Jesus. I stood up and threw my napkin on the table. “I’ll send you the bill for my STD panel,” I said loudly. “Make sure you leave Luciano a thirty percent tip. And I’m keeping this necklace.” I looked down at the table. “And these little donuts.”

— —

Luciano patted my hand and waited for the cab with me, as I was busy crying (and eating the bomboloni), the shock of what I’d learned settling in.

Shit. It was so obvious now. The three days in San Diego turning into five. The many times North Carolina had thunderstorms that shut down the airport (not that I bothered to check the Weather Channel, because I was trusting and an idiot). The “turned-off” phone. All those yacht emergencies. How tired he could be after coming home from schmoozing and screwing his other girlfriends. The holiday weekends when he was traveling, or visiting his “mother.” The truth was, he was probably taking Paige or Toni on lovely weekend getaways, same as he’d done for me.

I’d have to find them through his Facebook page or Instagram and tell them.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

I went to Carter’s apartment and spilled. He made the appropriate noises, cursed occasionally, ate my remaining donuts and made me drink water.

“I know it’s too soon to say this, honey, but you’re better off without him,” he said as I hiccuped and clutched his aging, obese cat to my chest. “Now go to bed. Uncle Carter’s giving you some Motrin and water, and don’t even think about puking in the guest room. Janice just redid it. I’ll make you a nice big breakfast in the morning, okay?”

“How’s Josh?” I asked, remembering that my friend was happy, and we talked about how Sister Mary had invited the guys over for dinner and told them to get married and not live together first.

Good. There was love in the world, even if I was a jerk.

I got in my pajamas, washed my face and brushed my teeth, avoiding my reflection in the mirror, and got into the wonderfully soft bed.

As I lay there, slightly drunk, tears leaking into the pillow, feeling as dumb as I’d ever felt, I had two overwhelming thoughts.

The first was that I missed my dad so, so much. That he would’ve known more than anyone how to make me feel better about this—less ridiculous, less like the younger, stupid Frost daughter.

The second was that Noah wouldn’t have cheated on me with a gun to the back of his head.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Juliet

On Wednesday, Kathy stopped by Juliet’s office, her gossip face on—eyes sliding from the left to the right, eyebrow raised (lucky . . . Juliet’s were still frozen). She came in and closed the door. “Guess who was just named project manager on the school Beyoncé is building in Houston?”