My head snapped around. Willa was pointing at a rather large man about my own age…tall and beefy with curly, angelic blond hair that made him look like a cherub. A nasty, stupid cherub, that was—Nick’s stepbrother, Jason Cruise.

“Great to see you again,” he said, giving me a quick once-over.

“Wish I could say the same, Jason,” I answered, icicles dripping from my words.

“You married?” he asked.

I ignored him, then risked a glance at Nick, who was taking a seat down near BeverLee and Dad, next to Willa’s friend from New York. He didn’t look at me. Willa was already chatting with the friends from the lodge, so I took the last seat, which put me between Jason and Dennis and far from Nick.

I hated Jason Cruise for many reasons. Back when I was with Nick, Jason had been obsessed with Tom Cruise, something that had been true for years, according to Nick. Though he was no relation to the famous actor, Jason liked to hint that he was. “Went out to California,” he’d say. “Hung out with my Cruise cousins, you know. Saw you-know-who and the kids.” Then he’d wait to see if I’d squeal and pump him for star gossip, which he gleaned from the tabloids at the supermarket. When such a reaction failed to ensue, he’d just keep it up. “What’s your favorite movie of his? Call me nostalgic, but I still love Top Gun.” Indeed, I once saw Jason wearing a flight suit. Navy flight suits tended to look great on Navy pilots…on a giant Hobbit of a man, not so much.

But it wasn’t just his idiotic fascination with the film star. Oh, no. That was nothing.

Like me, Nick was a child of divorce. His folks had split up when he was eight. Nick’s father, Ted, had a honey on the side, apparently, and even before the divorce was final, he’d been living with Lila Cruise and her son, who was the same age as Nick. The same day Ted married Lila, he’d also adopted Jason, which might’ve been nice if it hadn’t meant Ted Lowery then forgot about his other son. Christopher, the child of Ted and Lila, was born a few years later.

I remembered Nick telling me about his childhood one winter’s night as we sat on a bench on campus, the stars brilliant, the air still and cold. To sum it up, Ted basically dropped the child of his first marriage. Jason (and later, Chris) replaced Nick in his father’s affections. Jason was the son whose picture Ted carried in his wallet, the one whose Little League team he coached, the one who was given a car for his sixteenth birthday.

The divorce between Nick’s parents had been ugly; his mother never forgave Ted, and her hatred burned for the rest of her life. Ted retaliated by sticking to the letter of the law on the custody and child support agreements. He was never late with a child support payment, but he never gave a penny extra, either. He never denied Nick a visit, but he never took him any more than what the court ordered—one weekend a month, dinner every other Wednesday. Dinner was always with the entire second family…Nick never saw his father alone.

Early on, Nick had learned to ask his father for nothing, because the answer was always the same. If Nick needed a new baseball glove, if he wanted to go to Boy Scout camp in the Adirondacks, if there was a field trip that cost a hundred bucks, his father would say only, “Your mother got a fair settlement. Ask her.” His mother, in fact, got a crap settlement and had to work two jobs to support her boy. If only she’d had a divorce attorney like my bad-ass self.

On the appointed weekend, Nick would take two subways and the train from his home in the working-class neighborhood of Flatbush, Brooklyn, over to the wealthy burg of Croton-on-Hudson. Here, Jason would instantly begin to torture Nick. Jason would gloat over all that he and “Dad” had done. He’d show Nick pictures of their fly-fishing jaunt in Idaho, their vacation to Disney World, their weekend in San Francisco. He’d make sure Nick knew the cost of his soccer cleats, the remote-control airplane, the swimming pool they’d just put in. If Nick was innocent enough to bring some far more humble toy or book of his own, Jason would see to it that the object was broken, or worse, stolen.

Christopher, born when Nick was ten, was in a different class. Nick loved the little guy, and Chris idolized his long-distance half brother. Christopher was, Nick had once said, the only good thing about those awkward, sad weekends spent as the perpetual outsider, watching his father with his new-and-improved family.

“So how is it, seeing Nick again?” Jason asked now, leaning a little closer. He was awash in Polo, a scent I always associated with irritating tourists.

“Lovely,” I answered.

“I’m so sure.” He raised an anemic eyebrow and leered, sort of a chummy, conspiratorial look. Poor thing, I understand completely, he’s a total shit, isn’t he? “So it’s kinda cool we’re related again, don’tcha think?”

“We’re not related, Jason. We’ve never been related. You are my ex-husband’s stepbrother. No relation, biologically or legally.”

“But you’re sort of family. Because of Chris and what’s-her-name.”

“Negative. Willa will be your half sister-in-law, if such a term even exists. As far as I’m concerned, you’re nothing.” I met his piggy blue eyes with my asshole-lawyer stare, and as ever, it worked.

He sank back into his chair. “Bitch,” he muttered.

“And don’t you forget it,” I returned.

Nick was watching me, and there it was, that quivering hum of electricity. I hoped he had heard me smack down his stepbrother, knew that, in my own way, I’d stuck up for him, but before the thought was even formulated, Nick had turned to the dark-haired Emily, who was laughing at something he said.

“Want some bread, Harp?” Dennis asked.

“Sure. Thanks,” I muttered.

“So, Harper, what do you do for work?” asked one of the Glacier friends.

“I’m a divorce attorney,” I answered. Everyone quieted.

Nick choked. “Are you kidding?” he asked.

“No,” I said coolly. Did Willa tell him nothing? “But I’m available for advice, should the need arise.”

“Never,” Christopher said, gazing sappily at my sister.

“That’s kind of perfect,” Nick said. “You found your calling, Harper.”

I willed myself not to clench. He really didn’t know? He’d never looked me up on Google? Never? In the past twelve years, yes, I’d had a moment of weakness or two (five, actually) in which I’d typed in his name, but before the Internet could torment me with information, I’d had the sense to slap another key and stop my impulse. Apparently, the urge to look me up had never struck Nick.

Whatever. Time to be sociable. “So, Emily, you work with Willa?” I said, favoring the pretty brunette with a smile and taking another bite of bread. “Mmm-hmm.”

“And what do you do?”

“I’m a drafter.” At my look of confusion, she added, “I draft the architectural plans at Nick’s.” She sent a look of bovine adoration his way.

I stopped chewing. “Nick’s?”

She glanced at Willa. “Um, yeah. We both work for Camden & Lowery. Nick’s firm.”

I looked at my sister. “Really. How nice.”

I sat there for a minute or two, long enough to say, “I’ll have the same thing” when the waitress was done with Dennis, though I had no idea what he’d ordered. Then I excused myself, smiling, kissed Den on the cheek and hightailed it to the ladies’ room. Leaned against the sink and pressed my cold hands to my hot cheeks. The door opened a second or two later, and Willa gave me a cute little grimace.

“You’re working for Nick?” I blurted.

“Okay, calm down,” she said.

“Willa! I—You should’ve—” I took a quick breath. “Why didn’t you tell me? Is that how you ran into Christopher? Why didn’t you say something?”

“Harper, chill,” she said calmly, scootching up to sit on the counter. “Look. I’d been in the city about a month, not finding any work, okay? Money was running out—”

“Right! Which is why I told you not to leave that stonemasonry program until you had a job! And I also offered to loan you—”

“You already did loan me,” she said. “That’s the thing. I wanted to make it on my own.”

“So you went to him? To Nick? To my ex-husband, Wills?” My mouth wobbled, but luckily, the door opened, revealing a middle-aged woman in a sweatshirt that showed a moose dancing over the word Montana.

“Occupied!” I barked, and she jerked back. But it gave me a much-needed second to get myself under control. I hadn’t cried in years. Wasn’t about to now.

“It was literally an accident,” Willa said. “I had an interview down in SoHo, which just sucked, by the way, they were so mean and it was for, like, a barista at a coffeehouse, you know, and they were grilling me on the growing conditions necessary for organic arabica and whatever. So I didn’t even get that job, I had eight dollars left in the bank, and I’m walking down this little bumpy street, the cobblestones are everywhere in SoHo, you know?”

“Yes, I’ve been there,” I said tightly.

“And I look up and see a sign. Camden & Lowery Architecture. I figured, what are the odds of that being Nick? I remembered him as so nice, you know?”

I gave her a lethal look, which she ignored. “So I went in and there he was, and he was so surprised and happy to see me, and I told him I was looking for work, and guess what?”

“What?”

“His secretary was going on maternity leave. So he hired me.”

My stomach was in a knot. “Willa—”

Once again, the door opened, and Dancing Moose Woman was back. “Still occupied,” I said. “My sister’s sick, okay?”

“Projectile vomiting,” Willa agreed. “Splat. Very disgusting.”

“Well, how long do you think you’ll be?” the woman asked with a frown.

“Long time,” Willa said sweetly. “But there’s another bathroom on the other side of the lobby. Oops, here it comes, more barf. You better go.”

“Feel better, honey,” the lady said, jerking back.

That did the trick. It also reminded me of why Willa got away with what she did. She…well, she was lovable. Good with people, sweet, funny. I could see why Nick would hire her…not just to mess with my head (though one couldn’t rule that out), but simply because Willa was awfully nice.

I cleared my throat. “Willa, did it ever occur to you that I’d like to know something like that?”

She sighed. “Sorry. It’s just…you and he were so long ago. And I really needed the job.”

“So how’d you meet Chris?” I asked.

“He came in on my first day. That’s why it was so…you know. Meant to be.” She reached out and took my hand. “I’m sorry. I was just a little desperate.”

“I would’ve helped you,” I said.

“I didn’t want to be helped.”

“Well, Nick helped you. Why was it okay to ask Nick and not me?”

“Because he actually needed something I could do,” she said gently. “And you never have.”

“What utter crap.” I caught a glimpse of my face in the mirror and turned away abruptly.

“It’s not crap. It’s true, Harper. You never need anything from anyone.”

We didn’t say anything for a minute.

“Willard! You still in there? We’re doing a game, honey! Weddin’ night Mad Libs! Come on, sluggo! Is your sister in there with you?”

“We’re here, BeverLee,” I called. “We’ll be out in a sec.”

“Are we okay?” Willa asked me.

I nodded. “Sure.”

“I didn’t mean to keep it a secret…I just wasn’t sure how to handle it.”

“Well, letting me find out at dinner…uncool.”

“Sorry.” She gave me a repentant little grin.

“Willa,” I said, “you know I want you to be happy.”

“I know,” she said, her smile growing.

“We haven’t been able to have a real conversation since you told me the big news. I just want to state for the record that I’m…I’m really worried that rushing into marriage is going to result in another disappointment for you.”

“And I appreciate your concern,” she said calmly.

“When you marry someone you barely know, it doesn’t usually end well. And divorce…sucks.”

“I know, Harper. I’ve been divorced twice as many times as you.”

“So why are you in such a hurry?”

“Why waste time? If you love someone, I think you should go for it. And I’m not getting divorced this time. I really love Christopher.” Her eyes took on a flinty look.

I tried to make my voice gentle. “You loved Raoul and Calvin, too.”

“Christopher doesn’t have a prison record, and he’s definitely not gay. I’m older and wiser now. Okay? Can’t you just be happy for us? I know it’s hard for you to have faith in the world, but I do. And you’re my maid of honor, so you have to stop being so doom and gloom, okay?”

“Willa…”

“And by the way, do you think you could be nice to Nick?”

I sighed. “I’ve been very civilized. We’re even having a drink later on.”

“Oh, that’s great! Thank you, Harper!” She clapped her hands and then hopped down from the counter, adjusted her cl**vage so it was higher and more pronounced—she was BeverLee’s daughter, after all. “You’ll see, Sissy. It’ll all work out.” Then she was gone, her face bright and happy despite our conversation.