Page 10 of False Confidence

It was like a carefully crafted dance, back and forth with forced politeness as if they weren’t just trying to collect gossip to spread around their fucked up little social circle. Jazz felt more than one person staring at them, likely just as surprised to see Liam here as Veronica and Thomas were.

But, as Liam answered, explaining his new role with Maggie, Jazz realized he knew what he was doing: he was deliberately giving them a story he wanted them to spread around. By the end of the night, everyone who had been talking about the shit show of his past couple of years would be talking about how he was thriving now. It was the perfect plan.

Veronica clapped her hands together. “We love Maggie Makes Home! I’ve been begging Thomas to renovate the townhouse so we can hire her to design it. And how did you two meet?” she asked, gesturing between Liam and Jazz.

He glanced over at Jazz. His smile was like warm sugar, but she could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Maggie’s my best friend,” she answered, giving him a reprieve. “And I work for Cal, so we’ve known each other for years. Just took us a while to see what was always there.”

“That’s… lovely,” Veronica answered, and Jazz fought a laugh at the obvious lie. “And how long have?—”

She trailed off as the soft classical music that had been playing in the background faded out, and a classic rock song Jazz vaguely recognized faded in. The floor to ceiling door behind the altar opened wide and a man in a perfectly tailored tuxedo walked in with a grin on his face, flanked by an older couple who looked like the epitome of wealth.

Bart and his parents, she assumed. Liam’s ex-best friend was tall, with perfectly slicked back blond hair that she suspected always looked like that. He looked like he’d just stepped off the pages of an Abercrombie catalogue, ready to harass a customer service associate or accost a woman at a bar, acting like no didn’t apply to him.

Flames swarmed Liam’s eyes as he glared at the front of the room. Jazz leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder and murmuring in his ear, “He’s no Michaelson, that’s for sure.”

They both shook as Liam chuckled. “You know I look more like my mom than my dad.”

“Yeah, well, your mom’s hot, too. Actually, both of your moms are hot. There’s definitely something in the water in your family.” She neglected to mention how unbelievably gorgeous he was. But she was sure it was written all over her face. There had to be some kind of rule against being so nice and so gorgeous.

Liam wrinkled his nose. “Please don’t call my moms hot. I already have to deal with the fact that Maggie and my dad…” He shook his head, as if he couldn’t bear to finish the sentence.

Jazz gave him a wicked grin. “Oh, the things I could tell you about your dad.”

“I’m begging you to shut up,” Liam groaned, but his eyes were lighter. Distraction successful.

For a moment, anyway, until a hush fell over the crowd and the familiar chords of Pachabel’s Canon sounded across the room.

What the fuck had he been thinking showing up here?

Liam held Jasmine’s hand in a death grip, every note of the music clanging through him like a knife in the chest. He sucked in a breath, willing his heart to keep pumping blood around his body. Was the world tilting, or was that just his body rebelling against his stupid brain for RSVPing yes?

He heard the doors open, but stared straight ahead, unable to look back. The bridesmaids passed, a blur of pink in his peripheral. He knew exactly who India would have picked, just as he’d known who Bart would have picked as groomsmen. Of course, once upon a time, Liam would have been standing up there as his best man, not Bart’s cousin. And once upon a time, all those people were his friends too, just like Thomas and Veronica.

A collective gasp sounded across the room just as the music reached its crescendo, and Liam steeled himself, ready for the pain that was going to blind him the second he saw India in a wedding dress. It should’ve been him. It was supposed to be him.

Every muscle in his body was drawn tight, pain lancing down his spine with how tense he was holding himself. A small hand moved across his back in comforting circles.

“You’re okay. I’ve got you,” Jasmine whispered in his ear. Fuck, he was glad she was there. He couldn’t imagine anyone else distracting him so much and keeping him calm.

Liam breathed in Jasmine’s sweet vanilla scent, letting it wash over him, and finally turned his head to look at India. And he felt… nothing.

No searing agony, no painful regret, no longing. Nothing. In fact, when Liam wracked his brains, he couldn’t remember the last time he had felt the agony, the regret, the longing. Truthfully, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about India or Bart—other than when someone else brought them up.

India looked beautiful, exactly like he’d always imagined when he pictured their wedding, but her perfectly practiced smile as she kissed her dad and took her place beside Bart did nothing for him. He didn’t know how he’d missed it for so long; Bart and India existed in a bubble that had felt like home when he was in it, but now that he was on the outside, he saw it for what it was: cold, controlled, lavish.

Never in decades of friendship had he and India sat on a dirty, glitter covered floor and played cards, like he and Jazz had at his dad and Maggie’s wedding. Never had Bart joined him for lunch with his dad, or danced around the kitchen making pancakes with him like Maggie did. His parents had tolerated India and Bart, and Liam had ignored every red flag because he’d been too caught up in them to know any different.

Part of him wanted answers from them. Why had they done it? How had they been able to look him in the eye for months, knowing that they were doing something so wrong? But as Liam watched them together, he had to wonder: what is really so wrong? The cheating was, obviously, but they really did seem perfect for each other.

And looking back, his relationship with India had been fucking boring. Where was the spontaneity? Where was the excitement? His dad and Maggie arranged surprises for each other all the time, and his moms were always trying new things together. He and India had been picture perfect, if the picture had been one of those generic stock photos used to show off frames. There had been nothing exciting to their relationship, nor to his friendship with Bart.

And Liam was much happier, much more excited, without them in his life. In fact, he could pinpoint the exact moment he’d stopped thinking of them, stopping missing them. A Thursday afternoon in mid-April, a little over two years ago, when he’d walked into his dad’s office and a chaotic redhead had greeted him with a smile and a, “Can I help you?”

Liam tuned out of the ceremony entirely, tuning to take Jasmine in. She was gorgeous, as always, wearing a floor length black gown with mesh panels in the skirt, embroidered with wildflowers. A simple gold chain with a single teardrop topaz hung around her neck, and she’d swapped her usual plain gold nose ring for a tiny topaz stud.

Since he’d last seen her, she’d had her hair done, the copper bright and fiery. Her choppy bob was curled in loose waves, her bangs just tickling the top of her brows. Her hazel eyes were lined with smokey shadow, her heart-shaped lips painted cherry red. As drunk as he’d been the night of his dad and Maggie’s wedding, he still remembered how those lips tasted—hazelnut and chocolate and?—

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