“Why do you care?” It’s a flimsy defense, but it’s the only defense I have at the moment, the only way I can protect myself from telling her the truth.

“Why do I care if you’re actually in love with my brother, the man you’re supposed to be marrying?” She folds her arms across her chest.

I fold my arms, too, mirroring her closed-off stance. “Honestly, our relationship isn’t any of your business.”

Jack laughs at me and flicks her chin, and I’m not sure if I’m going to kiss her face or punch it. She’s so stubborn and self-righteous and sweaty. “Just answer the question, Elle. Do you love Andrew or not?”

And I’m tired. I’m so, so tired.

“Honesty game,” Jack demands.

“No, okay!” I scream at her. “No, I don’t love him!”

The bathroom goes silent and airless as soon as these words are out of my mouth. Jack is standing there with her arms folded, her feet planted. I’m absolutely falling apart with my back against the sink. In the distance, we can hear the thump of the bass from Andrew’s impromptu dance party. I can barely make out the words to “Last Christmas.” That goddamn song.

The truth dangles there between us, and I wish I could reel it back in. “I don’t love him,” I say again, instead, solidifying the truth until it becomes a tangible thing between us in this bathroom. Jack is motionless across from me, rigid and furious and still, all I want to do is kiss her.

I wait for her to yell at me for marrying someone I don’t love. I wait for her to storm out of the bathroom. I wait for her to do something.

“Elle,” Jack says in a voice so close to a whisper I almost don’t hear her over George Michael trying to save himself from tears. And then all the tension leaves Jack’s body, like someone cut her strings, like she might collapse onto this bathroom floor like she collapsed in the snow earlier. I want to go to her, hug her, hold her. I want to kiss her so badly, it’s like literal thirst, a dry crack in the back of my throat.

Before I can break my vow for the night, Jack straightens. She takes three purposeful strides across the bathroom until she arrives in front of me at the sink. I think she might shake me.

I think I might kiss her.

But I don’t, because Jack grabs the sides of my face, and then she’s the one who’s kissing me.

Chapter Nineteen

This isn’t technically in violation of the goal for the night.