⋆˚꩜｡ penelope! ˖ 𖦹°⋆

Three minutes later he leaned over and whispered, "do you have a pen?" She handed him one. Five minutes after that, "highlighter?" She handed him one without looking. Ten minutes later, "do you have-"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask."

She deadpanned. "You came to an exam review without a backpack."

"I have pockets."

That should have been the entirety of her involvement with Frank Langdon. Instead, he followed her out afterward. Then he found her the next morning in the library. Then the following week he appeared beside her in the dining hall with two trays and announced that he had bought her lunch because she had lent him the pen and he believed strongly in settling his debts. The pen had cost seventy-nine cents, lunch cost twelve dollars. He considered that an acceptable exchange rate.

Mel thought he was ridiculous. Frank thought she was funny. It took him nearly a month to realize nobody else did. Not because Mel wasn't funny. She was exceptionally funny, actually. She just delivered every joke with the same composed expression she used to discuss mitochondrial dysfunction, which meant half the room rarely realized she had made one. But Frank always did.

And so, that was the beginning of it. Not of falling in love, but of a deep recognition.

Frank discovered quickly that Mel disliked crowded bars but could be lured if they had outdoor seating so she could eat greasy bar food while everyone else shouted over music indoors. She hated being interrupted but didn't mind Frank talking while she studied, provided he didn't expect her to answer. She could forget meals for twelve hours and then become mysteriously furious at everyone around her until he placed food in front of her.

Mel found that Frank's brain moved faster than his mouth, which was impressive considering how quickly he spoke. He lost everything except important things. He forgot deadlines but remembered birthdays. He could sit through a three-hour lecture tapping his foot hard enough to shake an entire row and still absorb every word.

They fit together. Not elegantly, nothing about Frank was elegant. But naturally, like mismatched pieces from two different puzzles that, through some clerical error of the universe, happened to lock perfectly together.

By twenty-three they were inseparable. By twenty-four everyone assumed they were sleeping together. They weren't. Frank would have liked to. Though that wasn't quite the whole truth. Frank would have liked to take Mel to dinner and hold her hand underneath the table. He would have liked to kiss her outside her apartment building and spend twenty minutes afterward pretending neither of them wanted to go upstairs. He would have liked to wake up beside her and annoy her before she'd had breakfast and know that, despite the murderous look she would inevitably give him, he belonged there.

But twenty-four was also the year Mel's mother died. And then, seven months later, her father. Whatever part of Mel's life might once have had room for something frivolous disappeared overnight. Her twin sister needed somewhere to live. There were bills, lawyers, insurance companies, estate paperwork. Counselors and center pickups, and grocery lists. And medical school. Mel handled grief the way she handled everything else: by constructing an invisible scaffolding around it and continuing to function.

Frank watched her do it. He watched her fall asleep over textbooks because she'd spent the evening arguing with an insurance company. He picked her sister up from her center when Mel got trapped in anatomy lab. He learned which grocery store stocked the cereal her sister liked. He spent Christmas at their apartment because Mel insisted she didn't celebrate Christmas and then became irrationally angry when he suggested that meant she probably wouldn't mind being alone.

He stayed. And somewhere in all of that, Frank decided wanting anything from her would be selfish. She had enough. She needed a friend. So he became one. A very good one. A spectacular one, if he were being objective. He drove her car when she was too exhausted. He brought food, he checked her tires, he memorized the look she got approximately twenty minutes before sensory overload made her want to crawl out of her own skin. He learned when to talk and, more importantly, when not to.

Mel noticed all of it. Unfortunately, Mel also possessed enough self-doubt to reinterpret every romantic instinct she had as delusion. Frank touched everyone. Frank flirted with everyone. Frank remembered things about people. Frank was warm. Frank was affectionate. Frank Langdon could probably make eye contact with a parking meter and convince it they had shared something profound.

So whenever his fingers lingered around her wrist or his knee pressed against hers beneath a library table or he looked at her with something dangerously soft in his expression, Mel quietly informed herself that she was imagining it.

Frank, meanwhile, took her complete lack of response as confirmation she didn't feel anything at all.

Thus began several years of two academically gifted people demonstrating that intelligence had absolutely no correlation with common sense.

Then Frank met Abby. And Abby was magnetic, even Mel could admit that. She was studying theater, all dark curls and enormous brown eyes and the kind of easy confidence that made strangers turn toward her when she entered a room. Frank met her at a graduate student party Yolanda had dragged them to near the beginning of their final year. Mel had stayed home to study. Frank texted her at one in the morning.

Met someone. She's incredible.

Mel stared at those four words far longer than necessary. Something small and unpleasant lodged beneath her sternum. She ignored it.

Six months later, Abigail was pregnant. Three days after that, Frank proposed. It wasn't elaborate, there was no grand plan. No photographer crouched behind a hedge, no romantic declaration of love. He bought a ring, took Abby to dinner, and asked.

When he told Mel, she smiled so convincingly she briefly impressed herself. "You're getting married."

Frank watched her face carefully. "Looks like it."

She hugged him. There was one terrible second when his arms tightened around her and neither of them moved. Then Mel stepped away.

"Congratulations."

Something passed across Frank's expression. It vanished too quickly for her to identify.

"Thanks, Melly."

She went home that night and sat on the kitchen floor for almost an hour. Then she got up, because that was what Mel did. She got up.

She accompanied Frank when he went looking for suits because Yolanda threatened homicide after he suggested ordering something online. She coordinated clinical rotations around rehearsal dinner obligations. She listened to Frank talk about nursery furniture. She smiled when Abby rested one hand over her rapidly growing stomach and complained that the baby kicked whenever Frank spoke.

Mel did all of this with the grim professionalism of someone assisting with her own execution.

Then, two months before the wedding, Frank cornered her outside the hospital cafeteria.

"I need to ask you something." He looked nervous. That alone was enough to keep her on edge. Then he spoke so quickly she almost missed it. "I want you in the wedding."

She blinked. "You want me to what?"

"Stand with me. Be a groomsman. Er— groomswoman."

Mel shifted her weight to her other foot. "At your wedding."

"That's generally where it happens."

"Frank."

"I already asked Yolanda to be best woman."

"Yeah, well, Yolanda already owns a suit."

"So?"

"I don't."

"You can wear a dress. You can wear whatever you want. Just— please. I can't be up there without you, Melly."

There it was again. That thing she had spent years convincing herself wasn't real. Mel swallowed.

"Okay."

Frank exhaled as though he'd genuinely expected her to say no. "Okay?"

"Yes, okay."

He grinned and immediately pulled her into a hug. Her face disappeared against his shoulder. Mel closed her eyes. Just for a second, that's all she would allow herself. Then she stepped back.

And life continued on toward the wedding.

The wedding was held at a hotel whose lobby had marble columns, two chandeliers, and enough fresh flowers to pay off a meaningful percentage of Mel's remaining student loans. Frank's family had money. Not obnoxious money, or private-island money, but enough money that the Langdons could arrange an extravagant wedding on short notice without anyone developing heart palpitations over the invoice.

Abby's family could not. Frank quietly made sure everything was covered.

The ceremony was scheduled for six. At five-twelve, Mel discovered that the shirt beneath her tuxedo vest had acquired a microscopic makeup stain near the collar.

At five-fourteen, she decided this was unacceptable.

At five-sixteen, she entered the large private bathroom connected to the bridal suite because it contained actual stain-removal wipes instead of the decorative soaps the public women's restroom had.

The bridal suite appeared empty. Mel stood at the sink, bent toward the mirror, and carefully dabbed at the offending spot. Then the outer door opened and voices spilled inside.

Mel froze. She recognized one of Abby's bridesmaids immediately. Rachel, or was it Rebecca. Something with an R. Mel wasn't certain. There were seven bridesmaids and they seemed to travel exclusively in packs.

"Don't start," the woman said.

"I'm not starting anything."

"You've been making that face all day."

"What face?"

"The face."

There was the unmistakable sound of a zipper. Then another voice. "This is fucked up."

Mel stopped dabbing.

"Keep your voice down."

"I'm serious."

"Today?"

"When else am I supposed to say it?"

"Preferably never."

Mel slowly lowered the wipe. The bathroom had a small alcove separating the sinks from the dressing area. They hadn't seen her. She should announce herself. Obviously. Immediately. She opened her mouth to say something.

Then one of them said, "does Frank even know?"

Mel's mouth closed. The world became very still.

"Do you really think he would be going through with it if he knew?"

"Jesus Christ."

"Abby says it's his."

"Yeah, well, Abby says a lot of things."

Mel's fingers tightened around the edge of the sink.

The second bridesmaid lowered her voice. "The dates don't even make sense."

"They could."

"But they don't."

"You don't know that."

"I was there, Rachel."

Rachel. Mel had been right. A profoundly useless victory under the circumstances.

The other woman continued. "I was there when she hooked up with Evan after the showcase."

Mel stared at herself in the mirror. For one bizarre moment, her brain refused to interpret the sentence. Hooked up. Evan. After the showcase. Frank. Baby. Wedding.

"Oh my God," Rachel whispered.

"And again in December."

"She told me that was just once."

"It wasn't."

"Does Evan know?"

"Obviously."

"And?"

A bitter laugh. "And what? Evan has forty-three dollars and an IMDb page with one student film on it."

"That's horrible."

"I'm not saying it's okay."

"You basically are."

"I'm saying Abby made her choice."

There was a pause. Then Rachel muttered, "Some choice."

The other woman sighed. "Well, it's either a rich doctor-to-be or an actor wannabe."

Mel stopped breathing. There were moments in medicine when the brain separated itself from emotion. A body came through the door bleeding and suddenly everything became sequence. Airway. Breathing. Circulation. Do the next thing. Then the next. Then the next. Mel's mind did that now.

Frank met Abby in September. They started dating in October. Pregnancy discovered March. Abby said she was approximately six weeks. Due date October. Seven months pregnant now. Showcase. December. Evan. Again.

Mel's stomach turned. The bathroom door opened and closed. Silence returned. Mel remained at the sink. She gripped the counter. This wasn't happening. Not now, not here, not thirty-four minutes before Frank's wedding.

There were rules about these things, surely. Some cosmic statute prohibiting catastrophic revelations after the flowers had been delivered.

Mel walked out of the bathroom. Someone tried to hand her champagne, but she ignored them. She found Yolanda in the groom's suite adjusting her cufflinks.

"I need you."

Yolanda looked up. Mel's face must have communicated something alarming because Yolanda immediately stopped smiling.

"What happened?"

Mel shook her head. "Not here."

They stepped into the hallway. Yolanda folded her arms. "Mel."

"I overheard Abby's bridesmaids." Yolanda's expression sharpened. "They didn't know I was in the bathroom."

"Okay."

"Abby slept with someone." Yolanda's eyes widened. "While she was with Frank." Mel continued quickly because if she stopped she might lose all her nerve. "Possibly around the time she got pregnant. They said his name is Evan. He's an actor. Apparently Abby slept with him more than once. One of them said the dates don't make sense and asked whether Frank knows."

"Son of a bitch."

Yolanda turned toward the groom's suite. Mel grabbed her arm. "What are you doing?"

"Telling Frank."

Mel tightened her grip. "No."

Yolanda stared at her. "No?"

"We don't know for sure."

"But we know Abby cheated."

"I overheard gossip."

"From her best friends."

She looked at Yolanda with pleading eyes. "They could be wrong."

Yolanda turned to fully face her. "And if they're not?"

Mel looked toward the closed door. Frank was behind it. Probably laughing, probably pacing, probably asking where he'd put his cufflinks after Yolanda had already placed them on his wrists.

He had been happy all morning. Nervous, yes, but happy. Mel felt sick.

"Frank loves her."

Yolanda's expression changed. An almost pitying look. "Mel."

She shook her head. "It'll crush him."

"Mel."

"He thinks he's having a baby."

"Melissa."

"And maybe he is. We don't know."

Yolanda stepped closer. "He needs to know before he marries her."

Mel looked down. Yolanda studied her for another second. Then she said quietly, "It needs to come from you."

Mel's head snapped up. "What?"

"You tell him."

"Absolutely not."

"He's going to want you."

"He'll want his best woman."

"I'm his best woman because he knew you would refuse to give a speech."

"Well that's because public speaking is barbaric."

"You're telling him." Yolanda grabbed her hand and started pulling her towards the door.

"No, no, no." Mel dug her heels in and leaned her body back to get away from Yolanda. Futile, in the end. Yolanda had always been stronger than her.

"Mel."

"I can't."

Yolanda's face softened just slightly. Mel hated her for it. "He trusts you more than anyone."

"Exactly."

"Exactly."

Mel shook her head. "He loves Abby."

Yolanda stared at her. Then, slowly, "No."

Mel frowned. "Excuse me?"

"He doesn't. Not really."

"He's marrying her."

"He's marrying her because she's pregnant."

"He proposed," Mel countered.

Yolanda scoffed. "Because she's pregnant."

"He loves her."

"He cares about her, sure."

"That's the same thing."

Yolanda looked at her likes she was crazy. "No, it's really fucking not."

Mel stepped back. "This isn't relevant."

"It's actually extremely relevant."

"Yo—"

"Do you seriously not know?" She sounded exasperated.

The hallway suddenly felt too warm. Mel frowned. "Know what?"

Yolanda looked genuinely astonished. Then horrified. Then, apparently, deeply amused by the sheer stupidity of everyone involved. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You're both idiots."

"That's— what— okay?"

"Frank is in love with you."

Mel stared at her. Somewhere nearby a waiter pushed a cart over uneven carpet. Glasses rattled. Someone laughed behind a door. Mel heard all of it with extraordinary clarity. "What?"

Yolanda rubbed both hands over her face. "Jesus Christ."

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me." Mel shook her head. "You absolutely did."

"Frank isn't in love with me."

Yolanda dropped her hands. "He has been in love with you since second-year anatomy."

"That's not true."

"He skipped his cousin's wedding because your sister had pneumonia."

"He said he forgot to RSVP."

"He slept on your couch for a week after your mom died."

"He said he was having plumbing issues..."

"He changed his residency ranking because you were considering Pittsburgh."

Mel stopped. Yolanda's eyebrows rose.

"He told me Pittsburgh was his first choice."

"It wasn't."

Mel could hear her own pulse. "Yolanda."

"He had Penn above it."

"Frank hates Philadelphia."

"Frank hates being away from you more."

The hallway tipped slightly. Mel leaned against the wall. "No."

Yolanda looked at her. "Mel."

"No, because if that's true—" She stopped. Yolanda waited. Mel's throat tightened. "If that's true, then what the hell have we been doing?"

Years wasted. Every almost moment, every lingering look, every night he had fallen asleep on her couch. Every time Mel had convinced herself she'd imagined the way he looked at her. Every time Frank had stepped closer and then stopped.

Yolanda exhaled. "Being incredibly stupid, apparently."

Mel laughed incredulously. It sounded close to a sob. "This is a terrible time to tell me this."

"I didn't think I'd have to."

"He's getting married in twenty-eight minutes."

"Which is why you need to go talk to him."

Mel looked toward the groom's suite. "I can't destroy his life."

Yolanda's voice softened. "You're not." Mel looked at her. "Abby did that."

Frank was alone when Mel entered. He stood near the window adjusting his tie for perhaps the twentieth time. He saw her reflection in the glass. "Melly." He smiled and turned around. Mel nearly lost every coherent thought in her head. He looked handsome. Of course he did. His suit fit perfectly, and his hair was combed back. "Where've you been?"

"Bathroom." She knew she looked nervous, and he was always so good at reading her.

"Everything okay?"

"No."

His smile vanished immediately. "What happened?" Frank watched her as she closed the door.

She wrung her hands and shook them out, a poor attempt at releasing the tension. She couldn't do this. She could perform a cricothyrotomy. She could tell parents their child had died. She could manage a crashing patient while three people shouted conflicting information. She could not tell Frank Langdon that the woman he was supposed to marry in twenty-six minutes might be carrying another man's baby.

"I overheard something."

Frank's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Abby's bridesmaids were talking." He waited. Mel clasped her hands behind her back because they had started trembling. "They said Abby slept with someone else." Frank didn't move. "Evan." Nothing. "They said it happened after some showcase. And again in December." Frank stared at her. Mel forced herself to continue. "They were talking about the baby."

Something in his face changed, barely, but Mel knew him. She had spent years learning every version of Frank's silence. This one was new.

"What about the baby?"

Mel swallowed. "They don't think you're the father."

The room became completely silent. Frank looked away. He nodded once, then again. A strange, automatic motion. "Okay."

Mel's chest hurt. "Frank."

"Okay."

"I don't know if it's true." She attempted to reach out to him, but he walked toward the dresser. Picked up his phone. Put it down. Picked it up again. "Frank."

"December?"

"That's what they said."

He nodded. The color had drained from his face. "They're sure?"

"I don't know."

"Right."

"They didn't know I was there."

"Right."

He sat on the edge of the bed. Mel stood several feet away. Every instinct told her to cross the room. Every fear told her not to. Frank looked at his hands.

"I asked her."

Mel's heart sank. "What?"

"When she told me she was pregnant." He laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "I asked if there was any chance."

Mel stared at him. "Why?"

Frank rubbed his palms together. "Because we'd broken up for, like, four days."

Mel hadn't known that. "December?"

"End of November." He looked up. "She said no."

Mel closed her eyes. "Frank."

"She said there was no one else." He stood abruptly. "Fuck." He pulled at his tie.

"Frank."

"Fuck." He crossed the room, turned, and crossed it again. Mel watched helplessly. Then Frank stopped. "Does Yolanda know?"

"Yes."

"You told her first?"

"I panicked."

He nodded, and there was the faintest flash of him beneath everything. Mel almost smiled. Almost. Frank stared at the floor, then he looked at her. "Do you think it's true?"

Mel's throat tightened. "I think you need to ask Abby."

"That's not what I asked." Mel hesitated and Frank knew immediately. He laughed once and looked away. "Okay."

"I'm sorry."

He nodded. "Okay." Mel hated that word now.

She crossed the room. "Frank." He looked at her. "I am so sorry."

For several seconds neither moved. Then Frank stepped forward and folded himself around her. Mel caught him automatically. His face pressed into her shoulder. She held him and his grip tightened. Suddenly Mel was twenty-four again, holding him outside the library after his grandfather died. Twenty-five, asleep against him on her couch. Twenty-six, watching him make pancakes for her sister. Twenty-seven, standing in a hotel room while the man she loved quietly came apart in her arms.

"I've got you," she whispered. Frank went still. Mel winced. Had she said the wrong thing? He pulled back to look at her, his hands still around her waist. Or maybe exactly the right thing. Mel's hands rested against his chest. They were too close. Catastrophically close. Frank looked at her. Then his eyes dropped briefly to her mouth. Mel's heart stopped. She had not imagined it this time. It was not ambiguous nor friendly. Nor was it Frank being Frank. This was want. Years of it.

Mel's breath caught and Frank noticed. His expression changed. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Mel."

"This is not the time."

"For what?"

She stepped back and his hands fell away. Frank stared at her. Mel looked toward the window. "Yolanda said something."

His face immediately tightened. "What did she say?"

Mel should have lied. Instead, it came out of her before her brain could catch up with her mouth. "She said you're in love with me."

Frank stopped breathing. Mel wanted the floor to open immediately. Ideally with enough depth to ensure death on impact. He stared at her. "She what?"

"I told her she was wrong." He said nothing. Mel's stomach dropped. "Frank."

He rubbed one hand over the back of his neck. "You told her she was wrong?"

"Obviously."

"Why obviously?"

Mel stared at him. "What?"

Frank let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"You."

"What about me?"

He looked almost offended. "How did you not know?"

Mel's mouth opened and closed without so much as a sound. She blinked at him. Frank just stared. He laughed again. "Melly."

"You don't get to laugh."

"I am currently having perhaps the worst day of my life."

"And somehow you've found the time to mock me."

"I'm not mocking you, sweetheart." Sweetheart. He'd called her that before, but she didn't have the context she does now.

"You are."

"I'm amazed, is all."

"At what?"

Frank stepped closer. "That you didn't know."

Mel's heart started pounding. "Frank."

"I've been in love with you since college." The room went silent. Frank's expression sobered. "Probably longer than I should admit."

"You never said anything."

"You were dealing with your parents." He reached out to cup her cheek.

"That was years ago."

"Then your sister." He stepped even closer and tilted her head up towards him.

"Frank," she whispered.

"Then med school."

"Frank."

"And you never seemed interested."

Mel made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a choke, and shoved him back playfully. "You never seemed interested."

"I asked you to dinner six times, Mel."

"You said we were getting food."

He shrugged. "That's dinner."

"That's not asking someone on a date."

"I brought flowers that one time."

She looked at him incredulously. "They were condolence flowers."

"They were not."

"My mother had just died, Frank."

Frank paused. "Okay, so, retrospectively, poor timing."

Mel put both hands over her face. "This cannot be happening."

Frank's voice softened. "Mel."

She lowered her hands. "I thought I was imagining it."

His face changed. "What?"

"The way you acted around me."

"How did I act around you?"

She gestured aimlessly towards his general direction."Like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you loved me." Frank went completely still. Mel's eyes burned. "I thought that's just how you were."

"Mel."

"I thought you were a very committed friend." Frank stared at her. Then he started laughing. Actually laughing. Mel shoved his shoulder. "I hate you."

"You love me." Mel's entire body went rigid. Frank's smile disappeared. He studied her face. "You do." Mel looked away. "Melly."

"Don't," she warned. There was no sense in admitting her feelings when nothing could happen between them.

"How long?"

"Frank."

"Mel, please. How long?"

She closed her eyes. "Also college."

He rubbed at his eyes. "Which year?"

"Does it matter?"

"It's the only thing that does right now."

"Second."

Frank stared at her. "Second year?" Mel nodded miserably. He turned away, putting both hands on his hips. Looked at the ceiling. Then laughed once. "You have got to be kidding me. You could've said something."

She reared her head back. "Well, so could you."

"You were busy."

"And you were dating half of Pittsburgh."

"I was trying to get over you."

Mel's mouth fell open. "That is… incredibly irritating information, Frank Langdon."

Frank turned. "You're telling me."

She looked at him for a moment. "It doesn't matter. You're getting married." That stopped him. The laughter vanished. The reality of the room returned. Music beginning faintly somewhere downstairs made Frank look towards the door. Mel's stomach dropped. "I'm sorry."

"No."

"I shouldn't have—"

"No, Mel." He looked at her, then glanced down at himself. At the suit, the boutonniere. He thought of the guests waiting downstairs. "I'm not getting married."

Mel froze. "Frank."

"I'm not."

"You need to talk to Abby."

"I will."

"You don't know about the baby."

"I know she cheated. And I know I was about to marry someone because I thought that was the right thing to do." He looked at her. "And apparently everybody but you knew I was in love with somebody else."

A knock sounded at the door, and Yolanda's voice came out muffled. "Five minutes!"

Frank and Mel looked at each other. Then, despite everything, Frank smiled. Small and crooked. "What?" she whispered.

"Five minutes to figure out how to tell my parents they just wasted forty grand."

"Oh, Frank, that isn't funny."

"It's a little funny."

"You could do with a sense of poise and rationality right now."

"That's what I have you for." He smiled. "My fiancée may be carrying another man's child, I think I'm allowed to be a little bit of a mess." He reaches out for her hand. "Besides, I just confessed that I've been in love with you for years. And though that part's actually going pretty well, it has thrown me a little off-kilter to learn it was never unrequited." Frank's smile widened.

"You are incorrigible."

Another knock. "Frank?" Yolanda again. He opened the door. Yolanda looked between them. Her eyes narrowed. "Abby's asking for you."

Frank's expression changed. He nodded. "I need to talk to her."

Mel stepped back and he looked at her. There were a thousand things left unfinished between them. A thousand questions. He walked back over to Mel, and reached for her hand. His fingers brushed hers, deliberate and brief.

"I'll find you."

Mel looked up. For once, she didn't convince herself she'd misunderstood. "I'll be here."

Frank nodded, then he walked out.

Yolanda started after him, but Mel caught her arm. "Yolanda." She turned. Mel hesitated. "Thank you."

Yolanda stared at her for a second, then smiled. "Don't thank me yet."

From somewhere down the hall came Abby's voice, then Frank's, then silence.

Yolanda winced. "That's going to be ugly."

Mel looked at the closed door. Downstairs, the string quartet continued playing for guests who had absolutely no idea the wedding had ended before it began. A hundred people staring expectantly toward an aisle no bride would ever walk down.

Mel leaned against the wall. Yolanda joined her. After a moment, Mel said, "they're going to lose the deposit."

Yolanda turned slowly. "That's what you're thinking about?"

"It's a very expensive hotel."

Yolanda laughed, and reached over to the bar cart for two glasses of Pittsburgh's finest prosecco. "Well, this calls for a toast." It felt inappropriate, but twenty minutes ago Mel had believed Frank Langdon would belong to someone else for the rest of his life.