“What doesthatmean?”
“You know. ‘It’scomplicated.’”
“Oh, no. Do not throw my words back at me,” I said. “You are not getting out of thisthateasy.”
She grinned a little, kind ofpainfully.
“When did thishappen?”
“LastApril.”
“April! That was almost ayearago!”
“I’maware.”
“And you’re living together?” I couldn’t quite wrap my head around it. Zane lived in L.A., and shelivedhere.
“No. Wearenot.”
Oh.
“So you’re just…married.”
“Technically.”
“But not really…married?”
“That’saboutit.”
“Because… Zane…” I floundered, unsure how to put it. “He isn’treally…”
“He’s not husband material,” she said flatly. “You can say it. We both know it’s true. And yet, I’m the idiot who married him on a stupid fucking whim inVegas.”
“Right. And you aren’t… like… secretly anitem,then?”
“Well, every other time I see him he has some random woman wrapped around him,sono.”
“And yet… stillmarried?”
“Yup.”
I gaped at her. I couldn’t help it. This washuge. “Does anyone else knowaboutthis?”
“No one. Well, my dad and his latest arm ornament. They were there, at the fucking ceremony. Other than that… no. And we made them promise not to tell. But Jesse saw us, apparently. Coming back to the hotel in the middle of the night, me with my bouquet and all, and he put two and two together… He asked me about it about a month afterward but I just denied it like hell. Laughed in his face, actually. Told him we were just partying, that I was wasted and Zane was looking out for me, that the bouquet and the ring he saw me wearing were just gags, party favors given to Zane by some bachelorette party we ran into while we were bar-hopping. Guess he figured the whole notion of me marrying Zane was so ridiculous, when I laughed it off, he bought it… ended up apologizing to me for even asking.” She shook her head, her shoulders dropping. “God, I’m such anasshole.”
“You arenotan asshole. It’s your private business. If you don’t want anyone to know, that’s yourchoice.”
We sat there for a few minutes, drinking wine, me from my mug and Maggie straight from thebottle.
“It is pretty ridiculous, though,” I ventured, cautiously. “You. And Zane. In Vegas.” I cast her a sideways glance. “Married.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Mrs. Zane Traynor,” Imused.
Our eyes locked. I snorted a little as I tried not to laugh—which made Maggie lose it. Apparently, we were both in need of some tension relief, because once we got going, we totally fellapart.
“Hey, babe,” I said, in my best impression of Zane, “can you fetch myslippers?”
