“The what?”
“The stick-wielding aunties in pink saris? Vigil-aunties!” She snorts. “We could start a London group. I know Tasneem would be in,” she adds, mentioning her sister’s name.
I shake my head with a smile.
“My God, Evie. I’msosorry I wasn’t there,” she says, her expression turning serious as she reaches for my hand.
“At least you know you can catch the playback all over the internet.”
“That’s so fucked up.” Her brow creases with the kind of sympathy I need to keep at arm’s length. There will be no tears today.
“I bet my wedding was more eventful than yours.” Her cousin got hitched in Leeds on the same day, which is why she wasn’t there. On reflection, that might’ve been a good thing. For Mitchell, at least.
“What the fuck was he thinking?” She scrubs her hands over her face, pushing the dark bangs away.
“You might need to ask his penis that. Book ahead. I hear it’s been pretty busy.” My maid of honor, Oliver’s PA ... “Also, take tongs,” I add, scrunching my nose.
“More like a scalpel. I just don’t get it.” She slumps back in her chair, her long legs inelegantly angled.A little like a chalk drawingof a murder victim.“Why do men cheat? Surely the fucking you get is not worth the fucking you take.”
“Take your house, your kids, half of your 401(k)?” I give a bitter shake of my head. “You have to be married, and I swerved that one good.”
“He lostyou, Evie,” she says with such intensity.
I swallow over a knot of emotions tangled too tightly to separate. Yara is the kind of person you’ll meet once in a lifetime, if you’re lucky. Loyal, honest, real. For me, London and Yara go hand in hand. I can’t imagine one without the other, and I know without a doubt both will always be part of my life.
“He was about to win big, and he lost everything. People will remember what he did for a long time. It’ll totally fuck him over—fuck him up.”
Her words seem to echo something Oliver said. Oliver, urgh! Why am I thinking about him? The rich are so self-involved. They will always put themselves first.
“So sweary today.” I hold a crumbly Hobnob between us like a peace offering, when the reality is, I’m just done with this conversation. If I’d known Mitch the lying asshole was rich, I wouldn’t be in this predicament. “Anyway, who needs a tropical beach setting when you can treat a husky with a suspected obstruction?”
“Fun,” she deadpans.
“Or a Persian kitty vomiting on your shoes because you didn’t move quickly enough?”
“Good times.”
“He’s hooked up to an IV now.”
“Seems like a fair punishment.”
I give a fond shake of my head. “For fluids while we wait on his blood workup.”
“Of course.”
“I’m leaving Prince Fursal in your tender care,” I say, pushing to stand.
“People should be birched for landing their pets with stupid names.” A pause. “You okay?”
“It’s been a day.” Arching my back, I give in to a stretch. “The looks I’ve gotten ...”
“Cats are such suspicious creatures.”
“I was talking about the people.”
“Eh. People. So overrated. Zero stars. Wouldnotrecommend. Present company excepted.”
“Same.”
