Page 104 of Forgotten Comeback
We hug, and my friend tells the guard, “She’s good.”
“Gifts stay outside,” he tells me, pointing to a cart.
No clue why, but I do as I’m told, retrieving my purse before I follow Kat inside the party. “I still can’t get over this beach house,” I say in awe. “No wonder you were MIA.”
Kat shrugs. “Told you I was dealing with family stuff.”
“By family stuff, you mean sneaking off and marrying the boss of AC.” I lift an eyebrow.
“Fabio’s a restaurateur,” Kat corrects me.
“It’s alright; you’re part of this world now, and I’m not. I get it,” I say quietly.
“Hey, you’ll always be part ofmyworld.” She bumps shoulders with me.
“Isn’t that a song from a princess movie?” I joke.
“It’s my party, so I’ll have you know I am a princess today,” she informs me primly. “How’s my condo working out for you?”
“It’s perfect; thanks again for letting me crash until I find a new place.” The lie slides off my tongue with unease.
“Of course; whatever you need,” Kat tells me.
“Not a thing. I didn’t even realize I had renter’s insurance, so that money coming through was a nice surprise.” I test the water to see if she knew about the checkandthe threat that came with it.
“That’s awesome,” Kat says, genuinely excited, and I feel guilty that I no longer trust her.
“Wait, did you get a new ring?” I change the subject. “Lemmie see.” Snatching my friend’s hand, I examine the unusual brown and yellow stone. “Your hubby went the non-traditional route.”
She beams, holding up her hand and admiring the ring. “We’re a non-traditional couple.”
“Bottle up and sell some of your newlywed bliss to me, please,” I joke.
“I’ll cut you a friends and family discount,” she assures me.
Family.
That offer does nothing to assure me.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Kat asks.
“Oh, we broke up,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry,” she says apologetically.
“Eh.” I lift my shoulder. “Easy come, easy go. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“I was full of shit,” Kat admits.
I snort a laugh. “Trust me, I knew.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“That you were falling hard for a ‘restaurateur?’ Yes.”
She chuckles. “Hey, there are a few single men here?—-”
“Nope. Gonna take a break from both teams.” Another lie slips off my tongue. “I need to figure out my life.” Now that is the damn truth. “Preferably over mimosas; I’ll pick you up Sunday at ten,” I say, wanting desperately for things to be easy between us again.
