After almost an hour of trying to eat her dinner in a dignified fashion, Annika sagged back against the folding chair and kicked her shoes off under the table. The other side of the rooftop was buzzing, naturally. The juggler was back on his shit, the tequila was top-shelf, and the chocolate fountain was flowing like freaking Mount Vesuvius. The mariachi band was now walking around, infusing the entire party with a sense of tropical fun. It was like she’d paid for Hudson’s entertainment—a thought that had clearly not escaped him, given how many times she’d caught him looking triumphantly over at her, eyes dancing with glee.

Swells of laughter rose and fell. People milled around, chatting it up. Even Blaire, normally so terrifying, had let her hair down and was surrounded by a clot of people she was regaling with a story about working at a circus one summer. Ziggy was handing out business cards. He’d had hundreds of them at the beginning—Annika had seen the giant tower behind a table. The tower was now diminished to a stub, and Ziggy was lying in a hammock with June, who’d abandoned ship to go over to the other side.

She’d stuck by Annika for the first hour, both of them using every ounce of their energy to make it seem like they were having a great time with their sad takeout but eventually Annika told her to go have fun. There was no need for both of them to continue suffering.

Feeling a slight chill in spite of the balmy night air, Annika wrapped her arms around her torso and was just beginning to wonder if she should just go home when a frosted margarita appeared at her elbow.

She looked up to see Hudson. “Hey. You look like you could use a drink.”

Annika picked up the glass and peered at its pink-and-green contents. “What is this?”

“A peace offering for the night: a strawberry-jalapeño margarita. I seem to remember you like them.”

She’d almost forgotten. In Vegas, they’d had their first drink together at a dim, slightly Gothic hotel bar. She’d confessed that she’d never had a jalapeño margarita before, and, pretending to be outraged, he’d immediately ordered her one. She’d watched him over the rim of the glass as she drank and he’d watched her back, unflinchingly, the spicy drink and hot desire warming her bones and turning them to liquid gold.

Now Annika almost refused—that Hudson was definitely not this Hudson—but the thought of something spicy and tangy did sound amazing. She took a sip and closed her eyes as the tequila warmed her throat and settled into her chest like a warm ember. “Thanks.” Slipping her shoes back on, Annika scraped her chair back and stood, making sure to keep an arm’s length of distance between them. “Looks like your party’s a roaring success.”