“Bloody hell, she’s vomiting!” someone shouted.

Another said, “This party’s just gone balls up.”

“My foot! She honked on my foot!”

My gut turned to ice. I didn’t like the sound of this. For one thing, people did not puke at my perfect party. And for another, the rug in this room was brand new and heinously expensive. I would know; I’d picked it out for my client and sent her the bill for eight thousand pounds. I’d promised her the house was in good hands. My professional reputation was on the line here.

I moved quickly around Philip. I nearly vomited myself when I saw the scene of the crime. Rob held Francesca by the arm, while Jack held back her hair. She looked like a collapsed marionette, her legs crumpled, her arms dangling as puke dripped from her mouth onto a growing puddle on the rug. A beat later, the glass of red wine in her hand turned over, spilling everywhere. The cherry on this shit sundae.

Red wine. That stuff did not come out easily. What was I going to tell my client? If I couldn’t get it out, I’d have to replace this carpet at my own cost. EP Designs was doing well, but replacing a four-figure item would be a big hit for us.

The room had gone quiet. My heart thundered in my ears.

“Is she okay?” I managed.

Rob looked at me, his eyes wide. He looked embarrassed. Horribly so.

Good. He deserved to feel like shit. It’s what he deserved for ruining this party I’d worked so hard on.

“I’ll get her some water,” he said. “Aly, look, I’m really sorry—”

“Don’t,” I spat. My hand shook with anger as I set my glass on the bar. “You take care of her. I’ll handle this.”

Toeing off my heels, I hurried out of the room and down the hall to the kitchen. The tightness in my throat, worse now, made it hard to breathe, but I didn’t stop. Together with one of the waitresses, I began opening cabinets to look for cleaning supplies. I had a few tricks up my sleeve for situations like this. But I’d never gotten vomit and red wine out of a custom made wool-and-silk carpet before. This would be a first. A miracle first.

Grabbing club soda, several clean towels, and a canister of carpet cleaner if all else failed, I sprinted back to the drawing room. It was getting late, and the party had already started to thin out before the puke incident. But now the room was empty, save for Emily, Kit, and some of the wait staff. They offered to help, but I waved them away. This sort of mess called for a professional.

I dropped to my knees and immediately got to work. I held my arm up to my nose against the stench of the vomit. Fucking Rob. It shouldn’t have surprised me that he’d brought a date just as irresponsible and immature as he was. Just when I was starting to think he might be an all right guy, he goes and does something like this. He knew how hard I’d worked on this party. Knew how much it meant to me to get it right.

He clearly didn’t give a shit about anyone or anything except himself. He’d proved he was still the irresponsible fuckboy he’d been when we’d met. Probably a good thing I’d realized that before our emails—or my feelings for him—went too far.

This party was supposed to be perfect. I’d wanted it to be perfect so badly. I worked so hard to make things perfect. But none of it seemed to matter.

I scrubbed harder, taking my anger out on the rug.

Em got on her knees beside me. “Let me help you,” she said.

“No.” I elbowed her aside. “You shouldn’t be cleaning at your own engagement party. You guys go. I’ve got this.”

“Aly—”

“Go.” I glanced at her. Em’s eyes were kind, but they did nothing to soften my anger. I was so angry at Rob—at myself—for letting what should’ve been a classy get-together turn into a total circus. I somehow managed a smile. “Seriously, it’s fine.”

“You sure?”

I nodded. “I’m so, so sorry about this.”

“Don’t be. What’s a party without a little puke? Thank you for being such a fabulous hostess. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

I nodded again. I was worried if I spoke, I’d burst into tears.

Kit offered to kill Rob, and Philip offered to help (with the clean up, not the killing). But I finally managed to shoo them all away. I didn’t want anyone here to witness the breakdown I felt coming. I glanced up just as they were leaving the room. Kit had his hand on the small of Em’s back. He was looking down at her, mouth curled into a small, private smile. She was biting her lip. Clearly reveling in the fact that she hung the moon in his sky.

Could I ever look at Philip that way?

Would I ever hang the moon in anyone’s sky?

I shook my head. Focused on the rug.

My fairy tale felt further away than ever.

I poured more club soda on the rug and started scrubbing again. Tears pressed like hot thumbs against the backs of my eyes. My anger was still there. But so was something else, and I didn’t know what it was. Or maybe I just didn’t want to own it.

Reaching for a fresh towel, I placed it on the rug and pounded the meat of my fist into it. Scrubbing wasn’t working, so I’d give blotting a try.

Things were finally starting to line up for me. I was living abroad in a great city. Work was going well, minus this little mishap. Philip could very well be the missing piece I’d been waiting for.

Why the tears then? This wasn’t about the vomit. I mean, the vomit definitely wasn’t helping. But this went deeper.

I heard footsteps by the door. I assumed it was one of the waiters. Not wanting him to see me crying, I waved him away without looking up.

“I can handle the rest,” I said, still scrubbing with my other hand. “Thanks though. You guys were great tonight.”

“Aly.”

A shiver darted up my spine. I froze. That voice.

“Rob, I already told you I got this,” I said, keeping my gaze trained on the floor.

I sensed him moving closer.

“Aly.”

“You should be with your date.”

“Jane is looking after her. They’re in her car back to London.”

His legs and feet appeared in the edge of my vision. The cinnamony scent of cigar wafted off him. My stomach dipped.

“Cool.” I started blotting again. “You should go with them.”

Rob fell to his knees beside me, the silky fabric of his suit trousers stretching across his thighs. He grabbed my wrist, stilling my hand. “Aly.”

His fingers were careful and warm and dry on my skin. My eyes squeezed shut against a deluge of tears. The sensation was so sharp my face crumpled against it.

“I’m so sorry,” he said gently. “Bringing Francesca was a terrible fucking idea. I’m sorry. I was taken off guard by Petyon—”

“Philip,” I said. “That joke’s getting old.”

His thumb stroked my cheek as he caught the tear. My breath hitched. “I’ll clean this up.”

“No, I—”

“It’s my mess, Aly. Let me clean it up. If I can’t, I’ll replace the rug, no questions asked.”

I opened my eyes. His were on my face. They were so blue and so earnest I swear my heart stopped beating for a minute.

“Is that why you brought her?” I said. “Because I brought Philip?”

Rob looked away. A pink flush crept its way up his neck. He scratched his scruff. “Maybe. Yes.”

I blinked. What the hell did it mean, that Rob had been jealous enough—stupid enough—to do something like that?

Silence, heavy and heated, pooled between us.

I didn’t want Rob. Rob didn’t want me. No use exploring his confession, right? That road went nowhere. It was just another sign of his immaturity.

“Rob, I wanted tonight to be perfect,” I said. “And you ruined that.”

His eyes darkened. Surprisingly, I bought it—I bought his regret.

“I know. I’m so very sorry, Aly. I mean to make it up to you.”

I cocked a brow. “How do you plan on doing that? Thoughtfulness isn’t exactly your specialty.”

“You’ll see,” he said.