“I’ve never gambled before in my life,” I say, heady with the attention. “But maybe I should!”

“You should, like, move to Las Vegas.”

“I know!” I turn to Luke. “We should totally move here!”

I pick up all my chips, hesitate a moment, then plonk them all on number seven.

“Really?” says Luke, raising his eyebrows.

“Really,” I say, and take another swig of margarita. “Let’s just say I feel a vibe about it. Number seven.” I address the whole group. “That’s my number. Seven.”

A couple of the stag guys begin to chant, “Se-ven, se-ven!” Some of them quickly put their chips on seven too. As the wheel spins, we’re all gazing at it like possessed people.

“Seven!” The table erupts as the ball clatters into the seven slot. I won! Even the croupier leans over to high-five me.

“The girl’s on fire!” exclaims Mike.

“Which number next, Becky?” demands another of the stag guys.

“Tell us, Becky!”

“Becky!”

“What do we bet, Becky?”

Everyone’s waiting for me to bet again. But I’m not looking at the wheel anymore. I’m looking at my chips and doing a quick sum. Two hundred…four hundred…plus another…Yes! I can’t resist a tiny fist pump.

“What?” demands one of the stag guys eagerly. “What you got for us, Becky?”

I turn to the croupier with a triumphant smile. “I’m cashing in, please.”

“Cashing in?” Mike’s jaw drops. “What?”

“I’ve done enough gambling.”

“No, no, no!” Mike is practically gibbering in dismay. “You’re on a roll. You play! Play on!”

“But I’ve made eight hundred dollars,” I tell him.

“That’s great! Keep going, girl! Put your chips down!”

“No, you don’t understand,” I say patiently. “Eight hundred dollars gets me this gorgeous jacket for Luke.”

“What jacket?” Luke looks puzzled.

“I saw it in Armani, when I was going round the Shoppes. It’s gray cashmere. Let’s go and look at it.” I squeeze his arm. “It’ll so suit you.”

“A jacket?” Mike looks uncomprehending. “Honey, are you insane? You’ve got the magic touch! You can’t leave the table now!”

“Yes, I can. That was my strategy.”

“Your strategy?”

“Luke said, have a strategy. So I decided my strategy was: Win enough money to buy the Armani jacket. And I have.” I beam triumphantly. “So I’m stopping.”

“But…but…” Mike seems almost speechless. “You can’t stop! You’re on a winning streak.”

“But I might not win anymore,” I point out. “I might lose.”

“You won’t lose! She’s winning, right?” He looks around at his friends for support.

“Becky for the win!” chimes in one of them.

“But I might start losing,” I explain carefully. “And then I won’t be able to afford the jacket.”

Don’t they understand anything?

“Becky, don’t go.” Mike drunkenly puts an arm round my shoulders. “We’re having a blast, aren’t we?”

“Oh, it’s been fab,” I say at once. “You’ve been great company. And I do enjoy gambling, kind of…but I’ll enjoy buying Luke this jacket more. Sorry,” I add politely to the croupier. “I don’t mean to be rude. You’ve got a lovely roulette table.” I hear Luke give a sudden snort of laughter. “What?” I demand. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing, my love,” he says, picking up my hand and kissing it. “Except I wouldn’t worry about your descent into gambling-addiction hell just yet.”

—

The jacket looks amazing on Luke. I knew it would. It’s very close cut and slimming and brings out the chocolaty highlights in his hair. I can see all the assistants watching in admiration as he comes out of the changing room and looks at himself in the big mirror. I’m only sorry Danny isn’t here to admire him too, but he’s still gambling with the stag night guys.

“Perfect!” I say. “I knew it would suit you!”

“Well, thank you,” Luke says, beaming at his reflection. “I’m very touched.”

I take out my winnings and carefully count out the cash, as an assistant packages up the jacket in a lovely square box.

“And now,” says Luke, as we head out of the shop, “let me reciprocate, in the tiniest way. I meant to give you this earlier.” He hands me a printed-out email. “One of the teams in the London office is advising Mac, so they’ve offered all the staff a ninety percent discount voucher. For one glorious moment I thought she meant Apple Mac….” He gives a comical sigh. “But of course it’s makeup. So you can have mine.”

“Right. Thanks.” I skim the offer. “Wow. Ninety percent!”

“Where would they stock it?” He looks around. “Barneys? Shall we head there?”

“Actually…don’t worry,” I say after a pause. “Let’s not bother. It’ll be really boring for you.”

“You don’t want to go?” Luke seems surprised.

I’m studying the document, trying to work out my own reaction. The thought of choosing makeup for myself—even if it’s reduced—is giving me this weird, twisting feeling in my stomach.

Oh God, I don’t know what’s going on with me right now. I loved buying that jacket for Luke. And I loved buying the little jigsaw for Minnie. But somehow I can’t go and buy makeup for myself. It’s not…I feel so strange…I don’t…

I don’t deserve it. The miserable thought flashes through my head, making me wince.

“No, thanks.” I force a cheery smile. “Let’s go up and relieve Mum and Janice from babysitting duty.”

“You don’t want to walk around anymore? Look at the lights?”

“No, thanks.”

All my elation from earlier has melted away. The moment that Luke suggested treating me, it’s as though a voice popped up inside my head to berate me. But it’s not the nice, even-tempered, Golden Peace voice telling me to “buy with meaning” and “do everything in moderation.” It’s a harsher voice, telling me I don’t deserve anything at all.

We walk together away from the Shoppes, toward the elevators, letting the clamor of people and music wash over us. Luke keeps darting me thoughtful little glances, and at last he says, “Becky, sweetheart, I think you need your mojo back.”

“What mojo?” I say defensively. “I haven’t lost any mojo.”

“I think you have. What’s up, darling?” He swivels me round and puts his hands on my shoulders.

“Well…you know.” There’s a lump in my throat. “Everything. It’s all my fault, this trip. I should have gone to see Brent sooner. I should have listened to Dad more. No wonder Suze—”

I break off, my eyes hot, and Luke sighs.

“Suze will come round.”

“But I was talking to Danny about it, and he said friendships end, and I should let Suze go.”

“No.” Luke shakes his head firmly. “No, no. He’s wrong. Some friendships end. You and Suze are not going to end.”

“I think we already have ended,” I say miserably.

“Don’t give up! Becky, you’ve never been one to give up! OK, you’ve been in a bad place and Suze has been in a bad place…but I know the pair of you and I know you’re in it for the long haul. You’ll be grandmothers together, exchanging tips on knitting baby booties. I can see you now.”

“Really?” I say with a flicker of optimism. “Do you think so?”

I can actually picture us as old ladies. Suze will have long white hair and an elegant walking stick and still be stunningly beautiful, just with a few lines. And I won’t be beautiful but I’ll wear great accessories. People will call me the Old Lady in the Fabulous Necklace.

“Don’t give up on Suze,” Luke is saying. “You need her. And she needs you, even if she doesn’t realize it right now.”

“But all she can see is Alicia,” I say hopelessly.

“Yes, and one day she’ll focus properly and see exactly who and what Alicia is,” says Luke drily as he jabs the elevator button. “Meanwhile, remember you are still her friend. She asked you to come on this trip. Don’t let Alicia psych you out.”

“OK,” I say in a small voice.

“I mean it, Becky,” Luke insists, almost fiercely. “Are you going to let Alicia walk all over you? Fight for your friendship. Because it’s worth it.”

He sounds so forceful, I can feel a tiny smidgen of positivity returning.

“OK,” I say at last. “OK. I’ll do it.”

“Attagirl.”

By now we’ve reached our hotel room. Luke takes out the key, swipes it, and pushes open the door—and I freeze dead in shock. Wh—

Whaaat?

“Good evening, Rebecca, Luke,” comes a familiar icy voice.

—

OK, am I dreaming? Or did I have too many margaritas? This can’t be true.

But I think it is. Elinor, my mother-in-law, is sitting bolt upright on a pouf in a DVF wrap dress, gazing at me with that gimlet stare she has.

“Mother!” Luke sounds equally shocked. “What are you doing here?”

I feel an inward wince as I glance up at his face. The relationship between Luke and his mother has never been straightforward, but recently it’s plummeted to a new low. Two days ago, in L.A., I staged the least successful mother-son reconciliation ever. Luke stalked out. Elinor stalked out. My dreams of being a Kofi-Annan–style conflict-resolver kind of disintegrated. I know Luke’s been feeling raw ever since. And now, with no warning, here she is.

“Elinor came to my rescue!” says Mum dramatically, from where she’s sitting on the sofa with Janice. “I had no one else to turn to, so I rang her up!”

No one else to turn to? What’s she talking about? She’s got a whole RV full of people.

“Mum,” I say cautiously. “That’s not true. You’ve got me, Suze, Luke—”

“I needed someone influential!” Mum waves her wineglass at me. “Since Luke refused to use his contacts…”

“Jane,” says Luke. “I’m not sure what you expected me to do—”

“I expected you to pull out all the stops! Elinor couldn’t have been more helpful. She understands. Don’t you, Elinor?”