Page 159 of Champagne Fizz

The dragon is just below the surface, and she’s desperately trying to hold it in.

“I—I’ll talk to you in the morning,” she manages.

Then red heels are snapping toward the door, the clang of her footsteps echoing off the stainless steel.

She walks out.

Arie walks out of the kitchen, and I’m left in her kitchen surrounded by dirty dishes and an absolute mess.

She leaves me alone for this conversation. She won’t even have it.

She’s just gone.

46

SIMON

Istalk through the wedding guests on my way to the bar, where Connor is pouring shots.

“Simon,” Connor welcomes me jovially, half singing my name as he sways back and forth. “My stick-in-the-mud brother is married?!” He exclaims. “There is a God! Here, have a drink.” He pushes multiple shots in my direction.

“How drunk are you?” I ask, not touching them.

“Ned’s married,” he repeats, definitely toasted. “I’m thanking the powers that be for Olivia’s magical cunt.” I wince, we’ve definitely got a potty-mouth problem at this establishment. “Even my mom is drinking!” Connor points across the room to Mrs. Voss who’s sipping a glass of wine and maybe even smiling.

“I hate to ruin your good mood, but—”

“Ned’s married!” he cuts in for the third time. “My mood is un-ruin-able.”

“I’m glad to see your fancy lawyer vocabulary doesn’t go out the window when you’re shit-faced,” I chide, and he smiles.

“I’m an im-pickle-able drunk.”

“Impeccable?” I ask, and Connor frowns. “Yeah, you’re definitely drunk,” I agree, and Connor takes one of the shots he offered me before I confiscate the rest. “Look, the timing sucks, but Arie just left.”

Connor frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, shit hit the fan in the kitchen,” I explain. “Kendall, Arie, me…”

Connor’s eyes widen. “You were supposed to wait until after the wedding!”

“Thank you for being a broken record,” I growl. “But may I point out your brotherismarried. So, the important part is signed and documented.”

“Legally,” Connor adds happily in his drunken stupor.

“What I can’t control,” I continue, “is when your girlfriend decides to explode.”

“Shit,” Connor hisses. “Where is she?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s left the building.”

“What?!” Connor rounds the bar, but his balance is off and I have to grab his elbow to keep him upright. “Great.” He glares at me. “Way to kill my buzz.”

“Right, because she’s not responsible at all,” I reply.

“Okay,” Connor says rubbing his face as if that might sober him up. “If she left, she’s probably headed to our apartment.”

“You’re too drunk,” I point out. “You can’t drive after her.”

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