“No, it isn’t!” said Sofia. “His talk was yesterday!” She pulled out her phone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m looking on Daily Mail online to see if you’re mentioned.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They canceled his flight and he had no suitable clothing. I was just helping him out, that’s all. With flights and stuff. His publicist got stuck on the way back to London.”

Sofia looked at her. “That doesn’t explain why you smile every time your phone buzzes.”

“I do not!” insisted Carmen, trying to hide a smile. It buzzed again.

“I AM NOT STAYING AT THE PREMIER TAVERN,” it said. “THIS IS CRUEL AND UNUSUAL. PLEASE RESCUE ME OR I SHALL COMMIT A CRIME AND GET THROWN IN JAIL ON PURPOSE, AS IT PROBABLY HAS BETTER AMENITIES.”

“His posh hotel was booked,” said Carmen, “because nobody can get out of the city. There isn’t a hotel room anywhere. The airline offered to put him up in this wee place and he isn’t happy about it.”

Sofia was still scrolling. “You know he’s divorced but he’s not officially seeing anyone,” she said. “Ooh, his ex-wife seems bitter.”

“Stop doing that.”

Suddenly Sofia didn’t seem so tired anymore. She looked up suddenly. “Invite him over.”

“What?!”

“Invite him here! We’ll have dinner; he can sleep in the guest room.”

“What? Why can’t I sleep in the guest room?”

Sofia looked awkward. “We thought you’d be comfier down there . . .”

Carmen frowned. “You did not,” she said. “You wanted me out of the way in case I was a pain in the arse.”

Sofia pursed her lips. In the silence, a text beeped again. There was another silence. Then finally Sofia cracked.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. What does it say?!”

“‘You’re my only hope,’” said Carmen. “He’s a doof.”

“He sounds cute,” said Sofia.

“He does it on purpose,” said Carmen, but the idea of Blair Pfenning in the house . . . because of her . . . she couldn’t help it: just for bragging rights, because nobody ever asked her to prom . . . She took another sip of her wine. “Well, he is all by himself.”

“Ooh!” said Sofia, clapping her hands. “God, I wish I wasn’t so damned massive.”

“Because you’re going to leave Federico and all your children for a man who writes stupid books?”

“No!” said Sofia. “He’s on television as well.”

“Want to come over?” Carmen texted.

“Where do you live? Is it up a mountain and you share it with nine ginger-haired heroin addicts who are going to beat me up for having an English accent?”

“Fine, don’t.”

“No, okay, give me the address.”

“Too late. You missed your chance.”

“Do you know what’s on the room service menu?”

“Nope.”

“NOTHING! THERE ISN’T ANY ROOM SERVICE! THIS IS TORTURE! PLEASE SAVE ME!”

“Is he coming?” said Sofia. “I’ll crack out the smoked salmon and blinis and Champagne . . .”