“Mine too. And my feet hurt.”
My twin sister, sheathed in a navy blue strapless dress, stands with me in the back corner of the room. “At least we’re at the point where they’re drinking enough to want to talk to themselves and not us.”
“Excellent point,” I laugh.
“Who has an excellent point?”
We look over to see Mallory and Ellie headed our way. Ellie’s stomach is just starting to be noticeably more round than usual, but only if you’re looking for it.
“Ellie, you are beyond adorable,” I say.
“She is, isn’t she?” Mallory adds.
“Trust me, this doesn’t feel adorable,” she groans, her hand resting on her belly. “I’ve been sick for weeks straight. I’m over it. Can I have this baby yet?”
We laugh as she slumps into a chair and looks at us in defeat. “I’m not kidding, guys. I’m exhausted.”
“Just sit there and I’ll grab you some water. Okay?” Sienna asks.
Ellie looks grateful and Sienna takes that for a yes and disappears into the crowd. I feel Mallory’s eyes on me.
“What?” I ask, giving her a look.
“I just want to say I’m thrilled you and Graham made up,” she says. “He was this close to being thrown out of his own house.”
“You should’ve. He deserved it,” I huff. “But he acted like a man today and apologized, so I forgave him.”
She pulls her brows together. “You know why he apologized, right?”
“Don’t tell me you made him.”
“No, not me.” She flashes me a mischievous grin. “Dominic.”
“What?” I gasp. “What are you talking about?”
“Dominic called Graham.”
“When?”
“This morning. Graham let the cat out of the bag on the way over.”
“Oh, my God,” I breathe, only imagining that conversation. “Did he give you details?”
“No. Just that Dominic made some valid points and . . . I think he made an impression on your brother, Cam.”
Burying my face in my hands, not even bothering to worry my make-up will smudge, I wonder just what transpired and why no one bothered to tell me. “You know,” I say, dropping my hands, “Graham just went off. I’ve never seen him that mad and I get why. I do. But it was still so . . . weird.”
“He’s been that way recently,” she says, her voice dropping. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him. He’s rash, temperamental, not the Graham I know. I’m worried about him.”
“You have no idea what’s wrong?”
“None.” She looks down, inspecting her perfect manicure. “Maybe he’s trying to figure a way out.”
“Out of what? A business deal?”
“Me.”
The one-word answer is enough to have me reaching for her.