Page 170 of The Sinner's Sanctuary

He laughs. “Small world.”

Christian and Matthew are already hugging in greeting, huge smiles on both their faces. Now that the two aren’t legally brothers, but are legally wed, Fischer and Matthew are as out as Christian and I are. Although, they don’t technicallygoout nearly as much, which makes this an even more pleasant surprise. It turns out however, that the world is only as small as the Upper East Side. Matthew knows Christian’s entire friend group, which I suppose belongs to me now, too.

Elodie is the first degree by which most of us are separated.Socialites.

It’s not until after the beautiful ceremony that I see someone I’m not as happy to see.

I tug Christian’s sleeve to get his attention while he listens to Olivier explain what he’s about to eat.

I nod my head in the direction of the darkly handsome man at the next table. “Is that…?”

Christian snaps his fingers at Drew and points.Subtle.They share a look, then they both look back over at Silas who gives them a passing glance and resumes his conversation with the woman on his left whose hand he’s holding on top of the table.

“I thought he wasgaygay.” I say thoughtlessly.

“He is,” Christian says. “She must be?—”

He shuts up when Silas presses a kiss to the woman’s mouth, and she smiles up at him adoringly. I recognize her. The daughter of an investment banker I’ve done business with in the past. Christian puts this together at the same time I do. But that’s not what has him confused.

“He’s gonna pretend like he doesn’t know me? That’s rude. I got him his job.”

The fallout from Marianne’s release of the senator’s sex life caught on camera ultimately resulted in Silas losing his job forsleeping with one of the residents in the building where he worked.

He works part-time nights at The Eastmoor now, but none of that explains how he’s at this wedding at that particular table. Or acting like his best friends don’t exist.

“Are you going to speak with him?” I ask Chris.

He watches the pair thoughtfully for a long moment. “I’ll hold off.”

“He looks nice,” I offer.

“You just have a thing for men in tuxes. Eyes on me, babe. Now what the hell is on my plate, and how do I eat it?”

“Just go for it,” I tell him. “When in doubt, spit it out.”

He laughs.

“I hate weddings,” Drew says. “You barely get to see the person you came to see—and if you’re the one getting married, you get about two seconds to talk to everyone before you have to go make a toast or smile for a picture or shake someone else’s hand.”

“Our wedding had like thirty people,” Olivier says.

“And do you remember any of it?”

“I remember the important parts.”

“We didn’t even get to eat,” Drew complains.

“How many people were at your wedding?” Olivier asks us. “Two, three thousand?”

I laugh. “Four hundred.”

“Give or take.” Christian adds.

“How many of them felt like they got to talk to you?” Drew asks.

“Twenty maybe,” I say. “But they were the important ones. And I loved that day.”

Christian abandons trying to figure out the crab leg creation on his plate and slings an arm around my shoulders. “I get what you mean, though,” he says to Drew. “Like where’s JeriJoe?”

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