Chapter 5: Four at a Table

Marlow's had a velvet rope, a doorman and forty photographers on the sidewalk.

Dottie had lent me a black dress with a neckline that made me feel like a bank robber.

"Chin up," she said at the curb. "You're not the one who did anything wrong."

"Then why do I feel like I'm walking into court?"

"Because you're about to be," she said, and kissed my cheek.

Ashton took my hand on the sidewalk, and the cameras went off.

"You don't have to do this," he said into my hair.

"I know."

"We can turn around."

"I know that too."

"Then why are we walking?"

"Because he owes me fifty-two thousand dollars," I said, "and I have never once made him say it out loud."

The table was in the center of the room, under a chandelier, in full view of every other table.

Rex had chosen it.

Lila was already seated in a red dress, her left hand resting on the cloth like a trophy.

Corbin sat beside her in a gray suit I had paid to have altered.

He would not look at me.

"Maeve," Lila said warmly, a stage version of the garage voice. "I'm so glad you came."

"Are you?"

"Of course. Ash, darling."

She held up her cheek, and Ashton gave her a polite kiss that did not touch her skin.

I sat.

Fifteen phones were pointed at us across the room, and the waiter poured water.

"A toast," Lila said, lifting her glass.

"To friendship, and to second chances, and to honest mistakes."

Corbin lifted his glass.

Ashton did not lift his.

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