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“Is this easier than if it were another woman?” I ask.
“Kinda, yeah. It’s almost cute?—”
“It is not cute.”
She grins, “I mean…that pouty face of his, your whole grumpy bear thing—all soft for the rich boy.”
“No one said I was soft for the rich boy.”
“But you are,” she says knowingly. “Aren’t you?”
“Not right now, I’m not,” I grumble.
“What happened?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Drew.” She pours me another two fingers of Hennessy. “Let me help you for once. Jesus. If I don’t get to be your girlfriend anymore, let me be your damn friend. Let me be something.”
“I’m not good at talking about things like this.”
She hands me my refill, and I take it. After the burn of whiskey wears off, I lean back on the couch and look up at the ceiling. “I don’t want him to get married. I don’t want him to be dependent on his parents for the rest of his life. He feels trapped now, but he’s only making it worse, and he’s just fucking scared.”
“What’s he scared of?”
“Losing his diamond safety net.”
“Well, from what I understand, he should be scared, right? He’s a socialite. He has no degree, no ambition, no skills?—”
“Yeah, I got it. I get it.”
She puffs out a laugh. “Sorry. I just…”
“He’s more interesting than he sounds.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“Elodie’s in just as big of a mess, though. It’s not just him. They’re like puppies being forced to crate together to keep them from pissing on the floor.”
Jericho snorts. “Effective analogy.”
“This is strong,” I say, looking down at my glass.
“That’s why I brought it out.” She takes another sip. “So what happens if they don’t get married?”
“According to Olivier, he’s cut off.”
“You don’t think he will be?”
“It doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what he thinks, and he believes it.”
“And Elodie?”
I get a sudden flash of Elodie’s face when she’d pulled away from Olivier to look at me earlier. The bruising. The cut. Her tears. “I think she’ll do anything to get out of her house at this point.”
“So, you said arranged. Arranged by whom?”
“Is this an interview?”
