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It’s also the thing that, as far as Violet is concerned, would be theworst thingimaginable. She does not want me to get Jett alone. I can see it in the way her perfect lips settle into a mutinous pout, and her dark eyebrows come together in a scowl that does absolutely nothing to make her look any less beautiful.
“Jett,” she sobs, jumping up as he passes her seat and grabbing him by the arm. “Just leave it, Jett. Don’t go with her. Don’t let her spoil this for us.”
“Spoil what?” For once, Gabriella is up to speed with the conversation. “But Lexie isn’t spoiling anything,” she says, in her soft Italian accent. “Is she?”
She glances around the table for confirmation of this. Alex Russell is doing something with his phone. I bet he’s trying to record us.
“Jett,” I say pleadingly, realizing I’m going to have to just spit it out, and tell him what’s going on if I can’t get him out of here quickly. “I really need to talk to—”
“Oh, but she is,” says Violet loudly, sensing the attention slipping away from her. “Sheisspoiling something.”
She pauses for dramatic effect.
She really is pretty good. I have to hand it to her.
“We were going to wait until later to tell you all,” she says, looking coyly at Jett from under her lashes. “And we certainly weren’t going to do it in front ofher.”
She shoots me what can only be described as A Look.
“Or you,” she adds, a little more apologetically to Alex Russell. “Sorry.”
He shrugs, smiling. He doesn’t care if she insults him. He just wants to get his story.
Violet takes a deep breath. I have a sudden urge to turn and run out of the room, so I don’t have to hear whatever she’s about to say next. I’ve never really been one to trust my instincts, because they’re normally telling me to do something wrong. This time, though, my instincts are screaming at me that something very, very wrong indeed is going to happen tome.
And, for once, my instincts are right.
“Jett and I are engaged,” says Violet, into a shocked silence. “We’re getting married.”
She smiles triumphantly around the room, her gaze finally settling on me.
“Sorry, Lexie,” she adds.
There’s a loud crash as the bottle I’m holding hits the tiled floor of the restaurant. Red wine and fragments of broken glass fly through the air. My heart shatters along with it.
Who would have thought the old bottle to have so much wine in it?
Eighteen
Of course, it would have to have been the £200 bottle of Merlot I dropped. And the reason I know that’s how much it cost is because Hazel told me repeatedly — right before she sent me home in disgrace.
“I don’t have the authority to fire you,” you said, stony-faced. “But if I did, I would. For now, though, just go home. I’ll speak to McTavish tomorrow and find out what he wants to do about you.”
I didn’t have the energy to argue with her: and, of course, I was patently in the wrong, too. It’s not like there’s a solid case to be made for thebenefitsof me gatecrashing Jett and Violet’s impromptu engagement party and spilling wine all over the floor, is there?
I don’t have a leg to stand on here. (And I mean that literally: my ankle’s stillreallysore…)
I ruined the evening of the most important guests Emerald View has ever — and probablywillever — have, and I spoiled Jett and Violet’s big announcement.
I deserve to be fired.
I actually deserve to be somethingmorethan just “fired”. What’s worse than being fired, I wonder? Oh, yeah: it’s finding out the love of your life just got engaged — and not to you.
That’s got to be worse thananything, really.
I drive home in a stupor and fall into bed, still fully dressed.
This has been one of the longest days of my life, and now that it’s finally over, all I want to do is curl up and die. Or, failing that, tocry.
