JoJo laughed. It seemed like a sincere laugh, which was more than I’d expected. “Sweetheart, I was marrying the man I love in a big party filled with all my friends plus a bunch of other people who aren’t my friends but were still telling me how amazing I was. One slightly mean conversation wasn’t going to ruin that.”

Oh. Okay. “So why are you here?”

“Just to say…” JoJo stared down at his immaculately manicured nails. “Just to say that…I suppose…I suppose I get it?”

Was I offended by that? I thought I was at least a little bit offended by that. Because this guy was twelve and trying to tell me he knew what it was like to get betrayed and abandoned by the fucker he’d just married. Although, now I thought about it, JoJo wasn’t that much older than I’d been when I’d dated Miles. Of course, Miles was now substantially older than he’d been when he’d dated me, which was why I felt justified taking the piss. The thing was, though, I hadn’t felt young at the time. I’d felt pretty grown-up. And here was JoJo, looking at me with the confidence of a young man who didn’t quite realise how young he seemed to other people.

See, this was the problem with trying to be a better human being to impress your boyfriend. You ended up having to be a better human to everybody.

“Get what, exactly?” I asked warily.

He kept giving me his earnest early-twenties face. “I’ve been on the internet since I was sixteen. I know you got the whole old-media paparazzi treatment, and I’m sure that was crappy in a slightly different way, but I’ve had a million strangers telling me what they think of me every day since before I did my GCSEs.”

Okay, that did sound awful. Although old Luc would have pointed out that the person who was financially compensated for JoJo’s constant harassment was JoJo, not the person who dumped him.

“So,” JoJo went on, “I do understand that what Miles did to you was fucking terrible. That’s why I wanted you to come to the wedding.”

When Miles had told me that he’d invited me to the wedding for JoJo’s sake, I’d assumed he was just rightfully ashamed of how selfish it sounded otherwise. “Wait. You actually wanted me to come to the wedding?”

“Yeah…” I’d heard more sheepish yeahs, but only from actual sheep. “I think I just wanted to see… I don’t know. That you were okay, I guess?”

“So you could tell yourself you weren’t marrying the King of the Arseholes?” It was probably an unfair comment, but I was trying to ration my enlightenment.