I watch him walk to the elevator and sit with the envelope on my desk for exactly ten seconds.
Then I shut down my computer, pick up my bag, and leave, because I am going to Rachel's and I am going right now.
In my car, I open the envelope.
The invitation is white and gold. Serif font.Derek Myers and Alice Allison. The resort name sits at the top—some Mexican beach property whose website I will absolutely not be looking at later tonight, except I probably will, at 2 AM when I can't sleep and my brain decides to run a highlight reel of every mistake I've made in the past year.
Alice Allison.
Yes, that is her name, and no, I do not want to comment on the alliteration.
She's the assistant head of marketing, working just outside Derek's office. The woman he told me not to worry about … even as they worked the whole night, just the two of them.
Oh God.
I told Derek I have a husband.
I donothave a husband.
I do not even have a boyfriend at the moment. For months now, but who's counting?
I have a job, an apartment with genuinely good light, and a succulent that has been alive for two years, which I consider a milestone achievement and have named Kevin.
Oh God. I pound the steering wheel and scream at the windshield. To no effect.
I'm so screwed, and the worst part is … I brought this upon myself.
Rachel shares an apartmentwith her twin, River. They're on the third floor, and the elevator never works. I've climbed these stairs more times than I can count.
I didn't knock then. I don't knock now. I have never knocked. I come here after work at least four times a week, so they already know to expect me.
The door swings open to Rachel's mismatched throw pillows, the gallery wall that got two-thirds finished and then stopped because Rachel bought a new couch and lost momentum, the plants that are thriving against all reasonable probability.
But, hey, that's Rachel. Probability functions differently inside her orbit.
I slump on the stool by the kitchen island and groan.
River's at the stove, wearing a gray shirt, and his back is to me. Is it because of the tight-fitting shirt or has his back become broader? I stare at the ink on his muscled, veiny forearms and run my eye again across the width of his shoulders and immediately dig my nails into my palms. I am not doing this today. I still have things to figure out, and thinking about how hot River is will get me nowhere.
Rachel appears from the hallway, reads my face, and goes directly to the freezer. She's probably getting what we like to call our 'emergency stash'.
River turns from the stove. His gaze lands on me, and as always, I feel some tingling I should really ignore. The corner of his mouth lifts. "Ice cream situation or wine situation?"
"Ice cream."
A minute later, Rachel is beside me holding a big tub of Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough and two spoons. River isn't a fan of ice cream, which is why his body looks the way it does, and why I'm always out of breath coming up.
"Derek came to my desk and gave me his wedding invitation. He made this whole show of inviting me."
"He's always been like that," Rachel says. "Everything is the Derek Myers show."
"Right? He could've just given me the invitation along with the ones for Priyanka and Alec, but no, he had to be there himself."
"And he didn't just hand the invite, did he?"
I shove a scoop of ice cream into my mouth and moan before speaking. River whirls around, and his gaze narrows. Hmm, did I do something? "No, he absolutely did not. He asked if I was okay and if it wouldn't break my heart to see him marrying someone else because he knew I hoped it would be me."
Rachel's spoon clatters to the island. "He did not."
