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Izzy just stares at me, in the way that she does when she’s content and trying to understand the world around her. It might be because of the funny change in my voice, but I like to think it’s because she understands exactly what I’m saying and agrees.
By the time we make it into the living room, three-quarters of the food is gone, and Howard is full swing into his infamous word association game. No doubt, Ty’s put him up to it again.
I take a seat on the arm of the couch with Iz, keeping one eye to Maria as she grabs a plate at the end of the TV table and starts to fill it up with food.
“Yard,” Howard says, to which Rachel immediately replies, “Work.”
Flynn laughs the loudest, remarking ironically, “I guess we never have to worry about Ty and Rachel moving out of the city.”
His face is relaxed and bright, and I’ll be damned if he isn’t a completely different man from the one I knew before Daisy. He’s still quiet, sure, but he’s also lighter and quicker to laugh. He’s happy. It’s written all over him.
Maria surprises me by holding a plate out in front of me, filled with all my favorite foods.
“What’s this?” I ask in a stupid whisper.
She laughs softly before sitting down next to me. “I fixed you a plate so you don’t miss out.” She mimes what I imagine is supposed to be a locust, and I smile so big my face hurts.
“Hotel,” Howard prompts Rachel, everyone eagerly paying attention other than me. I’m focused on the fall of Maria’s hair as she looks down at her plate and picks up a mini quiche.
“Carlyle,” Rachel responds in the background, and I have to admit, even without my focus, just the sound of that word makes the hairs at the back of my neck stand on end.
“Don’t go spilling all of our sexy secrets, Rach,” Ty chimes in, and Rachel winks at him.
“In my defense, you are the one who chose the Carlyle, not me.”
The fucking Carlyle.
It’s been a hell of a long time since Charlotte took off on the day of our wedding and left me to smash half the breakables in my groom’s suite at the Carlyle Hotel, but it’s something of a core memory. It’s a day that shaped and polished me into the person I am now.
A day that, no matter what else happens in my life, or how right I know she was to call it off, haunts me. It reminds me of parts of myself I’m not proud of. Of emotions that have a long-standing history of making me feel out of control.
Winnie notices my face and steps forward to take Izzy from me and pass her to our mother. She walks up to me then—already engaged and ready to play peacemaker.
I don’t want to do it; I want to let it go. But before I can stop myself, I’m butting into the game to ask the exact thing I know I shouldn’t. Fucking with Ty over the whole left-at-the-altar thing has evidently consumed the dark humor part of my soul.
“Did you say the Carlyle?”
Rachel glances at Howard, and then Ty, and then back to me before tentatively nodding. “Um, yeah. Why?”
The room is almost painfully silent now, and Maria is looking at me with questions in her eyes, but now that I’ve opened this can of worms, I can only see one way to close it.
Rachel is uncertain, glancing again to Ty for help or advice or direction—I’m sure none of this is making sense to her—and he groans, piping up to explain.
“I took Rachel to the Carlyle for a week when we first got together, okay?”
“The Carlyle?” I ask, just as Jude lets out a half groan, half laugh, his mind torn between being amused and concerned over what’s brewing.
“Yeah, dude.”
“Seriously, Ty?” is all I can say.
“Seriously what, Rem?” he snaps back. “I mean, are we just supposed to ignore one of the nicest hotels in New York for the rest of our lives because you’ve got a bad memory there?”
“What’s going on?” Rachel whispers, to which Winnie steps forward and grabs her arm with a shake of her head.
“A bad memory?” I challenge, my voice edging toward angry. I mean, it’s all fun and jokes until he starts to act like he wasn’t there to witness the whole huge thing.
“Yeah. So, your wedding crashed and burned there a fucking decade and a half ago. It’s not like it was the hotel’s fault! They even refunded some of the money!”
A warm hand settles on my back, the scent of Maria enveloping me from behind. I can feel the flow of her comfort as she infuses it into me with all of her strength. She thinks I’m upset about Charlotte, about the wedding, about stupid shit that doesn’t matter to me anymore. Everyone does, honestly. But it’s so much fucking deeper than that.
