“You started it with the fishy comment.”
I laughed despite myself. “One day I’m going to find out what actually happened. “Do you know I wrote in that journal that I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to be your maid of honor or Jack’s best man? I had this whole elaborate plan where you’d get married and I could be both. Wear half a bridesmaid dress, half a tux. Very avant-garde.”
Pauline’s mouth twitched. “That sounds like a fashion disaster.”
“It was going to be iconic. And now you two act like the other has a contagious disease.”
“We don’t act like that.”
“You literally left my birthday party early last year because Jack showed up.”
“I had plans.”
“You were already there for three hours, Pauly. The party had just started.”
“Look, your brother and I are just very different people who are better off in separate corners of the universe. Preferably corners that are galaxies apart,” she said.
“He’s not that bad.” I felt the need to defend him. I knew that whatever happened with Pauline and Jack shouldn’t be any of my business. But with this disease looming over me, I felt like I had to ensure that everyone’s set when I leave them.
“I’m not saying he’s bad—” She stopped and took a breath. “That’s the one thing I absolutely cannot do for you, my dearest friend. I would do almost anything for you, but marrying Jack Specter is where I draw a hard line. Like, ‘absolutely not, never happening, don’t even joke about it’ level hard line.”
I sighed in surrender, turning to the mirror again.
The lipstick transformed everything—made me look older, bolder, dangerous. Like someone who made decisions and didn’t apologize for them.
“Holy shit,” I whispered.
“Right?” Pauline beamed, back to her normal self or at least pretending to be. “You look like you’re about to break some hearts.”
“I look like I’m about to commit a crime.”
She grabbed her purse. “Come on. Let’s go be irresponsible.”
I wanted to push harder about Jack. Wanted to understand what had put that flash of pain in her expression. But she was already heading for the door, and maybe some things were better left alone.
At least for tonight.
Caesars Palace was overwhelming in the best possible way. All marble columns and Roman statues, gold everywhere, slot machines chiming like a symphony of chaos. The carpet was designed to confuse you, making it impossible to tell how far you’d walked or how long you’d been there. The air smelled like cigarette smoke and expensive cologne.
I fed quarters into a slot machine and lost immediately.
“You’re terrible at this,” Pauline said, appearing with two drinks. Something pink and fruity that looked dangerous.
“I’m aware.”
“How much have you lost?”
“I don’t want to calculate it.”
“That bad?”
“That bad.”
I was about to try a different machine when a guy appeared next to me. Mid-twenties, button-down shirt open one button too many, cologne applied with enthusiasm.
“Hey,” he said, leaning against my machine. “You ladies need any help? I’m pretty good at these.”
“We’re good,” I said.
