He ignores Jamie, too, his attention fixed on Jules. “You like men and women. I only like women. Meaning you’re twice as likely—”

“Stop it,” I snap. “I can’t listen to this for another—”

“Excuse us.” Jules grabs me by the elbow and wrenches me with her through the crowd to a powder room, where someone dressed like the wandering waiters sits on a stool, holding a tray of towels and small toiletry products. Finding a small alcove with a love seat, Jules drags me to sit beside her. “Listen,” she hisses. “You’re not helping.”

“JuJu, he just said—”

“I know what he said, Bea. And while it’s not okay, it’s not your place to jump down his throat and lecture him. Let me handle myself.”

Hurt swallows up my worry. “Oh, like you let me handle myself? So you’re allowed to meddle in my life, but I can’t tell off your boyfriend for being a biphobic twat muffin?”

My raised voice echoes in the bathroom, and every other conversation in the space turns to a hush. Jules shuts her eyes, exhaling slowly. “Thanks, Bea.”

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Can we please not do this?” she whispers, opening her eyes and blinking away tears. “No person or relationship is perfect, okay? And no, he didn’t behave like the most socially evolved person back there, and yes, we’re in a bit of a rough patch, but Jean-Claude’s stressed with work, and some people aren’t their best selves under that kind of pressure. So please don’t make this harder for me. Please?”

I want to talk this out with her. And I want to tell her everything about Tod. Because I wonder, if she knew how it started with him and how it ended, if she’d see as much of herself and Jean-Claude in our situation as I do. “Jules—”

“Bea.” She squeezes my hands, giving me a teary, pleading look. “Please. Stop.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, silent as I nod.

“Thank you,” she says, taking a deep, calming breath and smiling serenely, her I’m fine mask firmly back in place. “Now, go on. Have fun with West. And good luck meeting his dad.”

We stand, and Jules threads her arm through mine. “His dad’s that bad?”

She lifts her chin as we leave the restroom, shoulders back, that beautiful confidence taking over her again. “Almost as bad as Jean-Claude’s.”