For a second I thought I’d misheard him. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. I know, I know.” His voice tightened, already defensive. “Don’t start, okay? I’m doing this for us. If I land this deal, the commission covers the honeymoon. You said you wanted Italy.”
“I said maybe Italy next year,” I replied, but my voice came out soft, automatically compromising. “Brett, it’s our anniversary.”
“I know that.” He exhaled sharply as if I were the difficult one. “I feel terrible. But this is real life, Val. Sometimes adults have to make sacrifices.”
The words stung, partly because they were so rehearsed. Then the camera shifted in his hand, just for half a second, and the angle widened enough for me to see a neon-pink suitcase standing upright behind his shoulder.
My hand froze on the counter.
It was not just any suitcase. It was Tiffany’s suitcase. Limited edition, ridiculous, more expensive than luggage had any right to be. I knew because Tiffany had sent me seventeen screenshots of it and then cried over brunch when I told her she did not need another travel set. I caved three days later and had it shipped to my parents’ house. My mother had called me generous. Tiffany had hugged me for Instagram and then peeled away before the picture finished taking.
I kept my voice level. “Is someone with you?”
“What?” Brett said too fast. “No. Just the team.”
“Brett.”
