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“I don’t guess we could skip out early without invoking everyone’s wrath,” he said, and Jane laughed in spite of herself.
“Let’s just run away and blow off the whole wedding.” She found a tissue in her purse and began dabbing at her eyes, hoping to escape looking like a raccoon. “It shouldn’t be happening anyway.”
“Why not?”
Jane stared out the window for a moment, unsure of how much she could tell him. But she knew Luke, knew he could be trusted, knew that if she were going to tell anyone a secret, he’d be the best person to choose.
“I caught my sister and Bradley in the rest room having sex.”
“Your sister? Which one?”
“Heather.”
He stared at her hard, as if waiting for her to take back the accusation.
“Seriously. I’m not making this up.”
“I didn’t think you were. But what about Michael? What about the wedding?”
“I guess it’s still going to go on, unless Michael somehow finds out.”
“Somehow? We have to tell him.”
Jane flashed him a look of warning. “No, we don’t.”
“What the hell are you saying? That you’re willing to protect your sister’s adultery?”
Jane shook her head, too confused to know anything for sure. “No, it’s not about that. I don’t think it’s our place to say anything. That’s something Heather has to tell him herself.”
“They’re about to get married tomorrow!”
“I know, but maybe we should stay out of it. They love each other, they make each other happy—and what if we ruin that? Heather’s betrayal is something she has to deal with, and it’s something they’ll have to work through on their own.”
“Is that what you’d tell people in a book or your column?” he asked, sounding more bitter than curious.
“I honestly don’t know what I’d say. I’m just too freaked out right now to think clearly. I need a little time.”
“Okay, so we’ve got until tomorrow morning to decide what to do.”
She let her head fall back against the headrest and closed her eyes. “Deal.”
“I mean it, Jane, we find a solution we’re both happy with, or I’ll go straight to Michael with this information regardless of what you say.”
Jane squeezed her eyes shut tighter. “Okay.”
“Are you ready to go back in?”
“No!” Jane said too harshly, then softened her tone. “I just need a few more minutes.”
“So, Heather didn’t know how you felt about Brad?”
She winced, wishing they could have avoided any talk of Bradley Stone. “She did, I think.”
“He’s an even bigger jerk-off than I thought he was.”
“Go ahead, point out that you were right about him and I was wrong.”
“I wasn’t going to say that.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“No, I was thinking that I wish you hadn’t gotten hurt.”
“Well, you were right, and I was wrong. You win.”
“Jane, it’s not a competition.” He reached across the cab and took her hand in his.
But he had known Brad was a jerk, and she hadn’t. She’d been a fool—a fool who dished out relationship advice for a living. So that made her a charlatan too.
Jane recalled the night at the wedding shower, when she’d been so sure Bradley had looked at her with interest in his eyes. If there had been any interest, she understood now, it had been purely based on whatever he thought might have gone on between Jane and Luke in the bathroom, not any real attraction to her. Maybe he’d just been wondering if she put out for any guy who wanted some action.
“Thanks for trying to warn me about him, anyway.”
“Any time.”
It struck Jane then how attentive Luke was, how attuned to her emotions. He’d comforted her without hesitation, in spite of the way she’d treated him, and he’d known just what she needed and when.
She took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay, I’m ready to go back in, but could you do me a favor and stick close by? I don’t think I can handle dealing with much small talk tonight.”
“No problem. I’ll just tell everyone you need to get laid.”
“Ha ha.”
He was only joking, but Jane realized the truth of it—she could think of nothing she’d rather do than spend one last night with Luke, forgetting all her cares in his arms.
“Will you come home with me tonight after dinner?” she blurted before she could talk herself out of it.
Luke stared at her for a few moments before speaking. “You’re inviting me to bed?”
