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She sobers, her voice growing serious again. “I can’t believe you got married before me. Never would have expected that.”
I take another sip of vodka and then lie back, staring up at the white plaster ceiling. “Me neither. My family knows.”
“Wow. You didn’t tell them about you and Declan for a month.”
“It was an accident. I said something to a client of my dad’s. It was either come clean or possibly ruin this guy’s career.”
“Are you sure you chose right?”
“Haha,” I intone. “And now, they want to meet him.”
“Of course they do. The only downside of being part of a wholesome, supportive family.”
“I don’t want to ask him to come. But I have to, I guess? And I don’t think there’s any way he’ll agree—”
“Holyshit.” Rosie exclaims, suddenly.
“What?”
Her urgent tone would probably make me sit up, in other circumstances. But vodka is starting to swim through me in lazy warmth, making moving sound really unappealing.
“I just looked up a photo of yourhusband. I’ve never actually seen what Oliver looks like. Crew is always the one who was out getting photographed.”
Rosie grew up in New York City. She even went to school with Scarlett Ellsworth for a couple of years before Crew’s future wife left for some fancy boarding school. The stories she told me are part of what spawned my instant dislike of the stunning brunette.
Keys tap. “Wow, does heeversmile? I mean, the tall, dark, and broody thing works for him, but really, what does he have to complain about? He’s hot, rich, and married to my beautiful best friend.”
“I think that last part is probablywhyhe’s scowling,” I reply.
Rosie laughs. “Oh, Jude’s here.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
“I just need to buzz him in. We don’t have to hang up. If I park him in front of the television with a beer and something sporty, he’ll probably thank you for keeping me occupied.”
I smile, then stare at my sad salad. I should have stopped for takeout on the drive home. “No, it’s fine. I need to go make dinner anyway.”
The lies keep piling up.
“Okay. We’ll talk soon.” There’s a pause. “IsCongratulationsthe wrong sentiment to end with here?”
I huff a laugh. “Probably. But thanks.”
Rosie laughs too. “Bye, Han.”
“Bye.”
I drop my phone onto the couch, then grab the remote to turn on the television. The next hour is spent picking at my salad while half-watching a comedy I’ve seen a dozen times before. Occasionally, I sip more vodka.
When I pick up my phone again, it’s after ten. There’s a chance he’s still at work, but it seems unlikely. And the less serious version of Oliver is who I want to talk to.
Oliver answers the call with a groggy, “Hannah?”
Belatedly, I realize he’s on east coast time. It’s after one in the morning in New York.
“Shit. I’m so sorry. I forgot about the time difference.”
There’s a sigh. Sheets rustle.He’s in bed,I realize. “I thought you were apologizing about not texting me back. Nice to know your phone works.”
