Page 8 of False Confidence

“You know. Because of the last wedding.” Jazz gestured unintelligibly, because that somehow felt better than repeating it.

“You’re both adults and you can do what you want. Not that it matters, since you apparently aren’t interested in him like that.”

Jazz glared at her best friend. “I’m not.”

“Good.”

“Good.” Jazz pushed back from the table, needing to move her body. She stopped by Maggie’s fridge, running a finger over the God-awful pencil drawing of what she suspected was supposed to be Peach.

“Nadia’s kids drew that for us,” Maggie said, noticing her focus. “I forgot to mention, actually. We’re going to brunch at that new Tiffany’s themed place this weekend. Do you want to come?”

“With you and Nadia?”

Nadia was Maggie’s realtor turned friend—a mom of twins, businesswoman, and all around badass. It wasn’t that Nadia had done anything in particular to piss Jazz off, it was just her. She was charming, funny, drop dead gorgeous, always perfectly put together, and she had the kind of life you imagined the happy families in department store catalogs had. And Jazz hated her, no matter how much Maggie loved her.

“Cal and Nadia’s partner are coming too, and?—”

“I’m not going to fifth wheel your double date,” Jazz interrupted. She turned back to the fridge, so Maggie wouldn’t see her rolling her eyes. “It’s bad enough that I’m always bugging you and Cal. I don’t need to do it to anyone else.”

“What are you talking about? Since when do Cal and I not like having you around?”

“That’s not what I… Never mind. I’m still not going to fifth wheel your double date.”

Their empty cups clinked as Maggie gathered them up and rinsed them in the sink. She opened and closed her mouth twice, before finally saying, “It’s not really a double date, it’s just brunch.”

“I’ll pass,” Jazz said, schooling her face and tone into something that sounded semi-neutral. Maggie could hang out with people without her. Maybe it had been just the two of them for a long time, but it wasn’t anymore. Maggie was married now. She had new friends. Friends who were also married, and had babies, and businesses, and didn’t forget to pay their electric bill every other month, even though they had a reminder on their phone.

And Jazz was happy for her. Even if she didn’t want any of those things yet, there was nothing wrong with Maggie having them. She and Maggie had always moved at different paces, and she had plenty of time to catch up.

“Is everything okay?” Maggie asked gently.

Jazz turned to her, pasting a smile on her face. “Of course it is. But I could use your help to pick out a dress for the wedding, if you have time.”

The concern didn’t entirely leave Maggie’s eyes, but she took the subject change and ran with it anyway. “I always have time for you, you know that. And I need a dress for one of Cal’s old colleague’s retirement parties too, so that’s perfect.”

“Great!” Jazz replied, sounding cheerier than she felt. “Let’s order lunch and do some damage to our credit cards.”

“Bride or groom?”

Jazz glanced between the usher and Liam, Liam’s almost imperceptible flinch giving her the urge to wrap her arms around him and get him out of here. Why did they think this was a good idea? No petty revenge was worth him putting himself through this.

But as quickly as his face had fallen, a steely, determined glint flooded Liam’s eyes, and he met her gaze with a small I’m okay nod.

“Both,” Jazz told the usher with a saccharine smile, before tugging Liam toward the seats on the left-side of the aisle, ignoring the usher’s self-important splutter.

The thirteen hour drive down the coast to Northern California had been surprisingly calm. They’d taken turns driving Liam’s beat up old Volvo that he refused to let Cal replace, trading the aux cord and alternating between music and podcasts. Jazz treated Liam to some of her favorite conspiracy theories, and he returned in kind with a podcast that covered niche internet drama. Who knew Jazz could become so invested in the online puzzle community?

By the time they arrived at The Bowery Estate, an hour outside of San Francisco, it was after ten and they’d both fallen into bed, too exhausted to bat an eye at the fact they were sharing a bed. At least they’d been clothed this time.

Jazz dropped into a gaudy gilded chair with a white satin bow slung across the back. Liam followed, eyeing the decor with as much distaste as she felt. Why the hell anyone would book out an entire estate full of beautiful, lush gardens and choose to get married inside a ballroom that had the vibe of a less impressive, significantly tackier, Italian chapel was beyond her. It wasn’t even a religious ceremony.

“I guess it’s true that money can’t buy taste,” Jazz said under her breath. “For what it’s worth, I bet it would’ve been less tacky if it was you she was marrying.”

Liam snorted, his smile working wonders to relax the tension Jazz hadn’t realized she was holding in her spine. “That sounded suspiciously like a compliment, Jasmine.”

“Feel free to let it go to your head. You could use an over-inflated ego to make you a little less perfect,” Jazz replied, gesturing to him. God, the man could really wear a tux. It was ridiculous.

Liam just rolled his eyes, neither bashful nor boastful. Michaelsons. “This style was definitely India’s parents’ idea,” he told her. “And they’d probably have taken over just as much if I were marrying her.”

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