Chapter 22
Stella:
"That I'm Noah's girlfriend." Zoe grinned, completely oblivious to the mortification that must have been written all over my face. "God, the reactions were amazing. Half the girls at that table looked devastated, and the guys were all whistling and giving Noah grief about dating someone 'so sophisticated.'"
Noah leaned back in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Did you really?"
"Of course I did. Big sister prerogative." She reached over and ruffled his hair, which he dodged with practiced ease. "You should be thanking me—your stock just went way up with that crowd."
"My stock." Noah's smile turned into a grin. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
I sat there, frozen, trying to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. Zoe had just announced to Noah's entire friend group that she was his girlfriend. His sophisticated older girlfriend. The same friend group that included Marcus, who documented everything for Instagram, and Sofia, who was in my class, and—
Oh god. This was mortifying.
"Although," Zoe continued, pulling out her phone, "Marcus was recording the whole thing, so I should probably get him to send me that video. Your mom would die laughing."
"Oh, absolutely." Noah plucked a piece of bread from the basket, completely unbothered. "Make sure you send it to Dad too. He'll love the part where you embarrassed me in front of my entire friend group."
"That's the whole point." Zoe scrolled through her contacts. "Speaking of which, you owe me for this. I just made you look incredibly cool and mysterious."
"True." Noah turned to study the wine list with exaggerated concentration. "In that case, I'm ordering the most expensive bottle on here. Consider it compensation for emotional distress."
"Emotional distress? You're loving this."
"Maybe. But you still owe me." He pointed at something on the menu. "This one. The 2015 Châteauneuf-du-Pape. Looks good."
"That's a hundred and twenty dollars!"
"And?" Noah's grin was positively wicked now. "You just told my entire social circle that you're my sophisticated older girlfriend. The least you can do is buy me sophisticated older girlfriend wine."
I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to ward off the headache I could feel building. "You two are impossible."
"That's what makes us fun," Zoe said cheerfully, waving over the waiter. "Fine, Noah. But you're sharing it with Stella and me."
"Deal."
The waiter arrived, and Noah ordered the wine with the kind of confidence that suggested he did this sort of thing regularly. Which, knowing him, he probably did—just not with his own money.
"Stella, you okay?" Zoe asked, studying my face. "You look like you're about to have an aneurysm."
"I'm just imagining the family group chat when your mom sees Marcus's video," I said, reaching for my water glass. The Carters' family dynamic was something I'd witnessed enough times over the years—their mother's tendency to overreact to anything involving Noah, their father's dry commentary, the endless sibling roasting.
The wine arrived, and the waiter went through the whole elaborate tasting ritual. Noah played along with exaggerated seriousness, swirling and sniffing and making thoughtful humming noises that had Zoe rolling her eyes.
"You're such a dork," she said affectionately.
"A dork drinking hundred-dollar wine on your dime." He raised his glass. "To Zoe's questionable life choices and expensive taste in compensation."
"To my baby brother finally developing some culture," Zoe countered, clinking her glass against his.
They both looked at me expectantly. I sighed and lifted my glass, unable to fight the smile tugging at my lips despite everything. "To family. And their absolutely mortifying pranks."
The wine was excellent—smooth and complex, with layers of dark fruit and spice that would have been wasted on the chaos of this dinner. Zoe immediately poured herself a generous second glass, and Noah wasn't far behind.
"So," Zoe said, settling back with obvious contentment, "now that I've thoroughly embarrassed Noah, let's talk about Greece. Stella, you're going to love this—Jason thought he could windsurf."
She launched into an animated story about the honeymoon, gesturing wildly with her wine glass in a way that made me nervous about the white tablecloth. Noah chimed in with commentary, and they fell into the kind of easy sibling banter that came from years of practice.
I tried to focus on the stories, on Zoe's dramatic reenactment of Jason's wipeout, on Noah's deadpan observations. But part of my brain was stuck on the image of Marcus's Instagram story, of Sofia and Tyler and all of Noah's friends trying to figure out who this sophisticated older woman was.
At least they thought it was Zoe. That was something. Embarrassing, mortifying even, but not career-ending.
By the time our entrees arrived, Zoe had made significant progress through the wine bottle, her cheeks flushed and her laughter getting progressively louder. Noah was keeping pace with her, his usual sharp edges softening into something looser and more relaxed.
The waiter brought another bottle of wine—apparently Zoe had ordered it while I wasn't paying attention—and by the time dessert arrived, both of them were well past tipsy and heading straight into drunk territory.
Getting them to the car was an adventure. Zoe kept stopping to point out things she found fascinating—a fire hydrant, someone's dog, the way the streetlights reflected off the pavement. Noah was more stable, but he'd wrapped an arm around his sister's shoulders and was steering her with the kind of exaggerated care that suggested he was more drunk than he was letting on.
"Where are we going?" Zoe asked as I helped her into the passenger seat.
"Your place."
"But Jason's not there. It's lonely." She pouted. "Can't we go to your place? You have that nice couch."
I glanced at Noah in the rearview mirror. He'd already closed his eyes, his head tilted back against the seat. "I don't think—"
"Please? Just for tonight. I don't want to be alone." Zoe's voice had taken on that particular quality that meant she was going to be difficult about this. "You have space. That big fancy apartment with the extra bedroom."
She wasn't wrong. My place was significantly larger than hers—the perks of having family money and no student loans to pay off. And trying to get both of them up to their respective apartments in this state seemed like a recipe for disaster.
"Fine," I sighed. "But you're both sleeping this off and leaving first thing in the morning."
"Deal," Zoe said happily, already half-asleep.