He turned to face her, tears still flowing freely, squeezing his eyes shut again as soon as she met his gaze. His whole body crumpled into a new sob, pitching forward into her chest.

“Oh, honey, no,” she said, wrapping her arms around her best friend, pulling him into her and kissing the crown of his head. “What happened?”

“My—” His voice hitched on his sobs, and he took a moment to clear his throat, composing himself. “My clothes for the wedding aren’t here.”

“Your tux?”

“It’s not a tux, but, yes. My outfit for the wedding is gone. It’s gone,” he reiterated, folding once again into open cries.

“Shh,” she said, patting his back as he cried. “It’s fine, it’ll be okay. It probably just got lost in shipping. We’ve been traveling a lot.”

At her words, he pulled back, shaking his head and wiping under his eyes.

“No,” he corrected. “I know it came. I’ve been working with a custom couturier in New York for months, and it was sent COD. I have photos and everything. It arrived yesterday, and now Guy says it’s gone.”

Alex took a beat to process the information.

“You think he’s lying to you?”

“I think he’s gaslighting me,” Paul said, sounding less heartbroken and more coolly certain. “Like he always does when I embarrass him.”

“And he’s embarrassed of your wedding outfit?”

“Yes. And he’s embarrassed of the way I talk, and my hobbies, and the shows I watch, and almost literally every other thing about me.”

She swallowed hard. “There’s nothing embarrassing about you, Paul,” she offered, knowing it would do nothing to counteract the constant stream of denigration from his partner.

“Thanks.”

“And I don’t know what you’re planning to do about tomorrow, but—”

“There’s nothing to do.” He sniffed hard, composing himself. “We’re obviously getting married.”

“Okay,” she started, tentatively, “but if for whatever reason you decide you want to rethink your next steps, we can have that conversation.”

He looked at her, eyes narrowing in a mix of denial and fending off tears. “I don’t want to call off the wedding. I want to know what to say to him.”

It was a ludicrous request, but it made a strange kind of sense. Paul had always been so effortlessly charming, so good with words, and that talent should surely have an application in a situation like this.

“I can’t give you that,” was all she replied.

“Come on,” he pleaded, sounding desperate. “Don’t make me regret telling you this, Lex.”

She felt a familiar frustration rise up within her, at this constant dynamic of being let in only enough to be worried but never enough to meaningfully help. “Well, maybe you should regret telling me, if the answer is to let him get away with it again.”

He blinked hard at her statement, composing himself before speaking again.