“What, um… What photo are you…” I clear my throat. I need another glass of wine. Maybe just shots of vodka.
“Oh,you know,” Maya’s mom says then coyly flashes the phone at me.
There’s Graham’s junk, displayed for everyone.
Fuck.
Just…fuck.
“I’m just going to get a drink. Does anyone want anything?”
“Actually, I was supposed to get Colette something,” Maya calls after me.
“On it.” I almost collide with Piper.
“I thought you were just going to show it to Colette’s cousin?” I hiss. “That photo!”
“I didn’t show it to anyone! You said Graham didn’t want it passed around,” she promises.
“It’s all over the party!” I shriek.
“Vivienne must have taken a photo of the photo before I tore it up.” She shakes her head. “Too late now. You know that photo’s all over the Upper East Side.”
“Oh my God,” I moan. “Graham’s going to dump me when he figures out the photo’s been spread around. Oh my God, this is awful.”
I see Graham—a head taller than the rest of the guests—searching around the ballroom. He looks angry. He knows about the picture.
“Oh crap.” I rush to the bathroom. Not the main one. I helped plan this party, so I know about the one down the hall near the gardens that no one’s going to use because it’s cold—but that Colette insisted we set up with ice sculptures anyway.
The bathroom is thankfully empty, and I lean over the marble counter, hyperventilating. The light from the sconce is dull and yellow. The air is perfumed with flowers.
“Why did I drink so much?”
Also, what was I thinking with that photo? Graham’s going to kill me. Actually, no, worse, he’s going to break up with me.
“Your relationship is not real,” I remind my reflection.
But it’s too late. I’m already falling for him.
It’s addictive, being that special someone for a man like Graham. Lost in the fantasy that I’m special, that I’m the one he wants—the only one. That all the girls I went to private school with are finally envious of me.Me! Dani!
The door opens, and I straighten up hurriedly.
“Kraig!” I yelp when the man steps in and shoves the door closed behind him. “What… um… I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Was invited.”
There’s an awkward pause.
“Well, welcome.” I clasp my hands.
“You’re not seriously going to believe that shit, are you?”
“The what?”
“That Graham Richmond”—he spits out the name—“actually loves you. That he wants a future with you. I heard them all inthere talking about how your marriage was next, how Graham’s gonna blow ten million dollars on a wedding with you.”
“I don’t think that’s entirely accurate,” I mumble, but Kraig keeps talking over me.
