I hip-bump him. “Hey, Petey Piper. Congratulations.” I gently punch him on the arm. “You never said a word. If you’d asked, I’d have given you access to Bess’s engagement vision board.”
He chuckles, pretending to rub the pain away. “I’d hope you know that by now I am intimately acquainted with my woman’s desires.”
I snort. “Oh, I heard all about yourintimacy, mister.”
He glances across the room where his fiancée is chatting with guests. “I love her, Molly. I really do.”
I open my mouth to tease him, only to be interrupted by a familiar booming voice behind me.
“There he is! It’s about time!” Pete’s dad, Geoffrey, claps a hand on Pete’s shoulder. “Thought you’d never get a ring on the girl.”
A mirror, though older, image of his son, both are blond, blue-eyed, and bigmouthed. They laugh easily, smile freely, and invite everyone to enjoy their orbit.
I watch, smiling as Geoff pulls a laughing Pete in for a hug.
“Come with me,” Geoff orders, practically dragging his son with him as he strides toward the stage.
Pete sends me an apologetic look over his shoulder. I wave him off.
“Go, I’ll bring you a drink.”
“Thanks!”
I chuckle, turning back to the line. I pull out my phone while I wait, absently scrolling until I hear a familiar name whispered behind me.
“…Bradley.”
I stiffen, my finger freezing on the screen.
“Left her for Yvonne. Such a lovely girl, that Yvonne. So graceful. Her parents are Dutch, I believe. Or Polish, maybe? Either way, they come from money.”
I swallow against the bitter taste that burns my tongue. I’m not surprised to hear this, though. For the last two years, I’ve heard gossip like this every time I step foot in the sacred spaces of the upper echelon.
But damn if it doesn’t still hurt.
“Are they here?” a second person asks.
“Oh, yes. Across the room. She’s the tall brunette. A model, you know. Though I believe she’s on maternity leave now. Twins, I understand.”
I force myself to remain still, ignore the screaming voice in my head that seems determined to subject myself to what will inevitably be a morose moment soaked in sadness and anger.
Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Don’t look. Don’t do it. Don’t?—
“You know,” the hushed words brush the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “I always assumed Bess would propose to Pete.”
I jerk upright, blinking up in surprise at Joshua Greenfeld, Pete’s older brother.
“Josh! You’re back.” I raise up on tiptoe, giving him a quick hug. He’s my brother, Sam’s, best friend, and business partner. He also happens to be one of my favorite people.
Josh accepts my hug, holding me close enough that his aftershave tickles my nostril, the clean, sharp smell different to the heavy colognes most men at this party wear. With his black hair, tan skin, and his mother’s deep-mahogany-brown eyes, he’s the antithesis of his brother’s golden looks.
I step back, my gaze dropping to his navy business shirt, absently noting how it falls open at the collar. His sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, and he wears sharp black pants with perfect creases and shiny black shoes.
I relax a fraction, pleased to see that some things never changed. No matter how well-dressed, Josh remains a step too casual for most of the suit-and-tie affairs we’re invited to. It makes me feel like less of an outsider—though I’d never admit such to him.
Where Pete is smiling comfort, Josh radiates edgy tension. If he were a cliché, he’d fall into the bad boy genre. A manwho always knows who he is, what to say, and how to act—consequences be damned. He’s cultivated a bad boy persona over the years, dating numerous women, riding motorcycles, getting into all sorts of mischief—most of which has been published in gossip magazines.
But I know the truth. Josh is a good man wrapped in a bad boy shell.
