Page 167 of Royal Bargain

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just kidding

Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then nothing.

I drop the phone onto the counter like it’s suddenly too heavy to hold.

“Just kidding,” I mumble to myself. “Hilarious.”

I close my eyes. Try to breathe. Big, deep, movie-star-worthy breaths. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.

In. Out. In.

This isn’t working.

I look around the bathroom like the answers are written on the walls in designer labels and perfume residue.

There’s a glittery red dress slung over the chair. A champagne bottle still sweating in its ice bucket by the tub. Lipstick kisses on the mirror from the last party I threw.

All the glitter in the world can’t cover this up.

I have no plan. No backup.

No clue what the hell I’m going to do.

All the glitter in the world can’t cover this up.

I turn slowly, eyes scanning the countertop again, until something catches the corner of my vision.

A cream-colored envelope. Gold-foil lettering. A smug little seal stamped in wax.

Annika Volkov & Liam Brannagan

You are cordially invited

I snatch it up, the paper crinkling in my grip.

Right. That.

I wasn’t invited. Obviously.

Sasha made that crystal clear when I jokingly mentioned it over drinks last week.

“You ruin everything you touch, Emilie.”

The words sting a little more tonight.

But I did steal the extra invitation Ingrid had tacked to her fridge. And I do know the date. And the time. And the location.

I stare at it for a beat too long, something sharp and reckless unfurling in my chest.

Then I smile.

“Screw it,” I mutter.

I toss the pregnancy test in the trash, slap on a fresh layer of crimson lipstick, and reach for the black satin dress I’d been saving for New Year’s.

Because if I’m going to be uninvited, judged, whispered about?

I may as well give them a show worth whispering about.

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