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“We’re at one of the most expensive restaurants in Manhattan,” Emma replied. “I’m not going to start drinking from a flask.”
“If it makes you feel better, the flask is from Tiffany. Twenty-first birthday present from Liam. First and only time Big Brother has stepped inside that store, so it’s practically a sacred object. Also, pretty damn classy for a whiskey vessel.”
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“I’m good,” Emma said, forcing a smile. “But thanks.”
Riley forced a smile back, her eyes sad, and that made Emma feel so much worse. This was supposed to be a night of celebration and happiness, not a dreary trip down memory lane with her friend trying to force whiskey on her.
She mentally shook herself. “You know what? Let’s go mingle,” Emma said. “You’re looking way too good to be huddled in the corner by yourself. That dress is—”
Riley gave a cocky grin and a wink. “Sam liked it, too. Twice.”
“No more detail,” Emma muttered, holding up a hand. “Please.”
She let Riley pull her into a conversation with some of Julie’s high school friends from California, and did her best to ignore the fact that Cassidy was about four feet to her left, now talking to a leggy brunette with crunchy-looking hair and a dress that was even shorter than Riley’s.
Julie bounced up to them, looking adorable in a white halter top cocktail dress and a perky ponytail. She looked fresh faced and radiant.
And happy. Almost unbearably happy.
Emma remembered what that sort of happiness had felt like.
And that’s why she was mad. Not because she was remembering the bad parts. Because she was remembering the good parts.
Julie made polite excuses to everyone else before pulling Emma, Riley, and Grace aside. “Okay, no pressure, girls, and by that, of course, I mean feel entirely obligated by what I’m about to say. Mitchell’s parents are insisting we do toasts.”
“So?” Riley asked.
“So, they’re paying for this whole fancy thing, so they get to do what they want, but so help me God, if Mitchell’s mom gets up there and starts talking, this party will turn into group nap time and this blowout will have been for naught—”
“Naught?” Emma interrupted.
Julie pointed at her. “You try living with Mitchell and not picking up words like that.”
“Calm down, Jules,” Grace said. “We’ve got you covered. If Mitchell’s parents start to drag the mood down with their monologue, Riley will pretend to be drunk and make a grab for the microphone.”
Riley nodded. “Did I mention I brought a flask? Might as well be a prop, since Sinclair here claims to have no use for it.”
Julie and Grace both glanced at Emma, and Julie’s hand reached for hers. “How are you doing?”
Emma groaned. “I’m fine. I’ll hate myself if you spend even one second worrying about me.”
“I’m not worried,” Julie said, “It’s just . . . this is when it happened, right? Whatever went down between you two was at the rehearsal dinner?”
“A long time ago,” Emma said, squeezing Julie’s hand. “Cassidy and I have both moved on.”
Julie started to bite her fingernail before realizing she didn’t want to ruin her new manicure. “So you’re not suffering from relationship PTSD?”
“Yeah, that’s not a thing,” Emma said, keeping her voice light.
Riley was watching her with narrow eyes. “Uh-huh. What is it with you two lately?”
“What do you mean?” Emma took a sip of her wine.
Rile snorted. “You think we’re not aware every time there’s a tiny shift between you two?”
“Actually, we’re all the more aware of it because the changes are tiny,” Grace added. “It would actually be less suspicious if you two alternated between blowup fights and playing nice. But instead you both try too damned hard to ignore each other.”
