Page 106 of The True Love Experiment

I lean over Alice, kissing her forehead. “I’ll be back later tonight.”

“Where are you going?” she asks without taking her eyes off her newborn.

“Wrap party.”

Finally, Alice turns her dark, tired eyes to me. “Tell him you love him.”

I’ve started to turn, but pause at her words. “What?”

“You know what I’m talking about.”

I stare at her. I haven’t talked about Connor with anyone but Jess, too worried about it getting out, too worried about stressing out my pregnant sister, too worried about my show already outshining my brother’s wedding, too worried that the show was yet another embarrassing stain on my résumé as far as my family was concerned. But in the end, the people who love you see through all the subterfuge anyway.

“It’s not that simple,” I tell her. “I wish it were, but it isn’t just about me.”

“Even so.” My exhausted sister lifts her hand. I lean forward, like she might cup my cheek. Instead, she lightly slaps it. “Say it anyway.”

forty-sevenCONNOR

For all her outward chaos, Fizzy is always on time. This punctuality, in fact, was the first hint I had that much of her “hot mess” persona is only an act. The second hint was the highly detailed list of terms her team sent me, and ever since then I’ve only ever known her to be entirely dependable. So the fact that she is forty-five minutes late to the wrap party has me worried.

And apparently, I’m not the only one. Brenna materializes at my side, her gaze fixed on the stairs leading up to the space we’ve booked at Stone Brewery for tonight’s event. The crew mills about, sipping drinks, nibbling food, chatting. But even though we’ve all been here long enough to be loud and a little rowdy, there’s an undeniable vibe that the party hasn’t yet started.

“Where is she?”

I shake my head. “Dunno.”

“Have you texted her?”

“I haven’t,” I say. And I haven’t, but not for any good reason. At least, not for any reason I can tell my assistant. I haven’t texted Fizzy because the longer she fails to appear, the more I grow worried something bad has happened to her, and the longer I put off knowingexactly what it is, the longer I can maintain my life as I know it, with sanity intact.

I become aware that Brenna has leaned over to get a good look at me at the same time I register I’m staring at the stairs up to our party space like a sniper tracking a target. Inhaling sharply, I bring my pint glass to my lips.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Fine.”

“You look a little tense.”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, cool, because I think I just saw her walking through the restaurant.”

I bolt forward, reaching the railing in two long strides, curling one hand around the wrought iron and staring down into the busy restaurant. Almost immediately, I spot her messy bun and her bright smile as she bobs through the crowd near the bar. Everything inside me unclenches; adrenaline washes through me, hot and frantic. As Fizzy weaves through the room, she’s stopped by a woman wanting to take a picture with her.

“She’s safe,” Brenna says, again having materialized silently at my side.

“What? Of course she is,” I mumble distractedly, frowning down at where two men approach, waiting for their turn. They stand far too close.

“It’s just,” she says, tapping the back of my hand with the tip of her finger, “you’re gonna break that railing.”

I loosen my grip but don’t take my eyes off what’s happening in the bar below. Not that I should worry; Fizzy is nothing if not self-sufficient. When they catch her attention, she lets them take a photo and then politely but firmly shakes her head at whatever they ask next, pointing to the stairs. I track her the entire time she jogs up to us.

As she steps into view, everyone turns and a roaring cheer begins and then sort of… tapers off as we take in her appearance. It’s not a formal party—this isn’t the kind of event with fancy champagne flutes being carried on trays or the expectation of cocktail attire. Even so, casual Fizzy is usually more polished than most of us at our best. Today her hair isn’t just in a messy bun, it looks slept on and tangled. Her clothes look slept in, too. She looks tired and pale. Concerned murmurs shimmer across the group.

---