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“Well,” I say gently, “your secret unofficial non-relationship is a very generous offer. But I think,” I continue, reaching for the door handle again, “I might prefer a man actually willing to commit to me properly.”
His hand shoots out instantly, wrapping around my wrist before I can open the door.
“You are not dating some other guy.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
The sheer seriousness in his voice nearly makes me laugh again.
“Drew, I’ve known you for, what, two weeks?”
“Don’t care.”
“Right. Well unfortunately for you, I get a say in this.” I gently pull my wrist free. “And you’re going to need a much better offer than a secret situationship.”
I hop out of the car and smooth down my outfit. I’m wearing the chocolate-brown skirt set from two seasons ago—the one Jasmine and I bought together. Hers was baby blue. I chose this outfit on purpose, hoping the matching set would remind her that we’re supposed to be best friends.
I ring the buzzer at the tall wrought-iron gate. Instead of a staff member, Wren’s voice crackles through the intercom.
“Grace,” he says, sounding about as thrilled as someone getting a parking ticket.
“Wren,” I reply with fake brightness. “Is Jasmine home?”
There’s a short pause. “One sec.”
He doesn’t come back, but the gate clicks open. I pull it with both hands—God, it’s heavy—and squeeze through before pushing it shut behind me. The long driveway stretches ahead, lined with perfectly trimmed hedges. My heels click against the stone as I walk up.
Jasmine is already waiting at the front door.
She looks…weird. She’s wearing a fitted ribbed top and tailored trousers in soft neutrals. The kind of sensible outfit her mother wears. Her mouth is pressed into a tight line, and she barely glances at me.
I follow her into one of their many formal sitting rooms. She doesn’t offer me a drink. Doesn’t even pretend to be polite.
“So,” Jasmine says, crossing her legs.“What’s going on?”
“I just wanted to check in. See how things are?”
Her expression shifts. Not quite pity, but close. “You mean the media? It’s mostly moved on,” she says carefully. “To Heidi and Max. They’ve played it perfectly. Very sympathetic. There’s even a hashtag. The world loves them now.”
“No, I meant with you,” I say. “But what the hell?”
“I know,” she says. “But you know Max. He does that little charming thing and everyone just…falls for it.”
A bitter taste fills my mouth. Of course they do. That slimy idiot could charm his way out of anything.
Jasmine leans forward, and I can tell I’m not going to like what she’s about to say.
“Wren and I have been talking,” she starts. “His family is going to be at the wedding. I’ve been meaning to call...”
“What is it?” I ask.
“I think it’s better if you’re not my maid of honor anymore,” Jasmine says softly. “And maybe…if you don’t come to the wedding at all.”
For a second I can only stare at her. The girl I’ve known since we were six, trading friendship bracelets and sleeping in the same bed during sleepovers. Now she’s willing to throw me away to keep her fiancé happy.
“So you’re just going to let him decide who you’re allowed to be friends with?” My voice is sharp with disbelief. “If a man tried to tell me who I could see, I’d smack him across the head.”
