Chapter 20
Roxana hadn’t changed one iota since the last time I’d seen her.
I narrowed my eyes at the birthday girl, who was sitting in the VIP section—or rather, draped across the couch in the VIP section—working on her fifth cocktail of the evening. It was possible she was wearing the same tight-as-hell black bodycon dress I’d last seen her in, and she was definitely getting hammered on the same exact Ciroc & tonics—with the same four lime wedges—she always drank.
As for the rest of the group? Same pretentious jokes about investment banking. Same bragging about their latest luxury vacations abroad. Same rude gossip about the few of our cohort who hadn’t been able to come out and celebrate Roxana for one reason or another.
“And that was the last time Ford and I ever set foot in the French Riviera!” Claudia was saying too loudly, squeezing my bicep. “Wasn’t it, Ford?”
I hadn’t even been paying attention to her story, but everyone else around us was laughing, so all I could do was nod and force a laugh of my own. “That’s right.”
The whole night I’d felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, and not in a good way.
When Claudia had suggested meeting up with the old crew for Roxana’s birthday, I’d been thrilled. I’d really thought that getting together with everyone would be a relief. Remind me of simpler times, get my mind off all the bullshit. It had been months since I’d had a proper night out, and I was looking forward to just kicking back with a drink in my hand.
I’d even hoped that a night out apart from Emzee would be a nice break for both of us. A chance to catch our breath. After all, there was a reason for the saying, “absence makes the heart grow fonder,” wasn’t there? Surely a few hours on our own would be good for both of us.
Hell, maybe my wife would even be jealous enough to make the sex tonight completely over-the-top as compensation. The eye daggers she’d been throwing at Claudia all day hadn’t escaped my notice. And I knew the long standing envy that Emzee felt toward my ex hadn’t resolved itself much, if at all, since we’d tied the knot.
But instead of giving me an opportunity to relish my temporary freedom or enjoy the company of my old friends, all this evening was doing was making me realize that I wanted something different from my life these days. That now, my idea of a “fun drink” was getting overly tipsy with Emzee on some fancy restaurant’s house wine before taking her home to fuck. Not sitting in a loud, overcrowded, “exclusive” club hanging out with a bunch of self-absorbed people who hadn’t changed since high school.
That now, my idea of a good conversation involved planning for the future—a future beyond—
“OMG!” Roxana was squealing, reaching across me to take the fresh drink our cocktail waitress had brought over. “You haven’t been to the new resort in Anguilla yet? It’s so amazing. Youhaveto go! The spa does these gold foil facials…”
“Ahh, incredible. I’ve been meaning to book it,” Claudia said. She kept leaning over me to talk to Roxana, her hand brushing my thigh each time.
I didn’t want to be here. I was fucking bored.
Especially with Claudia.
During the tours earlier, I’d had a bit of fun letting her flirt with me. I knew it bugged the shit out of Emzee, but I couldn’t resist the ego boost, and watching Claudia fall all over herself for me (after years of unbalanced power dynamics between us and her pulling the stone cold bitch act) was satisfying on some deep level. Plus, I’d figured there was no real harm in it. The flirting wasn’t exactly reciprocal on my part, and my marriage was fake, after all.
Now that Emzee was gone, though, I was starting to seriously regret how I’d behaved, because I realized how much her feelings might actually be hurt. And after all my vows to woo her and win her. God, I could be such an ass sometimes.
Not only that, but sitting here surrounded by the old gang, I was also starting to remember exactly how insufferable these social obligations could be—especially with Claudia at my side. My ex had always, always,alwaysbeen more interested in people seeing her as an aspirational figure than in actually being a good person. It was grating on my nerves.
For example, the way she had started off the evening by bragging to the table about how she’d generously donated her time today to help a nonprofit organization that was “simply helpless” at throwing their own fundraiser. It had my stomach turning from the get-go.
And now, she was basically hanging all over me while she gabbed with Roxana, yet she showed absolutely no interest in talking to me, only in being seen with me. I was her accessory for the evening. Or maybe her pet, given the fact that she couldn’t stop patting and stroking me like one. Typical Claudia behavior.
It was not cool.
I was so glad to be done with her, done with being treated like a prop. Not that I hadn’t done the same to her when we dated. I knew how we’d looked together—we were one of the hot young power couples of Chicago—but like my whole former lifestyle, I was over it. And I was glad I’d only had one drink, hours earlier. Sobriety was really bringing things into sharp focus.
“Claudia,” I said, peeling her hand off my arm to get her attention.
She was giggling away with Roxana, who looked like she was about one Ciroc and tonic away from sliding onto the floor and passing out.
“Claudia,” I said again, firmly enough that she leaned back with an annoyed look.
“What?”
“I need to talk to you. Privately,” I told her.
“Perfect!” she said, brightening. “Let’s take a picture together. We’d get so many likes.”
Just another reminder that the rest of the world was nothing more than a backdrop for her social media accounts. She probably only wanted to post a photo so Emzee would see it.
