“Strongly worded chat about what, dove?” Simon asks, coming up beside her, his hand sliding affectionately around her waist.

Franny grins at him. “Say the devil’s name and he doth appear.”

Simon makes devil horns on his red head with his fingers. Then he smiles at me, blue eyes dancing. “Olivia, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

There’s a warmth about him, a genuine sweetness that makes me feel…comforted—without him even trying. Simon Barrister is the kind of guy that would stop to help someone with a flat tire even in a downpour, or help an old lady carry her groceries, or make silly faces at a kid having a meltdown.

“Hello, Simon, it’s good to see you too.”

“How are you, my dear?”

“What a question to ask, Simon!” Franny swats him. “Look at the poor girl. She’s overwrought. Lucille has been playing her nasty head games again.”

Simon scrunches his nose. “You should ignore Lucy, Olivia—she’s a bit of a vile bitch.”

“She’s a cunt,” Franny reiterates. “My love is just too kind to say so.” She pats my arm. “But I’m not.”

The jittery, sick feeling starts to creep up on me again. “I think I just need some air.”

“Brilliant,” Franny says, taking my arm and guiding me toward the large French doors. “Let’s go out on the veranda for a smoke. I just recently started the habit—trying to work off the pounds I gained from the honeymoon.”

I suspect Franny might be a little crazy. The fun kind, not the scary kind. Outside, she smokes her cigarette while Simon talks business with a man beside him. Then she quickly stubs out her bud on the iron railing, her eyes trained on the open doors that lead into the ballroom.

“He’s found you.”

I turn to look. “Nicholas?”

She doesn’t let me look. “Yes, he’s coming this way.” She claps her hands together. “Now, when he arrives, you should smile gracefully and pretend like nothing in the world is wrong.”

“Why would I do that?” I ask.

“He won’t know what to make of it. It’ll drive him insane. A woman’s weapons of mass destruction are indifference and confusion.”

I feel like I should be writing this down.

“He’s coming. Get ready.” She smacks my lower back. “Chin up, tits out.”

With a mind of their own, my chin lifts and my shoulders pull back, pushing my chest forward. And believe it or not, it actually makes me feel stronger. More capable.

“Olivia.”

Right up until he says my name. I close my eyes against the sound. The way he says it—there will never be a day that I don’t love the sound of my name on his lips.

Bracing myself, I turn Nicholas’s way, but I don’t actually look at his face—instead I look just over his right shoulder into the bright, glistening lights of a golden chandelier.

I feel his gaze on my face, watching me, reading me.

I don’t have the chance to pretend that everything is fine. Because without another word, Nicholas grabs my hand and pulls me toward the steps that lead off the veranda to the gardens. “Come on.”

He guides me down a winding dim path, to a white trestle gazebo. Garden lights ring the outside, casting a soft glow, but under the roof it’s dark and feels private. I hold my dress as I climb the steps.

“Why don’t you like Franny?”

He told me in New York that they didn’t get along—that he couldn’t stand her. But he’s surprised by my question. “Ah…from the moment Simon met her, he was enamored, but she gave him the brush-off over and over again. The night he told her he was in love with her, she said she could never be with him—and when I came home, I found her in my bed. Naked.”

Jealousy, hot and biting, bites at me. And shock.

“Did you sleep with her?”

“Of course not,” he says, low and growly. “I would never do that to Simon. I told him about it, but he didn’t care. He said they were ‘working through their issues.’ Shortly after, they were an item—and they got married a few months ago. I’ve given up trying to figure it out.”

I sit down on the bench. “Jesus. She doesn’t seem like someone…who would do that. She was nice to me.”

Nicholas stands in front of me, his face partially hidden by the darkness. “I’m glad she was nice to you, but things here aren’t always what they seem. I should’ve told you that, before.” He pushes a hand through his hair. “I should’ve told you a lot of things, Olivia. But I’m not used to…saying things…out loud.”

“I don’t understand what that means.”

He sits down beside me, his voice hushed. “I want to tell you about Lucy. I want to explain.”

I want to be the bigger woman—the kind who says he doesn’t owe me an explanation. We’re just temporary. But my heart…my heart pounds loudly that he does.

“Why were you with her? Why did you leave me alone? Did you kiss her, Nicholas—it looked like you could’ve been kissing her.”

His hand splays across my jaw. “I’m sorry you were on your own—I didn’t mean for that to happen. No, I wasn’t kissing her. I swear to you—on my parents—nothing like that happened.”

Relief loosens the pincers on my heart. Because I know he would never mention his parents—not unless it was true.

“Then what did happen?”

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at the ground.