Chapter 48
Orla
Girls Group Chat
Me:
Girls, are you both in London? We need to talk.
Gwen:
Yeah, I’m here… this doesn’t sound good.
Kate:
Same. Is this a coffee at my house chat or a wine and tissues chat?
Me:
Dog & Duck at six. I’ll explain then.
By the time six p.m. rolled around, I’d rehearsed the conversation in my head a thousand times and still felt like I was heading into a witness interrogation. There was no version of it that didn’t sound ridiculous out loud.
There were only a couple of other tables full at the Dog & Duck when I slid into a booth, a bottle of wine I’d orderedahead of their arrival breathing on the table. My stomach lodged somewhere near my throat. When Gwen and Kate arrived together, their matching looks of concern told me they’d spent the walk over speculating on which disaster I’d landed myself in.
They sat down, eyes fixed on me like they were about to take part in a hostage negotiation.
“Right then,” Gwen said briskly, arms crossing like she was leading said interrogation. “Hit us. Whose arse are we kicking?”
“What? No one’s arse!” I laughed all too fast and weirdly defensive.
“Then what?” Kate asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Jesus, can we not enjoy a drink first?” I croaked nervously, reaching for the bottle, but Gwen’s hand slapped it back down.
“Not touching a drop until you spill.”
I groaned. “Fine.”
My veins started recoiling. I took a deep breath. I just had to spit it out. Rip off the plaster so to speak. “You know Tyler and I didn’t come straight back after the Open?”
Kate frowned. “I assumed you just stayed in New York a few more days?”
“Well…not exactly…”
Gwen’s brows furrowed hard. “Where, then?”
“We…uh…went to Vegas.” My throat was drier than the Sahara Desert at this point.
Kate dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, God. If Vegas is involved, it’s not going to be subtle.”
Gwen leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “Don’t tell me you…”
“I kind of…might have… possibly married Tyler Reed.”
The table shook as Gwen slapped her palms down hard enough to rattle the glasses. “OH MY FUCKING GOD.”
That earned a few concerned looks from the other patrons. Kate peeked at me between her fingers. “Please tell me this is ametaphor. Like, you ‘married’ him in a fun, non-legally-binding, Elvis impersonator kind of way.”
