“Seriously, you look great.”

“Well, you don’t have to sound so surprised,” she said lightly, but I could sense the defensiveness underneath.

“Silly,” I said, avoiding the bait as I hugged her again. I casually looked around. “So where’s Martin?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “He’s here somewhere, but it doesn’t matter. I might as well tell you I’ve filed for divorce.”

I hoped my eyes weren’t bugging out of my head as I said, “No way! I’m so sorry.”

She gave me a pointed look. “Oh, please.” Then she slipped her arm through mine and we walked through the lobby. “You’re not sorry and neither am I.”

“How’s Martin taking it?”

“Not well, as you might expect.” She shook her head in disgust. “He was as big a jerk as everyone said, and I’m thrilled to be rid of him.”

I squeezed her arm. “Okay. Then I’m doubly happy for you and not sorry at all.”

Helen was right. I’d never liked Martin Warrington, and I wasn’t the only one. When she’d announced her engagement in Lyon, I hadn’t understood how such a smart woman could marry such an annoying man. Then I figured, with my own stellar record of bad choices and broken engagements, I was hardly one to criticize.

At the time, I was more sorry for myself than for her, because I knew we wouldn’t be able to be friends once she married Martin. He didn’t like me any more than I liked him, probably because I’d tried to talk Helen out of marrying him and he’d caught wind of it.

“So where have you been hiding?” I asked. “I didn’t see you in Lisbon.”

“Martin didn’t like me attending the book fairs.” She shook her head in irritation. “He said I flirted too much.”

Translation: Helen was a nice person; Martin was a toad.

“Did you happen to mention that attending book fairs is part of your job?”

“Don’t get me started,” she said, puffing out a breath. “I lost ten pounds worrying about it but came to realize there’s no making sense of it. Let’s just say I was a moron to put up with it as long as I did. And now I’m determined to have a fabulous time while I’m here.”