“If you can stand her, I’m fucked.” He chuckles at my words as I pull my hand out of the hole I made in the drywall.
Lucas grabs a bottle of bourbon and pours it over my busted-up knuckles.
“You should tell her… and soon.”
“Keir can do it.”
“You should,” Lucas insists. “She’s fiery, that one. So be warned.” He puts the bottle to his lips and walks off, leaving me standing there with a bloody hand and a fucked-up mind.
FOUR
ADORA
One friend. I have one friend, and that friend is not by choice. But regardless, I love my friend so much.
The problem? I haven’t told him anything about who I am. And I really, really need to talk to someone.
“Nope, nope, NOPE. Why on earth are you wearing that?” His eyes assess me and the glare he’s giving me tells me everything I need to know about my wardrobe choice.
Troy loves fashion and hates it when I don’t dress to impress. If he could dress me every day, he would. Without a doubt.
“It’s Prada,” I say, looking down at my shirt.
“It’s nada,” he coldly replies, shaking his head as he sits opposite me. “So, why the urgent meeting? You didn’t actually fall in love and plan to get married, did you?”
Ding-dong! He may think he’s joking, but how right is he?
“I am getting married,” I tell him honestly.
“Of course, you are, sweetie. One day soon, when you meet either the perfect man or woman who can keep your interest longer than a one-night stand.” He laughs.
“Hey, I slept with Jo twice.”
“That’s because the second time you were drunk.”
“Fine, whatever,” I say with an eye roll. “But, Troy…” I bite my lip. “I’m not joking.”
“What about, Jo?” he asks.
He’s either confused or not really listening—you never know with Troy. He’s dressed in a suit with garter belts and bright pink boots. His hair is neatly styled, and his lips shine bright red with lipstick. He looks fabulous. His style is one of the reasons I first spoke to him. I couldn’t keep my eyes off him. I’m sure he gets that a lot—actually, I know he does—but I had to approach him and tell him how amazing his style is. His eyes flicked me over, and he said simply, “I know.” And ever since then, he’s been my best friend. My only friend, really.
“Remember how I told you I came here to escape?” I clutch the coffee in my hand almost to the point of crushing the cup. “Well, no more escaping for me now.”
“Has this got something to do with that man who invested in your bookstore? Because we all know Lucas Rossi is bad news. All the Rossis are, honey.”
“Yeah, about that—”
“What?”
“I’m meant to be marrying Joey Rossi,” I tell him.
He doesn’t speak at first, just sits there silently staring at me with his eyebrows crushed together so much they form a single line across his forehead. I think for a moment I might have broken him with my bombshell piece of information.
When he’s finally able to respond, he says, “You didn’t tell me you were dating. Why would you hide that from me?”
“I saw him yesterday. I haven’t seen him since I was ten,” I tell him, taking a deep, centering breath. His brows scrunch even further if that’s possible as he tries to put it all together in his head. He can’t. Believe me, even I can’t.
“You’re serious,” he says, his disbelief evident in his tone.