“Dude.” I shook my head, trying to silence Mama’s words. “Don’t even go there. They don’t make them like this anymore.”

“Continue at this rate, and I bet you any money that you will be a victim of a passion crime.” Elle stabbed a fork into her ravioli and brought it to her open mouth. “Someone would kill you. Another jealous bitch, probably. Maybe the PA? I mean, no woman should be the proud owner of a man like Dean.”

“He is not a piece of property.” I rolled my eyes, munching on a breadstick.

“No. He is a hot commodity, though.” Elle pinched her lips before we both doubled over laughing. She asked how Trent was doing—she was disappointed she didn’t get to meet him before the wedding—but then Dean came back to the table. He no longer looked playful, fun, and laid-back. Instead, he looked like he had seen a ghost. Tucking his phone into his back pocket, he said, “Took care of the check. Are you ready to leave?”

I didn’t have to be that close to him to know that he’d been drinking. The mere scent of pure alcohol on his breath gave it away. It bit at my nostrils with freshness reserved for a hardcore spirit. I wanted to bite his head off, but couldn’t do it in front of Elle, and perhaps even at all. He looked troubled in a way that made me physically uncomfortable.

Elle and I exchanged confused looks, our half-eaten dishes still sitting at the table, waiting to be enjoyed. My friend opened her mouth, and I had a feeling that she was going to ask if we could stay for dessert. That was a definite no. He needed to get out of there, and I wanted to save him the explanation.

“Yeah, I’m feeling pretty tired, and it’s getting chilly.” It wasn’t getting chilly, but Elle, and everyone else around me, were always concerned that I would catch a cold. “Let me make a quick bathroom stop beforehand. My bladder doesn’t want to be friends with the house wine.”

Fifteen minutes later, we were in a taxi on our way back home. Dean hailed a cab for Elle first—and paid for it—and again, I was met with her angry eyes, the ones that demanded I chain him to a basement and convince him to marry me.

When we were in the taxi, I turned to Dean to ask him what happened.

One look at his face and I realized it was a bad idea.

“Do you want to hang out?” I inquired instead. “It’s still early.”

“That depends. Will you give me shit for drinking? Because I’m going to. A lot.”

I thought about it for a second. He hadn’t been drinking all week when we were together—including at the wedding and in Vegas, two events that practically called for it. If I’d told him I didn’t want to stay, he’d take it the wrong way. Like I only wanted him under my terms and conditions. Which couldn’t be further from the truth. The truth was, I’d take him any way I could get him, and it was important for me to be there for him to make my point.

“No,” I said. “You can drink.”

“Then yes, stay. I need you tonight.”

And I had needed him the whole week before.

He was there for me.

I was there for him.

One thing was for sure—when one of us fell, the other followed down, no questions asked.

Five fingers of brandy, and Dean didn’t even allow the expensive drink to tickle his taste buds before he tossed his head back and finished the snifter in one gulp. He leaned a hip against the wet bar and tugged at his hair, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking Manhattan. This city was powerful. So was he. Problem was, for the first time since we met—since we were teenagers, actually—I didn’t see him for the big, successful man that he was. I saw a lost boy, and that boy? I wasn’t sure many people could get to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” My fingers danced on his furniture as I walked toward him, memorizing every curve of dark wood and fabric of the plush seats. This girl, the nagging one who kept on asking what’s wrong—she wasn’t me. But caring for Dean was me. And I had a feeling his sudden change had something to do with this Nina woman. The mysterious phone calls had purpose, that much I was sure of, but they were an open wound. The last thing I wanted to do was to cut it deeper and watch him bleed.

Truths could be uncomfortable. That was why people often chased them. More often than not, they weren’t for all to see. And that was why Dean didn’t know why I couldn’t become a nurse. Why he had no idea I couldn’t have any children.