Page 110 of The Breakup Artists

“Before you bang them?”

I slow my pace.

“You’re way oversimplifying it.”

“Okay, well, what would Cassie say if I asked her?” she says, referencing his last girlfriend.

“Cassie’s not you,” he replies, and the music drowns out Tiny’s response.

I weave my way into the party, which is now in full swing. A-list musicians are in attendance, and everyone is drinking champagne. I head for a table, taking a seat in the chair next to the one that holds Tiny’s shawl, and continue to feel crappy about upsetting her. I just wanted to let Bentley know that I know—that even though we don’t talk, I still hear things and that those things lead me to one conclusion only: he’s a dick.

I pull out my phone and scroll through my text messages with Ella. I clock Tiny’s frown from across the lawn, and their fight only reinforces the idea that I need to tell Ella the truth, that when people hide parts of themselves from each other, nothing good comes of it. I push my hair back and lean my elbows on my knees. I just need to make it a few more hours until this party is over so that I can hopefully convince Tiny and devise a plan to cause the least amount of harm.

I look at my phone, my fingers typing out a message to Ella.

Me

Busy?

The response bubble pops up right away, and I smile.

Ella

Kinda. I have a thing. Text you when I get home?

Me

For sure.

I sigh, hoping that thing isn’t a Justin thing, but judging by her vagueness I’m guessing it is.Later, I tell myself. I put my phone on the table and roll up the sleeves of my button-down, eyeing the water and wondering if Tiny would kill me if I bailed to go swimming. I really need to think.

But then I hear my name. And for a second, I’m positive I’ve imagined it, that my desire to see Ella made me hallucinate. Only it’s not my name—it’sHolden.

I swipe my phone off the table and stand up so fast that I’m lucky I don’t take the chair with me. And there she is, wavy hair down her back, a blue strapless dress that hugs her body, and a huge smile—one thousand percent stunning.

“Ella?” I stammer. There is no way she could be here, no way Tiny wouldn’t know if she were invited. The guest list has been set for months. This makes no sense.

Shock.

Dry throat.

White-hot terror.

“You’rehere?” I continue, finding it hard to form even the simplest of words. Which is when I discover the reason for her sudden appearance—Ella’s parents are also here, standing at the edge of the crowd, grabbing two glasses of champagne from a tray.

I look from them to Ella, feeling like a train headed for a collision.

“You jerk,” Ella says, her big smile unwavering, and she pushes my arm, her simple gesture sending my stomach into a somersault. “You totally saw me come in when you texted me.”

Who am I? What’s happening right now? Is this real?Get your effing shit together before your world falls apart.

I put on a smile. “Maybe.”

She scrunches up her face in a way that’d be adorable if I weren’t in meltdown. “I can’t believe you’re here!” She scans the crowd. “I mean, wow. It’s awesome, isn’t it? Amber waspissedmy parents wouldn’t let me add her as a plus-one. Kind of satisfying.”

I hammer at my phone keys in my pocket, trying to text Tiny, but the stupid thing won’t unlock. “Yeah, I mean, I come to it every year,” I say, not actually trying to impress her, just not being able to think past the truth.

“You’re kidding, right? I tried everything I could to get in last year. Lame that I had to come with my parents, but whatever,” she says with a laugh, and the mention of her dad creates a fresh surge of vision-blurring anxiety.