Page 150 of The Plus One Pact

She refused to help him with the exact shade, too. Said she'd rather they blend in a beautiful harmony of hues. Or some woo-woo bullshit like that.

He barely had time to buy four different purple ties. He was too busy going over my numbers. Trying to figure out how we could maximize Sasha’s and my business by increasing our employees.

I tried to explain it to him—that would make him a pimp—but he didn't quite grasp the implications.

My brother, the naive one.

It's a strange feeling. One I want to share with Ivy. But she's not here.

She ran. She didn't run back.

I know, I could reach out. I could talk to her, tell her I understand. And I will. I'll say something, at some point. I'm just not sure what or when.

My head is still fuzzy.

Damn, I wish she was here. I miss her in this way I don’t recognize. A way I haven’t felt before.

Is that love? This gaping hole when you lose someone?

No wonder I have so many clients asking me to pretend to love them, on their terms.

Watching the person you love walk away is miserable.

I try to shake off my funk, to focus on my brother’s wedding, but the weight of it remains. A heaviness in my chest. A crushing sense of emptiness.

All these feelings I’ve ran from, for my entire life.

"It brings out the honey in your eyes," I say, dragging myself back into the here and now.

"Is it close to her dress?" he asks.

I mime zipping my lips. It's too fun playing with him. After all, how often does your older brother get married?

How often does he need your wisdom to do it?

"Rome," he stresses.

"She'll like it."

"Will it match?"

"Yes." I motion to the tie that's a little more vibrant. "But that one will look better."

"Thank you." He switches ties and checks his reflection in the mirror again.

We're in his old bedroom. It's a small space for both of us, and it's strange, being here before his wedding. Like we're getting ready for Prom.

Not that we ever went to a dance together. No, the only time we ever attended an event together was when Cynthia begged me to make it a group thing, so she'd get the chance to dance with Daniel.

But he spent the entire time acting as chaperone to all my younger friends.

He perfects the tie, smooths his suit, checks himself out in the mirror again.

"You look good," I say. "Like a groom."

"I do, don't I?"

"Don't let it go to your head."