get here to start slashing,” Lyra promises drily. “On account of how I do not hate you at all, even a little bit.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I pout. “When I visit, I expect no less thanthreecrimes to be committed together.”
“No crimes,” Roman says. “I’m not bailing you out of jail.”
One of Jove’s thick, dark brows rises, meeting the streak ofwhite hair falling over his forehead. “No one’s going to jail,” he assures. “But if they did, I’d pay the bail.”
Roman’s lips press together as Jove’s twitch.
“Babe!” a man’s voice calls through my laptop, and Lyra and Jove look up, past their camera. Lyra smiles at whoever is there, and Jove’s face softens to such a degree that I nearly swoon at the sheer level ofhotit gives him. Think firefighter with a kitten. That’s the level of oh-my-gosh-wow I have on my screen right now.
“She’s so lucky,” I whisper. “Wow.”
On screen, Jove waves to us, then disappears, and Lyra gives a quick goodbye. “I can’t wait to see you! Let us know when you’re heading out, okay?”
I assure her I will, then Roman and I both wave at her cute, smiling face as the call ends.
“They seem nice, if a little unhinged,” Roman says, squeezing my shoulders as he straightens to standing. “If you get arrested while we’re there, I’ll be putting cilantro in every meal for the next three months.”
My nose wrinkles. Ew. Soap.
“I’m not going to get arrested.” Getting arrested is for losers who get caught, and I’m no loser.
“Uh huh,” he says, unconvinced. His hands slide off my shoulders. “I’m going to make dinner. Check your email. Liam sent something about a private dress thing at his house.”
Oh. Yeah. That.
“Okay,” I answer. “Right after I let Sol know that we’ll be in town.”
Roman nods, runs a hand through my hair, then wanders to the kitchen, muttering to himself about our dinner. Steak and asparagus, it seems. Yummy.
Foregoing a video call because traitorous abandoners don’t deserve video calls, I pick up my phone. Then, because hearinga traitorous abandoners’ voices makes me sad, I decide to text my brother the information about our trip. And if it comes out sounding like something a robot spit out rather than a heartfelt heads up from his beloved little sister? Well. Then that’s just how it comes out. Heartfelt messages are reserved for people who would never drop me like a hot potato and then flee the scene.
Not that I’m upset or anything.
Sol texts me back with a thumbs up and a string of exclamation points followed by several firework emojis.
I do not respond. I also do not look too far into my feelings to figure outwhyI don’t respond. Those feelings can be dealt with later… or never. Whichever comes first.
“On to the wedding,” I murmur. Then dinner, housework, homework, a way-too-little amount of sleep, followed by a day full of online classes and more homework tomorrow. Easy peasy.
Opening my email, I add wedding dress shopping at Liam’s to my list. Then, I gather my laptop, set up my desk to be ready for me after we eat, and get on with my not at all exhausting plan.
Easy. Freaking. Peasy.
Chapter Twenty-One
Elodie gets drunk in this chapter.
Elodie
“Champagne issogood,” I declare, holding my sparkling flute high. “Rich people champagne, though?Incredible.Amazing. You’re the luckiest womanever.” I point at Amber, who sits amused beside her not-even-a-little-bit-amused husband, holding her own flute of fancy rich people champagne in their fancy rich people apartment. where the bridesmaids—plus Liam and Frank—have gathered for fancy rich people shopping time. Which is to say: Liam’s arranged a private dress shopping experience for Ruby and provided ample yummy beverages. I am on my… fifth? Sixth? Some wonderful number that has made thought simple and worries miniscule.
I love champagne.
“You were supposed to mix that with orange juice,” Ruby says drily, sweeping into the room like the queen she is.
I gasp. “Rubes, you lookincredible.Amazing. Will’s the luckiest manever!”
