“Not until seven,” she says. “Plenty of time to recover.”

“I’d be hungover until Christmas if I took advantage of the open bar,” I say.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

“One I’m usually up for,” I laugh, taking a sip of my ginger ale. “Where’s Brent?”

Francesca doesn’t try to conceal her eye roll as the rim of her glass grazes her lips. “He had better things to do, and by better I mean his cousin invited him to Vegas for the weekend.”

Her tone leaves Asher wincing. I can see the war flashbacks in his eyes. He seems very familiar with her current state of aggravation, an annoyance he’s clearly bestowed upon her once or twice or seventy million times.

Though, some of it had to have been warranted. She did cheat on him. And cheating is still cheating no matter how emotionally unavailable the other partner is.

“I need a refill,” Francesca says. “Anyone else?”

“I’m good,” I say.

“I’ll take a double,” Asher says.

“My kind of man.”

It stings.

Her kind of man.

Why would she have cheated on her kind of man?

Her kind of man should have been someone she was willing to work with, not someone she would drop for the next best man.

Her kind of man should have been enough.

Why am I getting defensive?

I like Francesca. I listened to her reasoning this morning and didn’t judge her. Why am I now?

Get a grip, Liv.

I catch Asher staring when I turn back to the pictures. My body goes warm, heat rising up my neck. I hate that he does this to me.

This picture, I decide, is my favorite, and one I would gladly purchase if I had the funds of a billionaire heiress. It’s titled Midnight in Roma. It’s a photo of a little girl, who is looking to the sky in absolute wonder. Snowflakes fall around her, a rare sight in Italy. She’s holding her mother’s hand. If I could see her mother’s face, I imagine she would be smiling too.

“What do you like about it?” Asher’s voice startles me.

“She’s looking at the snow like it’s magic,” I say. “It’s like this is the most enchanting moment of her life. You can see the grip she has on her mother’s hand. She’s so happy. Look at her smile.”

“It’s pretty spectacular.”

We stand in silence, both staring at the same picture, sharing the same feelings. It’s intimate.

“Olivia—“

“I am already feeling this.” Francesca stumbles over to us and hands Asher his drink while she downs her own.