“Since when are you and Alex so close?”
Ellie frowns. “We’ve always been close.”
I level him with a flat look, and he amends, “He invited me to aDodgers game last season. We go to games together now. I told you all this.”
“You didn’t.”
“Pretty sure I did.”
I’d remember if he’d mentioned Alex—but I can’t tell himwhyI’d remember, so I drop it. “And Ingrid?”
Ingrid Aquino, Alex’s wife.
“No-show. I think she has her book club?”
Small mercies.
“Right. Book club. I’ve been meaning to join one of those,” I say, a needless lie.
Ellie leads me to the immaculate living room, where I see a group of five men, four I don’t know and one I do. It’s been years since I saw Alex in person, and I hate to admit that age has somehow made him hotter. Well, age plus nearly a billion dollars.
Alex turns slightly, and we lock eyes across the room. For a second, I think he’ll have the decency to turn back, to ignore me, to let me stay in this moment with Ellie.
I should have known better.
“Josephina Vasquez. God, how long has it been? Ten years?”
He always insisted on using my full name, no matter how often I told him I hated it.
Once, I even thought I liked it.
I plaster on a smile and watch Alex approach. He’s even more impressive up close. Olive-brown skin, inky-black hair, plush lips, and whiskey eyes, Alex Aquino presents an appealing picture. Combine that with the fact that he’s a low-key genius and rich as Satan, and he’s pretty hard to resist. Until you actually get to know him—then it gets easier.
“You saw each other at my wedding.” Ellie frowns. We both freeze. Alex recovers first.
“You’re right, we did. So not ten years, then…” Alex trails off, eyeing me expectantly.
“It’s been seven years, Alex,” I say flatly.
“Seven years,” he repeats as if it’s news. As if heforgot. “You haven’t aged a day.”
Before I can respond, Catherine Aarons walks in, followed by four other women, forming a nearly identical pack of blond hair and perfectly golden spray-tanned skin.
I glance at Alex, wondering if he’s realized the same thing I have—that we’re the only two people in this room who aren’t white—but if he feels anything amiss, he doesn’t show it. Our shared Mexican heritage might have once united us, a point of bonding, but as things stand now, I hate that I feel a begrudging kinship with him.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Cat says, then beelines straight toward me with a megawatt smile, engulfs me in her arms, and exclaims, “Joey, you finally made it. It’sso greatto see you.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” I say, and shove the bottle of pinot into her hands. She doesn’t even glance at it as she takes it from me.
I really shouldn’t have splurged.
Cat herds everyone to the dining room, and I watch Ellie place a hand on the small of her back and rub in slow circles as he guides her away.
“Still pining, I see,” comes Alex’s mocking voice.
Now that we’re alone, no one to listen in, I demand, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Excuse me?” Alex asks, his body language taken aback but his face delighted.
