And there’s your answer, Blaire.

You are late.

Too fucking late.

“I’M SO SORRY, BLAIRE. I had no idea that Alessandro had invited them,” Elly pleads sorrowfully.

“It’s okay, Elly.” I look up from the chopping board, tightening my hold on the knife. I try my best to smile. “It’s not your fault that I behaved like an asshole in the past and now I’m finally getting what I deserve. Anyway, how did he manage to get them here? I didn’t know that you guys knew him outside the one time that he drove you?”

She explains to me how she ran into him at Rachel’s party and how they struck up a conversation. At the mention of her name, I feel bile rising in my stomach, but my desperation to know about him outweighs my unjustified dislike for that woman. “Alessandro told me that he ran into Ronan at a bar in SoHo last weekend and invited him to come up. He had no idea that you guys had a history. God, I was so mad at him when I saw them walk in.”

“Poor man.” I resume chopping the garlic cloves, pretending to pay particular and meticulous attention to what I’m doing. “Hope you weren’t too hard on him.”

“Eh, he’ll survive,” Elly says saucily.

I chuckle ruefully.

Elly takes a sip of wine and then swirls the liquid in her glass, seemingly waging her next statement. “Blaire … I don’t think he’s over you.”

“Don’t say that,” I whisper but my heart begins to beat so loudly I can barely hear my own thoughts through it.

An image of Ronan and Rachel hanging out by the fire, laughing, his arms around her waist, her hand buried in the back pocket of his jeans as they chatted with Elly and Alessandro and the rest of the guests flashes in my mind. I could have had that if I hadn’t been a fool, but now Ronan is with Rachel and there’s nothing I can do.

“You’re wrong, Elly.” I place the knife on the counter and turn to face her. “He hates me.”

“I’m not so sure about that. He’s lying to himself, Blaire. I can feel it. Whenever he thinks that no one is looking, he follows your every move. He can’t take his eyes off you.”

“Stop it, Elly,” I plead, going mad. Stop giving me hope. “He brought Rachel. He’s obviously with her.”

“Just because they’re fucking doesn’t mean that they’re in love.” Elly chews her bottom lip. “But I’ve got to admit that I’m not sure what to do about her.”

“Nothing!”

She raises a staying hand. “He seems to be into her, I’ll give you that, but he doesn’t look at her the way he looks at you.”

“And how is that?” I ask softly, barely able to get the words out.

“Seriously, Blaire. I can’t believe how blind you are. The man looks at you as though you are the center of his universe. It’s obvious that he’s mad as fuck, but—”

“Please let it go, Elly,” I beg. “Sometimes things can’t be fixed.”

She purses her lips. “I thought you were done with lies.”

“I am. But denial,” I reach for her glass, take a large gulp, and hand it back to her, “is the only thing holding me together since he arrived. Come on, let’s cook.”

I tell Elly to go set the table up and that I’ll finish cooking. I’m not sure how good it will taste, but how hard is it to cook meat sauce and boil spaghetti? Once the timer goes off, I drain the pasta and transfer it to a plate. I’m looking for the olive oil when I sense him behind me. I freeze on the spot the moment we come into contact.

“Where’s Lawrence?”