Twenty
Cecelia Porter
There was nothing sinister about my switch from Victor to Jude. The reason for it was simple: Victor was in love with Vivian Blackwood. She’d been at the club earlier that night. Alone, dancing with a stranger. It was what had led to the whole, drunken mess that had happened with Marlowe.
Victor had dragged me out, wanting to help me forget about the days that I spent mostly alone, crying. But the moment we had walked in, we’d seen Vivian dancing with a stranger.
Victor had clenched his jaw.
“Isn’t that Henry’s girlfriend?” I asked. “We should go say hi.”
Victor shook his head. “No. She won’t want to talk to me.”
I frowned. “Are you guys not friends? I thought that you were friends.”
“We’re complicated is what we are,” he said, then he smiled at me, “an
