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“Yes.Seriously.”
“Okay.”
We sit in silence for a minute until Sutton breaks it. “What’s wrong with going wedding-dress shopping?”
“Nothing. It just…wasn’t what I thought you’d say.”
She says nothing at first. Then, “I, uh, I tried on a dress.” Pink floods her cheeks, like that wasn’t what she meant to say.
“Aweddingdress?”
“Mmhmm.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I opt for nothing.
“I didn’t tell her anything. About us.”
“I figured.”
Sutton eyes me, like she is waiting for more of a response. I don’t have one.
The car comes to a stop. I glance outside to see a mostly unremarkable building. A nondescript entrance with a doorman.
“It’s on the thirty-fifth floor,” Sutton tells me. “Overlooking the city.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“It was on their website, when I looked up the menu.”
I chuckle at that. “Right.”
If any of the photographers outside the hotel were actually following us, Greg succeeded in shaking them off. The only people on the sidewalk are a couple strolling by.
Greg opens Sutton’s door for her while I climb out on my side. The doorman opens the glass door when we approach, giving a small nod as we step into a carpeted entryway.
This, too, isn’t what I expected. It’s nice, but nothing remarkable. Based on what little David and Lily have mentioned to me about Ellie’s fiancé, Eric, I know he’s well off. The whole reason they’re here in London is some amazing job opportunity.
Ellie has always had a taste for the finer things in life. When we were younger, she’d go on about the big house and luxury car she’d have one day. I thought this evening would be fancy.
We step into the elevator with only one button.
“Ominous,” I mutter as I press it.
Sutton smiles.
When the doors open again, the venue starts to make more sense. The restaurant has a sweeping view of the whole city, visible from a panoramic angle, thanks to the floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding the entire floor. Hanging greenery drips down from the ceiling, only interrupted by single light bulbs that cast a soft glow over the arranged tables and chairs.
“Wow,” I mutter, looking around.Thisis more what I was anticipating.
Black-clad waitstaff navigate between tables with ease as acoustic music plays in the background.
“There they are,” Sutton says.
She was looking around, too, but looking for someone—or someones—evidently, not just taking it in. I guess she frequents places like this more often than I do. Getting a burger at trivia night is just about the wildest outing I’m used to.
For the first time in eight years, I lay eyes on Ellie Lowe. I stare at her, talking with a dark-haired man who must be Eric, and wait to feel something. Familiarity, regret, uncertainty, closure.
Nothing.
