“Is e-everything okay?” I ask, despite myself.

I don’t want to care. I wish I could just ignore her emotion, turn and leave with my head held high. But unfortunately, Momma taught me better than that.

Anna exhales a big dramatic sigh, shaking her head before burying her face in her hands. “No,” she wails into her palms.

My eyes widen as I watched her fall apart right in front of me. I didn’t actually expect her to open up to me of all people. I’ve literally known her for three and a half days.

“I need to be honest with you, Murph.” She looks up at me. “I didn’t invite you here to go over the placement of the cake table.”

I blink at her, sufficiently confused.

“Oh, everything is terrible, Murph.” She meets my gaze with a combination of fear and horror in her chocolate brown eyes. “Just horrible.”

Oh, great, here we go. Time for some ridiculous sob story. I wonder what it is now: the wrong color peonies, maybe? Perhaps her hairstylist can’t make it from New York on time to do her hair for the wedding? Poor, poor Anna. My shoulders sag in resignation at the fact that I’m stuck here now with her first-world problems, when I would, in fact, rather be anywhere but here.

“I’m so scared, Murph,” she continues with a sniffle.

I duck my head in an attempt to hide my exasperation.

“I think Nash and I might be making a mistake with this whole wedding,” she wails. “I’m considering calling the whole thing off!”

And at that, I look up so fast, my eyes bulge. “I’m sorry, but—” I push my glasses up my nose. “What?”

Chapter 15

Maybe I’m more supportive than I realized. Maybe I actually care more than I even knew I could care. Maybe I just feel sorry for her. Or, maybe, in my own messed-up way, I’m simply pretending to care so I can get some intel for my own benefit. Whatever the reason, I’m currently stuck listening to Anna bitch and moan while finishing her third glass of Sauvignon Blanc, as we sit out on the patio overlooking the pristine swimming pool of Harrington Country Club.

“My father isn’t even coming to the wedding,” Anna sobs through a sniffle as I search for the waiter, wondering where our food is. “He’s paying fifty thousand dollars for the damn thing, but he refuses to attend because”— she hiccups through another sob —“he thinks I can do better than Nash.”

At the mention of Nash, my ears prick, and I momentarily forget about my grumbling stomach. Meeting Anna’s tearful eyes, my own widen before narrowing as anger flashes through me. “Why?” I ask abruptly, my brows pulling together of their own accord. “What’s wrong with Nash?”

“Nothing!” Anna gapes at me, her face serious. “I love him. He’s perfect.” She sighs. “My father is old money from the Upper East Side. A real New Yorker. He always wanted me to marry a man from his firm, but then I met Nash. I knew I was falling in love with him, but Father did everything he could to try to convince me otherwise.”