My ego was beyond burned after the conversation with Maggie, but I don’t know what else I was expecting, truthfully.

She had every right to laugh in my face, but I had hoped for more from her.

Why? A little voice in my own head mocked. Because you’ve given her so much?

I knew I had no right to be so fucking self-pitying, but I couldn’t help it and I made my way to the bar, which technically was not ready for the party but I didn’t give a rat’s ass. I needed a drink.

I positioned myself behind the bar and poured myself a scotch, knowing that I still needed to get home and change before the reception started in two hours.

I was dressed in a pair of designer jeans and flannel button down over a t-shirt, as if I was reminiscent of some grunge garage band from the nineties—or a hipster. I had grown to care so little about my appearance; that’s where I was suddenly—wearing plaid and begging for work.

But before I headed back home I wanted to drown some of my sorrows, sorrows I knew I had no right to have in the first place.

Evelyn came hurrying toward me and for a moment, I thought we were about to engage in a bar brawl, but she shoved past me without a smart-ass remark.

It alarmed me.

I could not think of a time when Evelyn had not at least muttered some obscenity under her breath when in earshot.

Not that evening. She was clearly distracted.

A minute later, I watched Maggie amble out of the kitchen, her face pale and again, I was plagued by the sense that something was off.

Maggie saw me and shook her head when she realized what I was doing.

“You want one?” I called to her and she snorted.

“I’m working,” she replied. “Thanks.”

“I’ll save you one for dinner.”

She didn’t reply and continued the party preparations as I watched.

I realized for the first time that something had changed in her, something I hadn’t noticed when we were first talking.

Of course, you didn’t notice; everything plays second fiddle to whatever is on your mind, I chided myself.

I had learned a lot about my behaviour patterns through my therapy sessions and through Gamblers Anonymous.

It didn’t mean that I had a handle on them, at least not yet but I was learning how they affected everyone around me.

And I was learning how self-absorbed I could be.

Maggie looked pale, even in the dim light of the restaurant, her blue eyes seemed surreal against her unusually waxy complexion.

Slowly, I grabbed my tumbler and made my way around the bar toward her.

She didn’t see me until I was almost at her back.

Her nose wrinkled when she spun.

“What is that – oh, scotch,” she realized, turning back to the cutlery she was shining.

“Are you okay?” I asked gently. “You don’t look like you’re feeling all that well.”

Her head jerked up and she eyed me suspiciously.

“Have you been talking to Eve?” she demanded, her voice like ice pellets as she hurled them at me.

“Are you kidding? You know Evelyn hates me, right?” I replied lightly but I made a mental note to follow up with the hostess if I didn’t get what I wanted there.

“I’m fine,” Maggie snapped. “I’m just busy.”

“Let me help you,” I offered, reaching for a towel but she snatched her hand away.

“You should probably go home and change,” she replied, trying to cover her obvious discomfort with a short smile.

My eyes narrowed.

“Maggie, you can talk to me, you know?”

“Thanks.”

She spun to leave me alone but as she did, the door opened to the private room and Viktor walked in, his new bride at his side.

“Ah!” Viktor announced, holding up a bottle of Dom Perignon happily. “Just the people I was hoping to see!”

“You’re early!” Maggie protested, glancing at her inexpensive wristwatch. “We’re not ready yet!”

“I came early on purpose,” Viktor assured him, and Anya nodded.

“We came to share a toast with you privately,” she explained, and I laughed.

“Let me find some glasses,” I said, heading back toward the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw Maggie balk more if possible.

What is going on with her? I wondered but I had a feeling that I wasn’t going to learn any information the traditional way.

The one thing I knew about Maggie was that she could be like Fort Knox when she didn’t want to talk.

She’ll keep it all in until she explodes, I thought grimly.

I found champagne goblets and Viktor happily popped the cork, grinning.

“We will save some for the book club, yes?” he said, and I laughed.

“I say screw them if they aren’t here.”

“I’m here!” Luke called, walking through the door, Alexis on his arm like the matching wedding cake topper.

They were both dressed for the evening, Luke in a three-piece tuxedo, Lexi’s hair spilling along a backless red number which accentuated her stunning figure.

“Ah, damn,” I joked. “I guess we need more glasses for these bastards.”

“I resent that,” Luke said lightly, and I cringed, remembering he really was a bastard.

As I returned to the group, the door opened for a third time, Nathan almost dragging his teen-bride along.

“Nathan and his sister are here! You’ll only need one more glass,” Luke called caustically. “Nathan is committing enough felonies without us serving the underaged.”

I had to choke back a snort, but I felt bad for Zoe who flushed bright red.

“I’m old enough to drink,” she spat as Nathan glowered at the entire lot of us. I caught Maggie’s eye and we exchanged a smirk.

When I returned, I half expected to see Marcus and Serena enter, just because I had grown accustomed to running back and fort to the bar by that point, but they did not.

Viktor finished filling their glasses and I inadvertently…okay, on purpose, stepped closer to Maggie.

They raised their glasses as Viktor spoke.

“I have made many friends along the way,” he explained, his thick Russian accent adding to the charming lilt of his words. “But none quite like the mess of men I have met in the Billionaire’s Book Club. Thank you for permitting me to speak so freely of Tolstoy. No matter what you say, he is the greatest writer of all times. Everyone knows it and – “

“Oh, for Christ’s sake! Is this why you called us here early?” Luke moaned. “To jerk off to Asimov again?”

I choked back a laugh, knowing Luke was only trying to antagonize him.

He succeeded easily.

“TOLSTOY!” Viktor yelled, and the group whooped with laughter, raising their glasses.

“To book club!” Luke called, and the others seconded the toast.

“Don’t worry, lapochka, I have a toast for you later,” Viktor told Anya, kissing her cheek sweetly. She returned his smile and nodded demurely.

Suddenly, he looked up, eyes narrowing.

“Why are you not drinking, Maggie?”

All eyes turned toward my redheaded ex-wife who had abandoned her untouched glass on a nearby table.

She seemed to be patiently waiting out the end of the sub-gathering.

“Oh,” she replied. “I’m working. I don’t like to mix the two.”

Viktor’s eyes became slits and he shook his head.

“You must have a sip,” he insisted. “It is bad luck not to taste!”

Maggie shook her head again, but I watched her complexion turn rosy.

“No thank you.”

Before Viktor could argue again, she walked away from the group, leaving us all gaping after her.

Luke and Lexi exchanged a look and an embarrassed laugh.

“Well,” Luke said, his southern drawl long and drawn out. “I’m sorry y’all had to hear about it like this.”

I realized he was talking to me.

“Hear about what?” I replied, confused.

There was a deep, uncomfortable silence before of all people, Nathan’s small pet piped up and I felt my world spinning out of control.

“I think it’s pretty obvious, Silas,” Zoe told him, her eyes wide. “Your ex-wife is pregnant. Any idea who the father is?”