That’s why people gossip, right? To get a kick out of other people’s problems. And when other people don’t have problems they can see or taste or judge, they create problems for them. Analyze their every move to try to make themselves feel better. Well, this has catastrophe written all over it. How could I prevent it from happening?

Plus, I’m genuinely interested to see how it pans out. Knowing Malachy Doherty’s story, I don’t know how he can bang up his miserable life more than he already has. Guy is so deep in shit, anything else thrown at him, even a scandal, would frankly be an upgrade.

I pop two pills of whatever my dealer gave me and make my way back to the party, knowing I look like a Eurovision set and not giving a fuck.

Because I don’t.

I really don’t.

Let people judge. They’re not much better. The only difference between us is that I know what Malachy and Rory think about me. They don’t know what I think about them.

Chapter 5

Rory

“You’re home early.” Summer pokes her head up from behind the fluffy cushions of the couch before turning back to the TV and shoving another spoonful of Chunky Monkey into her mouth. Pretty Woman is playing.

She waggles the spoon at the TV, yelling at the screen, “I freaking loathe rom-coms. Falling in love with a billionaire and ending up marrying him is bullshit with a capital B, especially when you’re a working girl. You’re more likely to get murdered by him. You know, since working girls are often without relatives. This should have been Pretty Dead Woman: A Cautionary Tale.”

“Don’t wait for a call from Hollywood.”

I hang my coat by the door and kick my Toms off as I make a stop at the kitchen counter, which is actually inside our tiny living room, pouring both of us large glasses of cheap wine.

Callum wanted me to stay over, but I have an early morning tomorrow, and privately, I can admit that seeing Mal shook me to the core.

“Why the ice cream?” I place the empty wine bottle in the sink, my back to her. I’m trying to act nonchalant, mainly so I can convince myself I’m not having a mental breakdown of epic proportions. Which I’m not. Feeling my pulse pounding against my eyelids is totally normal, I’m sure.

“I was just thinking about the love of my life.” Summer lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Shouldn’t that be a good thing?” I quirk an eyebrow, turning around and plopping next to her. I hand her a glass of white wine.