“Huh.”
I don’t push for details. Logan is already steering me through the crowd, and anyway, I’m not sure I want to know. I knew Pearl was just biding her time with Tommy, but I can’t help think her sudden change in relationship status has something to do with the way Logan is squeezing my hand.
He seems unconcerned about it as I follow him across the room. A silver-haired man in a tuxedo stops him to talk about an article his father published in the New England Journal of Medicine. Someone else shakes his hand over a recent case, something about a mitral valve. This room is full of doctors, afew surgeons and nurses, but apparently Logan is something of a celebrity in their field.
He smiles, shakes hands, knows exactly what to say. Nobody introduces themselves to me or asks me questions. Half these people probably don’t know Roger has two daughters. I drift a half-step behind him and pull at the hem of my size twelve thrift-store dress.
Logan is oblivious to my discomfort, but eventually steers us back toward the table. My palms are damp with nerves by the time we get there, seeing two empty seats, Pearl parked between them.
“Pearl, do you mind?” Logan asks politely. She grits her teeth, lifts her napkin, dabs the corners of her mouth, and then turns to us with an enormous smile.
“Of course not. Rose, so glad you could join us. How are you holding up? How’s Marnie? I’ve barely had a chance to say two words to her—wedding duties, you know how it is.” Pearl shifts into the empty seat beside her as servers move in around us, clearing plates.
“She’s enjoying herself. And thank you for the seat,” I say, though she’s already turned her attention to Logan, leaning toward him like I’m a piece of furniture stuck between them.
I’ve never known what to do with Pearl when she’s doing her whole polished, fake-nice routine. I prefer the real version—she might be a massive bitch, but at least then she’s honest. So it’s just as well that she ignores me.
Beside Dash, a woman I don’t recognize tries to help stack dishes, and the servers tease her and tell her to relax and enjoy herself.
Logan’s hand rests on the back of my chair. Every one of his friends clocks it, but nobody says anything. They carry on talking, and I don’t join in. His words from earlier are still running through my head—that he wants this to go somewhereafter we leave. This isn’t just vacation sex. I didn’t know what to say when he told me that. I still don’t.
He actually wants this. With me. I think I do too.
I just don’t know what we do about everything else, how to trust that he won’t keep putting my sister first. Every time I tried to tell him something real about her, he shut it down. He takes her side, trusts her version of events, asked me more than once not to bring her up. Defended her, even when I told him she straight-up lied about so many things. He just… didn’t want to hear it.
She’s in love with him, and I always wondered if he wasn’t a little in love with her, too. He told me she was like a sister, but I don’t know.
Without Tommy here, Pearl’s full attention is on Logan. Every word out of Logan’s mouth, she’s leaning in, laughing a half-second ahead of the rest of the table. Her fingers trail to her collarbone, to the neckline of that low-cut dress—the same one from the sexy picture she sent to him.
He said nothing has ever happened between them. I’m supposed to trust his word, even though he doesn’t trust mine.
“Something to drink?” A server appears at my elbow. “Dessert this evening is a chocolate panna cotta with basil and mint.”
“Oh, that sounds amazing. I guess, a glass of red? Merlot, if you have it?”
Under the table, Logan’s hand settles on my thigh. It’s comforting amidst my spiraling thoughts. I put mine over his, feeling like a teenager, the way my heart flutters when he touches me.
Reign, Harlow, and Griffin keep talking, though their eyes keep sliding over to me. Across the table, Dash has forgotten the rest of us exist—Sunshine, his date, is gesturing broadly, laughing with her whole face, and he’s watching her like she’sthe only person in the room. This isn’t the Dash I’m familiar with. Then again, neither is Logan. Maybe it’s something in the air.
“So, Rose, Logan told us about the crash. I’m sorry you got hurt,” Harlow says, gesturing toward my forehead. “That must have been scary.”
“Oh. Yeah. Crazy, right? It could have been a lot worse, though.”
“So, you two were stuck together for what, like three days? What was that like?” Griffin leans back, whiskey in hand, a knowing, mischievous grin spreading across his face.
I feel the heat climb up my neck. “It was mostly a lot of driving and bickering.”
“It’s funny how you two bicker so much, considering you barely know each other.” He swirls his glass, eyes cutting to Logan, then back to me. “You know what they say about couples who fight?”
“Griff,” Logan growls.
“I’m just saying, all that heat, all that back and forth—”
“Griffin.”
“Yeah?”
“Be quiet.”
