Chapter 38

I’d been stewing over it all day and still hadn’t decided. Marriage wasn’t like picking a flavour of ice cream. You couldn’t just go, ‘oops, not that one,’ and hit undo. If Ashton were just Ashton, some guy with a decent job and a halfway-decent sense of humour, I might’ve jumped in headfirst. But he wasn’t. He was Ashton bloody Laurent. As in Laurent Global Holdings, Laurent Towers, Laurent being-on-the-news-for-buying-a-small-country kind of Laurent. While I was busy spiralling in my flat, Yvaine texted me in all caps: GET YOUR ASS OUT. WE’RE DRINKING. NO EXCUSES. She didn’t need to shout, but whatever. I could use a distraction. And maybe a bit of tequila would kill my indecisive streak. I threw on a loose red jumper and skinny jeans, then headed out. Skyline had dipped to near-zero this week, but the bar was sweaty as hell. Loud music, overpriced drinks, and enough perfume in the air to set off a fire alarm. Yvaine slung her arm around my shoulders and leaned in, shouting over the