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But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that there’s always a trade-off.
And I can’t make this trade.
33
THEO
Sunday starts out lovely when I wake to Merrick playing with Bernie in the backyard but swiftly slides downhill when I remember that tonight is Jessica Kate’s popstar party.
Martinique has been complaining about it all week. She’s been non-consensually assigned to the only assistant position on the planet worse than mine.
Jessica is a ruthless taskmaster, running Martinique ragged all over the city when she isn’t grilling her for information about Angus or, apparently, about me.
“She was asking me a million questions yesterday,” Martinique gripes as I help her wrangle the catering trays into Angus’ walk-in refrigerator. “All about where you went to high school, and how long you and Sullivan have been dating, and where you worked before this. You better be careful, Theo—she has it out for you.”
My stomach does a slow, uneasy roll. I feel incredibly grateful that I never spilled the beans to Martinique, no matter how many times I was tempted. Much as I love my best friend,I’m not sure how well she’d stand up to Jessica’s week-long interrogation if she knew the truth.
I could not, however, resist telling her that Sully and I finally slept together.
“Tell me everything!” she squeals. “Every single detail!”
“Noteverydetail…” I’m already blushing.
“All the good ones,” Martinique insists.
I give her a play-by-play until we’re both flushed and giggling. Martinique gets a determined look in her eye.
“If he’s that good, I’m definitely sleeping with his brother tonight.” Her mind’s already leaping several years ahead. “Maybe we’ll marry twins! Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
Unbidden, the image of a ring pops into my head. Sully waiting at the altar. Coming home to his beautiful, broken-down mansion, not for a week but for forever…
Martinique stops laughing when she sees the look on my face. “What’s wrong? Too soon to talk about wedding bells?”
“No…”
“Because you look like a woman in love.”
In love?
Sick, sinking fear takes hold of me.
I can’t be in love with Sullivan.
Insanely attracted to him, completely infatuated with him, maybe… But not love. That would be…devastating.
“I’m not in love,” I say.
There’s just one problem. Over the last few weeks, I’ve become a lot more aware of what I sound like when I lie. And that…felt like a hell of a whopper.
Martinique isn’t buying it either. “Not in love? Or not ready to admit it?”
“Both. Neither.”
“Uh oh.” She gives me a pitying look. “You’ve got it bad.”
“I don’t. I’m not.” I swallow hard, shaking my head in swift, short jerks. “I’m not in love.”
Lies, lies, lies.
