Page 109 of The Worst Best Man

“I may be an ass, but you sure photograph well,” Pru said, handing over her phone.

“Are you kidding me?” Frankie scrolled through the post. It was a gossip blog with a series of pictures of Frankie and Aiden pawing each other on the sidewalk. “Oh my God, my mother is going to see these!”

“Your mother and anyone who’s anyone in the city,” Pru said, unsympathetically gleeful.

“Thisjusthappened! How is this even a story with…” she scrolled up again, “threeupdates since it was posted?”

Pru rolled her eyes. “Uh, don’t you teach social media workshops?”

“To business people about businesses!” Frankie waved her arms at her friend. “Not some vapid readership that has an opinion on… my food order? What the hell is wrong with these people?”

“You’re an exotic unknown on the arm of everyone’s favorite bachelor. What did you expect?” Pru asked.

Pru’s phone vibrated in Frankie’s hand, and a text message popped up.

“How is that ethno-mutt dating Aiden Kilbourn?” Frankie read out loud.

“What?” Pru shrieked. “Is that in the comments?”

Frankie held up the phone. “Uh, no. That’s your best pal Margeaux texting you.”

“She’s the worst human being in the history of human beings. The world is lucky she has no ambition besides getting another husband because, if she had any kind of drive, she’d be the new Hitler.”

“How are you two friends?”

“We’re definitely, definitely not. My father and her father are business partners. I was in her first wedding to a cocaine-snorting, prostitute-buying gambling addict. They made a lovely couple.”

Frankie slumped against the wall. “Someone is telling the paparazzi what I’m eating for dinner. And hundreds of people are freaking out about it, including Hitler Junior. I’m not ready for this.”

Pru marched up to her and stabbed a finger in her shoulder. “You listen to me Franchesca Marie, you can and will handle this. You are the one person in this world who has the ability to be completely immune to this kind of attention. And if you can survive it, your prize is Aiden. So suck it up. You’re dating a guy who gives you an excuse to hang out with me and Chip in Manhattan on a Friday night. I’m not letting you make a mess of it.”

“Don’t tell me you were tired of schlepping to Brooklyn for cheap pizza and movies?” Frankie joked, but she felt the familiar unease return. It was another reminder that she didn’t belong in this world. At the end of the day, she was just a girl playing dress-up for the night.

Could she really survive keeping a foot in both worlds?

Chapter Forty-Two

“It’s still early,” Pru said, checking Chip’s watch.

There was nothing early about a dinner that wrapped at 11 p.m., Frankie thought, stifling a yawn. “Do you guys want coffee, or do you want to hit a club?” Chip offered.

Frankie slid her gaze to Aiden’s. “No thanks,” they said together.

“They’re going for Round Two,” Pru explained with a wink at Chip.

“That’s not a bad idea,” he said, winking down at his wife.

“You know, I kind of miss the eyepatch,” Frankie mused to Chip.

Aiden texted his driver from the table to bring the car around and helped Frankie into her coat. The restaurant was much less crowded, but the crowd outside seemed bigger than before. The maître-d whispered something in Aiden’s ear, and he frowned, nodded. Two gentlemen in suits appeared.

“What’s going on?” Frankie asked.

“There’s more paparazzi outside,” Aiden said, glaring through the glass. “Security is going to clear the way for us.”

“Clear the way? How the fuck many people are out there?” Frankie asked.

“Not that many,” he said dryly. “I’m not in a boy band.”