Rain streaked the floor-to-ceiling windows of Maya's penthouse, blurring the neon pulse of the city into a smear of violet and gold. Inside, the air smelled of expensive gin and the vanilla candle flickering on the marble coffee table.
Maya swirled the ice in her glass, the clink of crystal the only sound until Zoe let out a sharp, theatrical groan from the velvet sofa.
I cannot go to this wedding alone, Maya. I simply cannot.
Maya leaned back, crossing her legs. Her silk robe slid an inch, revealing a pale thigh.
It is just one weekend. Chloe is the bride. We are the bridesmaids. We smile, we drink the champagne, and we ignore the fact that our exes are probably planning to out-date each other in real-time.
Zoe sat up, her dark eyes flashing.
Sarah is bringing that yoga instructor.
