"I haven't seen her today."
He takes another drink, then sets it down with more force than necessary.
“Yeah well she’s probably been in hiding anyway.”
“What do you mean?”
“Wes, the cheating fucking bastard."
"What?"
The word comes out sharp. My hands grip the edge of the table and it takes everything in me to not want to flip the entire thing over. Ollie blinks at my tone, then seems to realize what he just said.
"Shit. You didn't know."
“No , I didn’t.”
"The lying dog proposes to her, then has the fucking nerve to cheat on her while she's out of town." Ollie's slurring his words slightly, but his anger radiates off him. "Camilla sent Nora the photos this morning. Paparazzi caught him with some actress at a restaurant in LA. They were?—"
He makes a vague gesture.
“Getting more than friendly. I can tell you that much.”
Something dark and hot floods through my chest.
Rage. Pure, uncomplicated rage that makes my vision tunnel and my jaw clench so hard my teeth ache. Rage I haven’t felt in years since Scott was still alive. My pulse hammers in my ears.
That fucking?—
"He doesn't deserve her," Ollie mutters, oblivious to the fact that I'm currently imagining very detailed scenarios involving Wesley fucking Grant and significant physical harm.
"Never did. I knew he was a piece of shit the moment I met him. He was too smooth and too polished. Proper loser drowning in Ralph Lauren or whatever shit they wear in Hollywood."
I can't speak. Can't form words around the fury building in my throat. Nora saw those photos. Saw proof that the man she agreed to marry, the life she built in LA, was built on lies.
And what did she do?
She texted me. Apologized to me. Asked to talk to me. While her world was falling apart, she reached out to me.
"You okay?" Ollie asks, peering at my face.
"Fine," I manage, though my voice sounds wrong even to my own ears.
"You look like you want to hit something."
"I do."
Ollie laughs, but there's no humor in it. "Get in line. Camilla's already planning his murder. Pretty sure she's got spreadsheets and Powerpoint presentations ready.”
I force myself to breathe and unclench my fists. To remember that Nora doesn't need me to go to LA and assault her ex-fiancé, no matter how satisfying that would be.
His phone buzzes then, and he checks it, expression shifting.
"Mia says you're driving Nora home."
The anger gives way immediately to concern. "Is she okay?"
"She's drunk," Ollie says simply.
