Always the Last to Know by Kristan Higgins Page 0,100
been seeing Toni for four years, Paige for three.”
“And me for two.”
“Yes.”
“So I’m the other woman?”
“No, no. Well . . . yes, I guess so. I don’t see it that way.”
“How do they see it?”
“They don’t know about you. Why would I tell them, right? When I’m in San Diego, I see Toni. When I’m down south, I see Paige. But mostly, there’s you, babe.”
“Do not call me babe. Ever again.”
“Listen, Sadie. You’re my favorite,” he said, leaning forward with a smile.
“I proposed to you,” I hissed.
“And when I get married, you’ll probably be my first choice. You know. When I’m ready.”
Jesus. I stood up and threw my napkin on the table. “I’ll send you the bill for my STD panel,” I said loudly. “Make sure you leave Luciano a thirty percent tip. And I’m keeping this necklace.” I looked down at the table. “And these little donuts.”
* * *
— —
Luciano patted my hand and waited for the cab with me, as I was busy crying (and eating the bomboloni), the shock of what I’d learned settling in.
Shit. It was so obvious now. The three days in San Diego turning into five. The many times North Carolina had thunderstorms that shut down the airport (not that I bothered to check the Weather Channel, because I was trusting and an idiot). The “turned-off” phone. All those yacht emergencies. How tired he could be after coming home from schmoozing and screwing his other girlfriends. The holiday weekends when he was traveling, or visiting his “mother.” The truth was, he was probably taking Paige or Toni on lovely weekend getaways, same as he’d done for me.
I’d have to find them through his Facebook page or Instagram and tell them.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I went to Carter’s apartment and spilled. He made the appropriate noises, cursed occasionally, ate my remaining donuts and made me drink water.
“I know it’s too soon to say this, honey, but you’re better off without him,” he said as I hiccuped and clutched his aging, obese cat to my chest. “Now go to bed. Uncle Carter’s giving you some Motrin and water, and don’t even think about puking in the guest room. Janice just redid it. I’ll make you a nice big breakfast in the morning, okay?”
“How’s Josh?” I asked, remembering that my friend was happy, and we talked about how Sister Mary had invited the guys over for dinner and told them to get married and not live together first.
Good. There was love in the world, even if I was a jerk.
I got in my pajamas, washed my face and brushed my teeth, avoiding my reflection in the mirror, and got into the wonderfully soft bed.
As I lay there, slightly drunk, tears leaking into the pillow, feeling as dumb as I’d ever felt, I had two overwhelming thoughts.
The first was that I missed my dad so, so much. That he would’ve known more than anyone how to make me feel better about this—less ridiculous, less like the younger, stupid Frost daughter.
The second was that Noah wouldn’t have cheated on me with a gun to the back of his head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Juliet
On Wednesday, Kathy stopped by Juliet’s office, her gossip face on—eyes sliding from the left to the right, eyebrow raised (lucky . . . Juliet’s were still frozen). She came in and closed the door. “Guess who was just named project manager on the school Beyoncé is building in Houston?”
“What Beyoncé school?” This was the first Juliet had heard of it.
Kathy sat down, looking too pleased with herself. “Yeah. Her.”
“Arwen?”
“Who else?”
Anyone else, that’s who. Matt, who was nine years senior to Arwen. Elena, who was six. Brett and Christopher, four.
“Are you going to talk to Dave?” Kathy asked, running a hand through her bright red hair.
“Are you?”
“No. Of course not. It’s not like I could be PM, though I’m definitely hoping to be on the interior team. Maybe meet Queen Bey.”
Juliet was very sure Kathy was too old and white to be using that nickname. She glanced out the window, her stomach clenching with nerves. “Did you know we were pitching Beyoncé?”
“Arwen mentioned it. It’s really Beyoncé’s foundation. Her PR team asked us to keep it a secret till ground is broken.”
Beyoncé. Jesus. And Kathy knew, but hadn’t said a word till now.
“Well. I have work to do, Kathy.”
“I’m sure you do.”
What did that mean? She and Kathy used to be friends, but Kathy had always been the office gossip. Juliet felt she’d been immune to that.