: Chapter 13

“You look amazing!” I say, once Emily lets me out of her bear hug. “How was Italy?”

“It was gorgeous—totally bellissima! The weather, the history, the food …”

“The husband?”

She giggles and blushes slightly, which is a new and fun look for Emily. She’s always come across as a confident and experienced woman of the world, and it’s so sweet to see that talking about Tucker makes her behave like a teenager. “Yeah, the husband part was pretty good too. I’m just so … So happy! I knew I wanted to marry him, I knew I loved him, but I didn’t expect it all to feel so damn different, you know? The way I feel when he looks at me, the way he looks at me. The simple stuff—the little gestures and the way he holds my hand. Him introducing me as his wife, sharing my life with him. It’s all pretty mind-blowing to be honest.”

She leans back against my kitchen counter, positively glowing with her new tan and her joy.

“Aw,” I say, uncorking the bottle of wine she brought with her. “That is so great. I really love this for you.”

“I know, right? Who knew that being in love and getting married could actually make me this happy? I thought I was a career girl all the way.”

“Well, you don’t have to be one or the other,” I reply as we take our glasses over to the couch. My apartment is tiny, and I appreciate that she made the effort to come here rather than inviting me over to her and Tucker’s much swankier place in Chelsea. As she said on the phone, though, how could we possibly discuss how awesome he is in front of him?

They were in Italy for a week, and this is the first time we’ve met up with each other in the flesh since the wedding. She sent me tons of pictures from their time in Tuscany and Rome, and I almost feel like I was there with her.

But nothing compares to this, sitting on the couch with my bestie and sipping the gorgeous Chianti she brought back with her. We talk about everything and nothing, falling into the familiar pattern that we’ve followed since we first met. It never seems to matter how much time we spend apart; we always pick up exactly where we left off. Emily once moved to Zurich for a year as part of her job, and as soon as she got home, we were back to doing exactly this—gossiping like we were never apart.

Emily and I have always told each other everything, and she’s been the best friend I ever could have asked for. She didn’t judge me when I decided to focus on supporting Chad in his career rather than building my own or when I found out he was cheating. Not once have I received anything other than support and love from this woman, not even the hint of an “I told you so” when I was forced to rebuild my entire life from scratch. I have never had any reason to doubt her.

So why do I feel ever-so-slightly nervous as our conversation moves away from the glories of Italy and onto the less glamorous subject of my life?

“How’s your mom?” she asks. “I know you’ve been worried about her.” Emily has known my mom for years now, and they adore each other.

Looking back, I’m still blown away by how gracious Emily was when we met. She grew up in New York too, but it was a very different New York from the one I knew. Her father is a retired supreme court justice, her mom an heiress to an art auction dynasty. Whenever we came home to visit during college, Emily would come to stay with us in Brooklyn as often as I stayed with her in their family’s townhouse near the Met. She never seemed thrown by the differences in our backgrounds, never looked down her nose at our tiny house in a working-class neighborhood despite our very different lives. None of that stuff really matters anyway because, at heart, Emily and I are like sisters.

“She’s doing okay.” I lift my hand, crossing my fingers. “Holding her own, at least. She’s still not leaving the house much, which bothers me. You know how active she used to be. She always loved going to the movies, so I’ve been trying to talk her into going to see one with me, but no dice.”

“I remember. A giant screen with a tub of popcorn was her happy place. What’s the issue, do you think?”

“Well, she’s obviously not great physically, but I think it’s mental as well. She’s nervous about being out of the house when her breathing is so poor and unpredictable. There are new meds on the market now, new portable devices that might help, and we’re meeting with her doctor soon to discuss what’s covered on the new insurance.”

Emily sips her wine and gives me a look I’ve seen a million times before. “I know, I know!” I hold up my hands, laughing. “I only need to ask. Kimmy’s said the same, and believe me, I’m grateful. But getting Edith to accept financial help from you guys? That’s not going to happen. I’ve considered simply not telling her and bleeding you both dry, and I definitely would have if the new job hadn’t worked out, but it has—hurrah for me. I’m finally useful.”

“Don’t you dare say something like that,” she responds, pointing her finger at me and looking genuinely annoyed.

“What, I’m not finally useful?”

“You know what I mean, Amelia. I’ve never weighed in on Chad, at least not out loud. He was your husband and it was your life, and I respected that—but please don’t lose sight of the fact that you were always useful. You supported him when he was looking for work and doing his endless internships. You paid the bills without complaint. Even when things were going better for him, you were useful—you kept everything running smoothly in his life, you were always like his unpaid PA. Plus, you were always there for your mom, you volunteered at the hospital, and you were the best friend ever. I never want to hear you describe yourself as ‘not useful’ ever again, you hear me, woman?”

Tears sting my eyes, but I nod gratefully. I might have bombed on the husband front, but I definitely won the friend lottery.

“Good,” she says firmly. “Now, is there any gossip from the wedding after we left? A few people posted on Insta afterward, and I caught a glimpse of you dancing with an extremely good-looking guy. Where did he come from? Planet Sex God? Please tell me you didn’t waste him.”

It’s not too big of a surprise that she wouldn’t know every single wedding guest. He was probably Tucker’s guest, anyway. But I also now remember the name tag he had—Charlie. It was only later, much later, that he told me his real name. “Oh. Right. Well, that’s a funny story …”

I’m still not sure if I should tell her, because it’s not only my secret to share, is it? Drake’s done me a favor by being willing to sweep everything under the rug and letting me keep the job I so desperately need. But this is Emily. She’s kept all my secrets and would never betray me. I feel uncomfortable telling her, but I’d feel even more uncomfortable hiding it from her.

“Okay. Let’s hear it,” she says, topping up our glasses.

“I’ll tell you, but it’s classified, okay?”

“Classified as in ‘you can tell one other person,’ or classified as in one hundred percent Nasty Death Accident?”

That was our silly girl code when we were younger, a riff on the legal term—nondisclosure agreement. It means complete confidentiality. “Very much NDA.”

Her pretty blue eyes widen, and she makes a zipping up her lips gesture. I sigh and gulp down half a glass of Tuscany’s finest Chianti in one go. The good stuff is wasted on me.

“The guy I was dancing with was someone I met at your wedding. I assume you didn’t recognize him?”

“Well, it wasn’t a great shot, and he did look familiar, but I couldn’t put a name to the face. Or the ass, which was especially fine, I thought.”

“I thought you only had eyes for Tucker’s ass?”

“No, I only have hands for Tucker’s ass. My eyes are still free agents. So, who was he?”

I have no idea if the name will mean anything to her. I still have no clue whether he was an actual wedding guest. Just because he pretended to be Charlie doesn’t mean he was a gate-crasher. I pretended to be Scarlet, and I was the damn maid of honor.

“He was, and in fact still is, Drake James.”

“Wait,” she says, blinking in confusion. “Drake James as in James and James, the place where you work? As in Nathan James’s brother, Dalton James’s son, and Amber James’s brother-in-law?”

“I have no idea about the last two, but it’s a definite yes to the first. Do you know him? Did you invite him to the wedding?”

“Nope, sorry sweetie. I kinda know Amber, in a charity committee–lunch kind of way. She’s married to the oldest brother, Elijah. And I’m sure I’ve been at functions at the same time as him. But no, he wasn’t invited as far as I know. I mean, I’m not worried about that—he’s not the kind of guy you’d object to turning up. It’s not like he was going to steal the silver. It’s odd, but in more of a funny-anecdote way than a call-the-cops way. Why is this an NDA, babes? What else happened?”

I bury my face in my hands and don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Am I pissed at him for lying about being a wedding guest? No, I’m not. He never actually said he was. In fact, he told me he was only pretending to be Charlie. I don’t feel like he was being malicious. I do, however, feel completely bewildered. When I emerge from my hand cave, my cheeks are on fire, and the look on Emily’s face pushes me over the edge into laughter.

“No!” she exclaims, her eyes huge. “You didn’t? Did you? Drake fucking James? At my wedding? Oh my god, Amelia. I couldn’t be more proud. Tell me everything, right now. No, wait—we need more wine. This is definitely a two-bottle conversation.” She pulls out her phone and within seconds has ordered pizza and extra booze to be delivered. Looks like we’re having a party.

“Right. Go,” she instructs. “Leave out nothing. I’m a boring married woman now. I have to live vicariously through my girl friends’ sex lives.”

“That’s not true—I can tell from the way you’re glowing. You’re getting plenty of first-class bedroom action.”

“Okay, I am. But still … Spill it.”

It feels so good to talk to her about all of this and to laugh about it. She’s not only my friend, she’s also a creature from Drake’s world. She bridges the gap between us.

“Well, I didn’t …” I clear my throat and continue. “We didn’t you-know-what, actually at your wedding. We danced and talked, and then we went back to his hotel. He lives in the penthouse at the Grand Regent.” Emily doesn’t even blink an eye at this, which kind of proves my point about the world she comes from.

“And?” she asks, making a get-on-with-it gesture with her hands. “That can’t be all I get. What happened?”

“Everything happened. Nudity happened. Kissing happened. Orgasms happened. Absolutely mind-blowingly awesome sex happened. The best I’ve ever had. It was … pretty freaking amazing.”

We both giggle, and for a moment it feels like we’re eighteen again, lying awake in our dorm room and talking about boys. Or in my case, just the one boy. “I’ve always found the James brothers insanely hot,” she says, draining the last of her red and staring at the empty glass in disappointment. “Every single one of ’em. Heck, even the dad is hot. One of my sister’s friends had a fling with Nathan years ago, but that isn’t saying much—a lot of people had a fling with Nathan before he settled down. Drake, though? From what I hear, he’s always been a bit of a mystery. More of an enigma, living away and all. He was with someone years ago—one of the Gallagher girls, I think. Maybe Mimi or Tiffy …”

“Mimi? Tiffy? Are they actual women or characters in a fifties sitcom?”

“Don’t judge—they can’t help it if they’re the waspiest wasps in the waspdom. It was Tiffy, I think. Yeah. They were, like, pre-engaged, you know? Then after the mom died, there was some drama and they split. Later, he disappeared off to Chicago, and that’s pretty much when my gossip ends. Wow. I just can’t believe it. Drake James, hot damn. How have things been at work? Does your new boss know that you screwed his brother?”

“Ah. Well … So. That’s the thing.” You’d think I would have come to grips with the situation by now, but the absurdity of it all continues to blow my mind. “As it turns out, Nathan isn’t my new boss. Drake is.”

She looks suitably horrified, and her hand flies up to cover her mouth as she gapes at me. “What? Noooooo! And you had no idea?”

“Not a clue. He was just this cute guy I met at a wedding. My first and only one-night stand. You can imagine my shock when I rolled up for work on Monday and there he was, still hot as sin, staring at me like I had two heads.”

Emily makes sympathetic noise and asks a flurry of questions about what happened next. I tell her all about my fear that they would fire me and the deal Drake and I made to erase all memories of that night from our minds.

“But is that working?” she asks after checking her phone and telling me pizza is fifteen minutes away. “I mean, if your night together was as vagina-melting as you say it was, can you just forget all about it?”

“Well, it’s been over a week now, and neither of us has mentioned it at all. But truthfully, Em, no, it’s not working. At least not for me. Every time I see him, my vagina does indeed melt, and it reminds me of exactly what it’s missing. But I just have to keep trying even harder to ignore it, because I can’t risk everything by listening to my vagina. This job and my mom’s health are a lot more important to me than sex.”

“Even spectacularly good sex?”

“Even that. I don’t ever want to be dependent on a man again, Emily. Not after what happened with Chad. I worked hard to get back into the working world, and this job was a real break for me. I’m not going to mess it up just because the man is …”

“Irresistible?”

“No. I’m going to resist him, I swear. No matter how hard that is sometimes.”

She looks at me with a perplexed expression on her face and shakes her head. “What?” I ask. “Are you horrified?”

“Well, I’m a bit horrified on your behalf at how it all worked out for you, but mainly I’m just … surprised, I think? You, Amelia Ryder, having a one-night stand. Talking about sex like you finally understand what all the fuss is about. You’re kind of lit up from the inside. It’s like a completely different version of you than the one I know.”

I suppose Emily’s right—I am different around him. I’ve felt different since meeting him.

Different in a way that makes everything better, in a way that makes me better. No matter the awkwardness of the whole Drake situation, I will always be one hundred percent grateful that our night together happened. It might have meant little to him, but it’s already changed me in ways he can’t imagine.