Taylor pursed her lips, thinking. “I guess. He’s young, though, and just lonely. I hope he’s smart enough to take the steps he needs to.”
“I hope so, too.” Gretchen leaned forward, a devilish glint in her eye. “By the way, don’t think you’re going to get away with not telling me what’s going on between you and Loch. The last time I saw you two, you were super cozy.” She rubbed her hands gleefully. “So now I want all the deets.”
Oh, god. Taylor gave her a falsely bright smile. “We didn’t work out.”
Gretchen sat back in her chair. “Not work out? You two were practically smooching at the table when we went to lunch a few weeks ago! What happened?” Her eyes widened and she leaned in. “Please don’t tell me that you couldn’t fit him in around your computer game schedule, because I might have to kill you.”
Taylor shook her head. “That wasn’t it.” Her lip quivered, and then she grabbed her napkin, because damn it, she really did not want to cry again.
Gretchen’s eyes went wide. “Oh my god. What did he do? Now I really need the details.” She waved the waiter over. “We’re going to need more drinks for this.”
Over the course of the next hour, Taylor drank margaritas, wept into her napkin, and told Gretchen about Loch. About the one-night stand that was just supposed to be for one night and wasn’t. About hitting her head and staying with him for a few nights that turned into a week. About Loch hiring her to be his assistant. About him taking her to the convention. His proposal. About her discovery of the truth when the text message came in, and the confrontation with Loch that had confirmed her worst fears: That he didn’t want her, he just wanted someone who the royal family would disapprove of. By the time she was finished talking, she was wrung out, more than slightly tipsy after three strong margaritas, and was nibbling on a brownie cheesecake she was splitting with Gretchen.
“He’s a jerk,” Gretchen slurred, clutching her amaretto sour. “You want me to kick him out of the wedding? I figure the groomsmen have been a revolving door anyhow. What’s one more?”
“Nah.” Taylor hiccupped. “I don’t wanna ruin your day. Plus . . .” She gave a wistful sigh. “He’d look really good in a tux.”
Gretchen nodded solemnly. “He does have a mighty fine ass. I mean, Hunter’s is better, but I’d prefer no one look at that one but me. He’s gut the cutest lil’ scar on his right butt cheek.” She took another sip of her drink. “But I didn’t tell you that.”
“Didn’t hear a thing,” Taylor agreed. She licked the salt from the rim of her last margarita, since the waiter wasn’t coming by to bring another. “You know what’s sad? I should be super upset over Sig and how he’s a kid and tried to kill himself over me, but the thing I’m really upset over is Loch.” She wiped a salt crystal off her finger. “Makes me feel like a really bad person.”
“Why? I think it makes sense. He broke your heart.” She tipped back the last of her drink and fished the cherry out of the bottom of her glass. “Much like this waiter is going to break my heart if he doesn’t bring me a freaking refill.”
“Mmm.” Taylor stared at her own empty glass sadly. She could drink another margarita, but getting home without falling over would probably be a challenge, especially if Loch wasn’t there to lean on. He’d always been at just the right spot to pick her up before she fell over her own two feet, and made her feel pretty instead of klutzy. Too bad it was all an act. “I would have married him, you know.”
“Hmm?” Gretchen leaned in.
“If he’d told me he wanted to have a goof wedding that wasn’t legit? That he just wanted a green card or something that would keep him off the throne? I’d have done it. Just for fun and to swan around as his wife for a time. I’d totally be his baroness. I don’t care about being a legit wife or anything.” She stared morosely down at her empty glass. “But the way he went about it . . . I feel used. Like he was just using me for sex. Or like I was another servant who could hand him his socks when he couldn’t find them for himself.”
“His socks?”
Taylor sighed. “Yeah. He’s pretty helpless sometimes.” She sniffed. “He wanted an unsuitable wife and I guess I was really unsuitable. That part hurts the most.”
“Aww, honey.” Gretchen reached out and squeezed Taylor’s hand, then winced. “You’re all sticky.”
“I think it’s the salt.” She licked the back of her hand and then wiped it with a napkin. “I just . . . I hate being so stupid. Being so used. And now I don’t even have a job.”
Gretchen’s eyes widened. “Ohmigod, I can totally help you with that!”
“No, seriously.” Taylor waved her off. “I know Hunter’s rich but I’m not sponging off of any more billionaires . . . or their fiancées. I’ll send out my résumé and find some nice quiet tech-support job again.” Blech.
“It’s not sponging,” Gretchen declared. “I seriously need help. Legit help.”
“You do.” Taylor giggled at her joke.
Gretchen made a face. “Not like that, dummy. I’m working on my cookbook. My editor wants it in a few months and so I have to give all the recipes a test-drive. I’ve written the majority of them out but I need someone to try and re-create them based off of my instructions to make sure I have everything written out properly and in a sensible way. I need to know if I fucked them up, and I can’t tell myself. It’s not the most glamorous job. You’d have to come over to my place and cook each recipe. Then we have to taste it to see if it ends up like mine.”