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Carly pulls the door open and my sister-in-law Londyn takes one look at me and shakes her head.
“Go away,” I say, and take a sip of wine.
“She’s worse than I thought,” Londyn says.
“Yeah, she’s been in those pajamas so long, the second she takes them off they’re going to run to the washing machine themselves.”
“I’m right here,” I blurt out. “I can hear you.”
“Come on, we have a long day ahead of us,” Londyn says.
I stroke my wineglass and twirl the red wine inside. “What are you talking about?”
Londyn stands over me. “You know you look a little bit like the Joker right now.”
I arch a brow at her. “I remember when you used to be nice.”
“You have red wine all over the corners of your mouth and on your pajamas.”
“Wine is my precious,” I say, lifting my nose an inch.
“Get up,” she demands in that no-nonsense voice of hers.
I snort. “I remember when I used to like you.”
“You still like me, now get up. Cason is getting his plane ready.”
“For what?”
She gives an exasperated sigh. “Did you forget?”
“Apparently.”
“We’re going to Belize, for Gemma’s bachelorette party.” She plants one hand on her hip, clearly frustrated with me. I don’t blame her, all this self-pity and arguing is getting on my nerves, too. If Roman were here, would he kiss me to stop me from arguing?
Stop thinking about him!
I crinkle my nose. “Isn’t that like a month away?”
“You’ve been moping so long you don’t even know what day of the week it is anymore.” Londyn hastily takes my wine from me and pulls me to my feet.
“I don’t want to go.” I stand there like a petulant child and dig my feet in. “I don’t even like her fiancé.”
Londyn waves a warning finger at me. “Who she marries is not your call.”
“Well, if it was, I think she should be marrying Josh Walker.”
Londyn smiles. “Yeah, she used to use his services at Penn Pals. I remember. I thought those two would end up together.”
That’s when an idea hits. I think it’s brilliant, of course, or it could just be the wine. “Maybe we should kidnap the bride.”
“We are not kidnapping anyone. Gemma is a good friend,” she says, her voice softer. “We all need to support her. Now come on.”
I pout. “You don’t play fair.”
There’s someone else I know who doesn’t play fair, either.
God, will I ever get him out of my head?
