Page 78

I gestured toward the ceiling. “Is it not Post Malone?”
“It is. He released a country album.”
I leaned forward until my chest pressed against the edge of the table. “No kidding?”
She shook her head a little, picking up a pickle. “This is my fault for boozing you up, I guess.”
“You wanna know whatI’mupset about?” I asked Paige, all but slamming my elbow onto the table to leverage it as I pointed at her. Her figure swayed in the booth—or was itmeswaying?—but I refused to even blink my narrowed eyes. “Aaron Astor.”
Paige’s eyes widened. “Me too!”
“He was supposed to stick with Fiona.” I punctuated the last three words by jamming my finger against the tabletop. “Fiona and him?Perfect. I mean, gross. Actually, they’re all wrong for each other—but she’s better for him than Caroline! He went on a date withCaroline? Like, what’sthatabout?”
I could still see them in my mind’s eye, but instead of the vision being blurred by the alcohol, I swear it was almostclearer. Aaron stretching his arm out, Caroline looping hers through it, and their joined figures stepping onto the elevator together like some nauseating rom-com couple.
“Is it payback because I said I wouldn’t marry him?” I scoffed out a laugh, a sharphasound that seemed to echo in my ears. “Because he doesn’t want me! He told me so! What, I have to be okay with him sayingew, but his ego can’t accept that I don’t want to be with him either? I mean, who gets married to secure their inheritance?” I brought my shoulders up to my ears, freezing there. “And who marries someone tohelpthemsecure an inheritance?”
“Would you get something out of it?”
I blinked, mostly because in my drunken haze, I forgot Paige could speak. “Huh?”
“If you married for Aaron’s inheritance, wouldyouget a cut of it?” Paige asked, her logical tone hard for my mind to wrap around. Why did she seem so much more sober than me? “Because then, who cares? Three years down the line, get a divorce. He gets his money, you get your cut, and you can go your separate ways, happily ever after.”
It took way,waytoo long for me to understand what she was saying. “It’smarriage. It’ssacred.”
Paige wrinkled her nose. “When were you born, 1942? Since when are you so old-fashioned?”
“Me?” My jaw dropped at the audacity. “I’m not!”
“Then I don’t see the problem. As long as there’s a set end date, and you can both walk away not worse for wear, what’s the big deal?”
“It’sAaron Astor.”
That sealed the deal for her. “And we hate him.”
No.No. Everything in me rebelled at the statement, and I shook my head. “He said it wasn’t him who complained to Mr. Roberts.”
“We trust him now?”
I winced as I remembered what I’d said to him this afternoon, the heat of my anger making the words seem harsher, harder, slicing deeper. Even if he had said something to Mr. Roberts, it wasn’t fair to bring what Aaron had said to me in confidence into the equation. It wasn’t fair to compare his struggles with someone else’s, no matter how trivial I might’ve thought they were.
And, honestly, his struggles weren’tthattrivial. Feeling like you had to sacrifice yourself to impress your family was not atrivialstruggle. Anger had blinded me, and my foot had been introduced to my mouth. Again. I scrubbed a hand over my face. “He’s…ugh.”
Paige narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know what other higher up guest Mr. Roberts would’ve listened to—who would’ve even known about it.”
“Aaron says Grant complained.” Even though Grant said he hadn’t either…
“Grant?” she frowned. “You mean the other guy that came off the elevator? The one holding your hand?”
I groaned again.
Alarm filled Paige’s voice. “You’re not about to throw up, right?”
“Grant Holland,” I said slowly, the name tasting bitter in my mouth. Or maybe that was the alcohol. I hinged my head up, reconnecting with Paige’s gaze. “Is my ex.”
“Ex what?”
“Boyfriend.”