“Sure thing,” he chuckles, dimples carving into his cheeks as he lifts his whiskey. My wine arrives then, and I take a long, much-needed sip, trying not to think about how right Griffin is.
“That suit fits you perfectly, Logan. I’m so glad you finally called my tailor.” Pearl leans forward slightly to address him across me. “Isn’t she just the best?”
“She is. Thank you again.”
“So much better than that man near Daddy’s office. Do you remember him?” She laughs, touching her throat. “You called me in a complete panic—he’d split the pants you were wearingand you needed me to run you a new pair. You were so helpless.” She shakes her head fondly.
Logan chuckles awkwardly. “Yeah. That was something.”
Pearl smiles and reaches past me for her wine.
I’ve seen them together a handful of times. She talks about him as if he were her best friend in the world. So I don’t know what to make of the way he’s acting right now—stiff, like she’s someone he just met. Maybe it’s because I’m here. Maybe he doesn’t know how to be around her with me sitting between them. I’m probably reading into it.
I cut into the panna cotta. Logan eats left-handed, his right staying put on my thigh. I don’t know what I thought would happen, but it wasn’t this—him folding me into his world like it’s the most natural thing, in front of everyone.
He wants to keep this going. He asked if I trusted him. He keeps touching me, drawing me into the conversation when I go quiet.
It’s still a lot.
Pearl, beside me, is behaving herself, which almost makes it worse. Their friends are warm in a way they’ve never bothered to be before, and I feel a low, quiet irritation at how easy it is for them now that Logan has declared it’s okay to be nice to me.
“Have you seen your dad since this afternoon?” Logan asks beside me.
“No. We’re meeting for breakfast tomorrow, before everything starts.”
“Breakfast is already planned,” Pearl interjects. I turn to her. Her mouth is set, expression ironed smooth. She’s been perfecting that angelic, innocent look since we were kids.
It never mattered how sharp her words were. With that face, she got away with everything.
“Right, he mentioned,” I say carefully. “I was going to join him.”
“Well, unfortunately, the guest list is already—”
“Pearl, she’s your sister. And Roger’s daughter. Shouldn’t she already be on the guest list?” Logan asks evenly. I’m not used to people defending me around her.
She maintains a blank expression, but red crawls up her pale cheeks. “Of course. I only meant that Rose wanted very little involvement in the wedding, so I planned accordingly.”
“I never said that,” I argue.
She raises her eyebrows, and somehow that’s even more patronizing. I feel the familiar way I always go small around her. I know I wasn’t exactly involved in the planning. I know I kept my distance. But breakfast? I can’t have breakfast with my own father?
Pearl shakes her head and starts to say, “I’m the one that did all the work and Rose just gets to show up and act like—” but as she gestures, her wine glass tips, wobbles, and knocks over.
There’s no catching it. Red spreads across the tablecloth and pours into my lap, soaking cold through the fabric, running down between my thighs.
“Oh my goodness!” Pearl is on her feet, snatching up a napkin, pressing it toward me. “Rosie, I’m so sorry, I cannot believe I just did that.”
Sure, I think. I press the napkin against my dress, already knowing it’s likely ruined. I don’t say anything. I don’t trust what would come out. My eyes start burning.
The whole table pushes back at once. Logan moves toward me, but Sunshine catches his arm. “It’s okay, big guy. I’ve got her.” She looks at me. “Come on, darlin’.”
Her grip on my arm is firm as she steers me past every table in the room. I keep my chin up and my eyes forward.
I really love this dress. I felt so good when I found it. It had been a long time since I’d felt like that—pretty, put together—after everything that happened over the last couple of months.Every step is a reminder that, aside from Logan, nothing’s changed. I’m still a hot fucking mess.
Sunshine chats and waves with servers as we push through a set of double doors into a long corridor. A guy in a waiter’s tux with a black goatee calls out, “Yo, mami, you done babysitting those rich kids?” Then his eyes find me and go wide. His mouth drops open.
I laugh despite myself.
