“Who?” I crossed my arms over my chest, my gaze scanning her cryptic expression. I really had no idea what she was talking about.
“Who do you I think?” She rolled her eyes. “Jett, of course.”
“You know his name?” Why did she know his name?
“Of course I do.”
“How?” It was a stupid question. Her raised eyebrow said it all. They had exchanged numbers on that fateful night before I woke up with him in my bed. Or maybe during their morning talk while I was taking a shower and preparing myself for work. Later, she had offered to tell me his name, but I thought she was bluffing. I didn’t like it. Not one bit. All heat drained from my cheeks as something else dawned on me.
“You stayed in touch?” My voice sounded like a bird’s croak, all low and hoarse. The first wave of shock hit me hard. It wasn’t because my best friend had his number. I wasn’t that jealous and insecure. I just didn’t like people talking about me behind my back.
“Did you talk while we were in Italy?” I asked, moistening my suddenly dry lips.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. So they did, and she knew something. Maybe everything.
As though sensing my annoyance, Sylvie opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it, only to open it a moment later. “Brooke, guys like him don’t do relationships. I don’t mind you dating him, but don’t get too involved emotionally.”
“You don’t even know him,” I hissed.
“Fair enough, I don’t know him that well but—” She trailed off. As though she couldn’t look at me, she buried her gaze in her cup, which gave me enough time to take in her demure dress reaching just below her knees, and the sweetheart neckline that barely revealed any skin. Maybe the fling with Ryan touched her more than I thought, and she couldn’t share my enthusiasm because she had lost faith in all men. If I were lied to, sacked, and disappointed, maybe I’d also start thinking men don’t do relationships. But I didn’t experience her heartbreak, and Jett was nothing like Ryan.
I knew Sylvie meant me no harm; her emotional scars just hadn’t healed yet. I wrapped my arm around her and rubbed her back gently. “Oh, sweetie. Thanks for being such a good friend.”
As if my words broke the ice, a hesitant smile replaced the wary curve of her lips. “You’re happy?”
I nodded. “Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”
“Then I’m happy too.”
Ignoring the sudden lump in my throat, I began to recall my trip to Bellagio, omitting the sex agreement and steamy bits, so I mostly focused on the landscape and beautiful Italian views, the mansion, and Jett.
“Shit, you’re fawning,” Sylvie said as I finally finished.
“Am not.”
Was I?
“That’s what falling in love does to one.”
I had been thinking the same, but to hear the truth coming from her mouth, full of conviction, scared me. Falling in love wasn’t meant to happen so fast…or so intensely.
“I’m not in love.” My voice came out louder than intended. It was a lie. I could hear it, she could hear it. Heck, the whole world probably could.
A few heads turned in our direction. Sylvie waved them to turn away before she focused back on me. Her blue eyes sliced into me with an unnerving intensity, and she leaned closer so no one would hear her. “Listen, darling, I’m sure Jett is a nice guy and all, but he’s also one of the richest men in New York. He might not want to hurt you, but others will. This is a whole different society. Even if you accompany him everywhere, wear and do what people expect of you, you won’t be accepted into their circle because of your background.”
She couldn’t be serious. “What the heck are you talking about? You’re making it sound like I’m getting involved with the Mafia.”
“Worse,” she mumbled.
“What?”
She raised her hands in defense. “Nothing. I just thought I’d warn you.”
“About what?” The whole situation was so funny, I could barely contain my hysteria. Of course she knew everything about rich people and the high society. She had been born into it and spent eighteen years of her life trying to please her mother, before turning her back on it all. Apart from the regular check that came in the post and her fondness for expensive stuff, there were no reminders of her background. She never mentioned her past or family, and I didn’t ask.
“Watch The Real Housewives, and multiply that by ten. And then you might get an idea,” Sylvie said.
I didn’t want to point out she was referencing a reality TV show, and they usually come scripted to their teeth. They don’t film people doing normal stuff, like brushing their teeth and lounging around in their PJs because no one’s interested in that stuff. “I’m so jet lagged I need to get some sleep.” I stood and placed a soft peck on her cheek.