I lifted one shoulder and sipped my fresh drink, sitting a little straighter as he withdrew his hand. Now my secret was out, and everyone would know I was a total relationship failure. No surprise to this man, I was sure, since I’d failed him too. “Jake.” I grimaced at the sight of Celia bearing down on us, a determined glint in her eye. “Don’t look now, but your friend is on her way.”
Jake glanced over his shoulder and hunched, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his glass. “What’ll it cost for immediate rescue through phone-a-friend?” His words slurred, rounded at the edges.
“Hmmm.” I tapped a fingertip against my pursed lips before sipping my drink. “Who says I can be bought? Anyway, isn’t that your wife’s job? When do I get to meet Mrs. Cavallaro?”
His head dropped further, the curve of his back becoming more pronounced as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Jake?” I rested my hand on his shoulder. “What’s—”
“I love this song!” Celia said, shoving in between us and practically gluing herself to Jake’s side. “Dance with me.” She pawed his arm.
He shook his head, his pained look bringing tears to my eyes. Without a word, he drained his glass and pushed it away, barely sparing me a glance before bolting for the door.
“Great. You chased him away.” The woman glowered. “That one’s mine, so mitts off.” Her lip curled as she scanned me from head to toe. “Like he’d want some stick woman in a sleazy red dress, anyway.”
“I’m not trying to pick him up.” I glared at the woman. “Unlike you, I don’t hit on married men.”
“Are you crazy?” She rolled her eyes. “His wife is long gone.”
“You’re the crazy one. How about that wedding ring?”
“That’s for show. It’s been months, and he’s up for grabs. Back off, bitch. I’m warning you.” Celia flipped her hair over her shoulder and strutted away, leaving me white-knuckled and clinging to the edge of the bar, suddenly stone cold sober.
Gone? Jake’s wife had left him? I cupped my hands over my face, blinking hard against the burn.
“Are you okay, Amara?” Flirty bartender stood in front of me. “Do you need another drink?”
“Thanks, but no.” Another drink would definitely not fix what ailed me.
Vivienne. She would know what happened.
After several minutes of searching, I located Vivienne at one of the high tables scattered throughout the club.
“Hey, Viv.” I slid onto the seat next to her.
“There you are! Having fun?” She looped an arm around my waist. “You’re a touch pale. Okay?”
I shook my head. “I ran into Jake at the bar.”
“Ouch.” She wrinkled her nose. “How’d that go?”
“Terrible.” Time to get it over with. “What happened with Jake and his wife?”
Vivienne’s eyes widened. “Didn’t you hear? Alysa d—” The cheer of the crowd blended with the shouts of the DJ and the thump of the music drowned out her words.
Cupping my ear, I leaned in closer. “What?”
“His wife died. About six months ago,” she said. “They were married for less than three years. Devastating.”
I clapped my palm over my mouth, shaking my head, picturing Jake hunched and defeated, looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. Oh, Jake, my poor love. I cursed stupid Celia for interrupting and cursed myself for that idiotic comment. He had reached out to me. Or was the reaching idea wishful thinking? “How did it happen?”
“I don’t know the details. Anyway,” she said, patting my hand, “it’s not my place. Talk to Jake. I bet he’d like that. He needs his friends.”
Me? Viv thought I could make a difference for Jake? “Did you know her?”
“Not so well. Dara and Dean hung out with them quite often, doing couple’s things. Dara took it pretty hard when Alysa died.”
I looked toward the parquet floor where Dara danced with abandon, her skirt fluttering as Dean twirled her out and back into his arms. Happiness radiated from her. And so it should. No way would I be the one to bring her down on the night before her wedding by delving into her dear friend’s death.
My worries about attending this wedding without a date now seemed stupid and petty. Marital breakdown often involved awful, excruciating tussles over everything, and mine was no exception, yet my estranged husband was alive and well. Jake’s wife had just … died. Ended. Hopefully, it was quick, not long and painful.
“Thanks, Viv. Today’s been interminable, so I’m heading out.” I hugged her, saddened that I’d lost touch with this wonderful woman and vowing to do better in the future. “See you tomorrow.”
“Night, sweets. Sleep well.”
The moment I stepped into the lobby, I slipped off my stilettos, the coolness of the marble soothing my aching feet as I padded to the bank of elevators. Once I was inside, I hit the button for my floor and slumped against the side of the car. My ears rang from the hours inside the club, and my energy level sank below zero.
I stared as the numbers lit up, each floor passing … twenty-two … twenty-three … I smothered a yawn, finally feeling the past week of anxious and sleepless nights. The door slid open at twenty-five—my floor—but instead of exiting, I hovered my finger over the button then pressed thirty-four, barely breathing as the upward journey continued.
At times like this, I needed the advice of my best friend and confidante. That was Beth, the woman who’d forced me onto the SeaBus and then onto the Canada Line to the airport, not leaving my side until I joined the security queue, my finger devoid of the four-carat cushion-cut security blanket. “What are you wearing that thing for?” Beth had squinted and grabbed my hand, tugging my wedding ring free and tucking it into her pocket. “Head high, Amara. Feel no shame. You’re the perfect trifecta—successful, single, and sexy. All those eligible men at the wedding need to know
