"Not so much."
"I guess we're not meant to be."
I force a smile. She's trying to cheer me up. And not even in an obnoxious way. In a gentle way.
She's actually… not the worst.
I move into the tiny space. Shift out of my boots, socks, jeans, sweater, top, bra.
I pull the bodysuit on, over my panty.
My hands go to my phone reflexively. I snap a picture. Pull up my messages with Cam.
Remember, we agreed this is over.
I should do the smart thing and put my phone away.
But I don't.
I hit send.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Sienna
Fuck.
I change into my clothes and bring the lingerie to the counter.
Yes, I'm going to buy it. Sure it's way too expensive, but, hey, I'm buying it for me.
I'm taking pictures for me.
Not for Cam.
Especially not when I didn't warn him first. I mean, technically, I'm not naked, but still.
I grab my cell. Try to find a reply.
Sienna: Sorry. Meant to warn you first. Finding a wedding present for my sister. Thought I might buy something for myself too and wanted your thoughts. Take care.
Right. That's a normal thing to send to Cam.
My ex-lover?
Ex-boyfriend?
Man, I have to pretend I don't want because he's my future brother-in-law's business partner.
I shove my cell into my pocket.
It buzzes with a reply. His reply.
Is he going to tell me he's so hard from the sight of my lace-covered tits he wants me to come to his hotel room for one last time?
Or is he going to tell me to stop?
Or threaten to cut me off completely if I do this again?
Thankfully, Eve decided to try on some piece of lingerie. She's still in the dressing room.
I find my coffee—it's on the display ledge in front—and take greedy sips.
She emerges, fully dressed, holding a teal and black bra and panty set (obviously for her) and a mesh black one piece. "You think Indie will like this one?"
"Will Ian wear a fuchsia tie to match your hair?"
"Are we that bad?"
I try to smile and laugh, like I'm teasing her and not dreading the message on my phone.
Whatever it says, the situation stays the same.
We can't do this.
"You're way worse," I say.
She laughs, but it's short-lived. She can tell I'm upset.
And I don't want her telling I'm upset. We're not friends yet. "I should really get going. I have soccer practice."
"You're going back to NYU?"
No.
"Wherever you're going, I'll ride with you. I'm heading back home, so it's on the way."
I'm not sure NYU is really on the way to her apartment, but I'm going home anyway.
Maybe I'll skip practice. I can't break down in front of my teammates.
But I can't stomach the thought of an entire night without the distraction of running fast and working hard.
I have to see Cam soon.
At dinner Friday.
Then at the wedding.
After that, who knows?
"Give me five," Eve says. "Then we'll go."
I bite my lip.
"On me." She moves to the counter. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to."
"Okay."
She offers that same soft smile. The gentle one that screams I know you; I need to handle you with kid gloves.
But it's not like I can object. I'm pretty sure I'm going to crack at the seams.
I move outside. Finish my drink. Toss it in the nearest trashcan.
Eve emerges with a wrapped gift box. Black with a deep purple bow. Not at all bridal. Very much my sister.
The reason why I need to get the fuck over this.
Whatever Cam says, I need to reply with something sensible. No, or I can't, or oops, I meant to send that to the captain of the guy's soccer team.
What is it people say? Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind. Maybe I need to be cruel. Or maybe I need to make him jealous, so he comes to his senses.
"Where are you headed?" she asks without implication.
But I still feel an accusation. You're trying to get away to see Cam, aren't you? "Home. I have to study before practice."
"I'll call a car. Ride with you."
"Isn't your school uptown?"
"I took the afternoon off."
"Are you missing class?"
"One." She pulls out her cell and summons a rideshare. "Five minutes."
Right. Five minutes. Then, what, ten minutes to the Financial District? Too much time with my thoughts. Too much time keeping a poker face.
She doesn't push. Or ask for details. Or do anything but make wedding small talk. Something about my dress. She doesn't want to upstage me or Indie and she's afraid her dress is too dramatic.
The car comes. We keep talking about the wedding. I try to describe my dress, but I can't even remember the color at the moment.
My head is a mess.
Eve lets the quiet fall. Once we cross Houston, we ride in silence. I expect the short drive to feel awkward, but it doesn't. It passes in a blink and then we're at my apartment building.