Page 47 of The Best I Never Had

I glance up at her. “Thank you?”

What the hell is this for?

Addy’s smile is forced as she whispers, “It’s to write what gifts I receive and who they’re from.”

I whisper back, “I thought this was a crafting party.”

“A crafting shower.” Her tone is slightly exasperated, but she keeps that performative smile in place. “We’re going to all work on the place cards and the non-floral parts of the centerpieces after I’m done opening the gifts.”

I whisper, “I didn’t know I was supposed to bring a gift.”

The only shower I’ve ever attended was for one of the other servers at Cibare, but it was just a cake back by the lockers with us chipping in on a gift card. This—with the elaborately wrapped gifts and fancy dresses—is all new to me. I have something for her in my room, but I don’t have time to run back to the inn. And it’s too intimate of a gift to give in front of everyone.

Addy’s smile shifts into something softer. “Hey, it’s fine. Making it up here on such short notice is gift enough. I’m so grateful you’re here.”

The squeeze of her hand on mine feels like it’s directly wrapped around my heart. She focuses back on the boxes around her, calling out the name on each card and thanking them profusely. The room cheers every time she breaks a ribbon while unwrapping. The lore states the bride will have one kid per ribbon she breaks, and by the eighth ribbon I start to wonder if this is Addy manifesting the big, stable family she’s always wanted.

With the gifts gloriously done, we all move over to the round tables for our crafting jobs. Addy whispers that she’s going to sit with new people and try to win them over, and I’m left alone to figure out where to go. I spin away when I catch Camila watching me, but she rushes over, pretty damn spritely for someone with half a basketball strapped on her stomach, and slips her arm through mine.

“Hi, Thea,” she says with a little wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Camila,” I say with a forced brightness. “Great to see you.”

“Breathe,” she whispers while towing me to a table with her mother, Cece, Diana, and Mira. “I can keep a secret.”

What secret is that? I want to ask. Does she know our real secret, or does she mean finding me and Owen together in the hallway?

We set about the brainless task of filling the bottom few inches of small vases with flat glass marbles. The conversation flows around me, the comfortable exchange of people who have spent most—if not all—of their lives together, and even though I’m the outsider, I don’t feel like it.

“What were you up to that kept you in bed so late?” Camila’s mother, Ximena, says with a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“I wish it was something fun, but just an alarm that didn’t go off,” I say, and Ximena pouts. “I’m not used to waking up early since I work at night.”

Camila eyes me. “What do you do?”

Oh shit, I sound like I’m a stripper, don’t I?

“Server,” I blurt out. “Or I was. Now I’m … figuring it out, I guess.”

What the hell’s wrong with me? I didn’t plan on telling them I’m unemployed, not when Addy and I are trying to make a good impression. But luckily, before anyone can ask more questions, a woman around Diana’s age heads our way. She goes for the last open seat, but Diana plops her bag down on top of it. The woman rolls her eyes, then heads to another table.

“You’ll have to let it go eventually, my dear,” Cece says, picking up a marble and regarding her daughter through it. “I’m all for a grudge, but you’re just being obnoxious at this point.”

Diana gasps like Cece has struck her. “Mama!”

Ximena wiggles her eyebrows and leans closer to me. It’s abundantly clear where Camila got her love of gossip. “That’s Patricia, Dennis’s wife. She and Diana were best friends throughout childhood until Patricia brought their family to Orlando and didn’t tell Diana. She’s never forgiven her.”

Diana huffed. “It’s not that she didn’t tell me. She blatantly lied when I asked if they were coming. If letting her boys see their family was too much of an inconvenience for her, fine”—it didn’t seem fine from the way she aggressively blinks back tears—“but lying to me about it? That’s something I can’t forgive.”

It seems like such a ridiculous thing to be angry about, especially years later. If a little lie like that was enough to make her give up a lifetime of friendship, how would she feel about me and Owen lying to her for years?

I meet Camila’s widened gaze across the table, and my stomach plummets. She knows. Definitely knows.

And we are so fucked.

Chapter 16

THEA