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Savannah scored a coveted assistant editor position at Haute last fall, which she was ecstatic about. The one time we ran into Scarlett and Crew at a restaurant, it was all she talked about for the entire meal. It made me wish I’d confessed my history with Crew to her back when our fling was taking place, but I never did. Rosie is the only person I told.
“I’m surprised she works that late,” is all I say.
“She leaves at five and comes back at eight, usually. I don’t know how she does it, honestly. She knows everything that happens at Haute, overseesrouge, and is a wife and mom. And rumor at the office is, she’s pregnant again.”
I wonder if Oliver knows, if it’s true.
We don’t discuss Scarlett and Crew, aside from when he mentioned them last night. In the few days I’ve been basically living with him, there’s been no evidence of any communication, making me think that Oliver wasn’t exaggerating the disconnect between him and his brother. Or maybe they only talk at the office.
“Okay!” Savannah claps her hands together once we reach the corner that intersects with Fifth Avenue, startling a nearby pigeon pecking at a hot dog wrapper. “What look are we going for?”
All I told her via text was I was in New York, needed a new dress for an event, and asked if she was free to go shopping.
“Wedding guest.”
Savannah’s eyebrows rise a half an inch. Every other time we’ve gone shopping, it’s been for slinky club attire or professional workwear. “Okay…what’s the dress code?”
“Black tie.”
“Venue?”
“It’s at the New York Public Library.”
“Tonight?”
I nod.
She puts the pieces together immediately, which I’m expecting. Savannah follows New York society closely. “I didn’t know you’re friends with Sienna Talbot.”
“I’m not. I’ve never met her. Or Garrett Anderson.” I pull in a deep breath. “I’m going with Oliver Kensington.”
Savannah abruptly stops walking. “You’redating Oliver Kensington?”
“No. I’m just going to a wedding with him.” I shrug a shoulder, putting on a good show of indifference as we walk along the sidewalk.
“How-how did you meet him?”
I hesitate, knowing she’ll mention this to Rosie the next time they talk. The main reason I texted her is I want to look good tonight, and that isn’t what I should be concerned with.
“At a bar.” I opt for some version of the truth. Rosie won’t share the whole story with Savannah, knowing I want to keep the marriage a secret.
“Have you slept with him?”
“No,” I lie. “Maybe tonight, after the reception.”
“So he’s not dating Quinn Branson?”
My head whips in Savannah’s direction, my breakfast churning unpleasantly in my stomach.
“Who’s that?” I don’t keep up with New York society anymore, but I recognize the names of most power players.
“Leonardo Branson’s daughter,” Savannah replies. “She just moved back from London. She and Oliver were photographed at dinner together, with Garrett and Sienna, last week. Most people were assuming she’d be at the wedding with him.”
She’s the woman Oliver was out with on Friday night, I realize. The one he said he wouldn’t be going out with again. The worries those words swept away so easily come back in full force. She’s more real with a name, and it sharpens the realization Oliver will move on with someone else, if not her. Forcing me to confront how much that idea bothers me.
Savannah is waiting, expectantly, for me to say something.
“He’s never mentioned her,” I tell Savannah. “We met, hit it off, and he invited me to the wedding.”
