Page 50 of Getting Lucky

When they finished eating, they hauled the new furniture in, which was a lot sturdier than the stuff they’d brought down to the living room. The nightstands, headboard, frame and even the mattress and box spring had gone up okay, but the dresser was tougher. They had to stop multiple times for Maisie and Iris to shift their grip or take a break before they got it up the stairs and into the room.

They’d just gotten the dresser in place when Jack’s phone rang. He fished it out of his back pocket, surprised when he saw Adalia’s name on the screen. She usually texted.

“Hey, Addy,” he said, wiping the back of his arm across his forehead. “Everything okay?”

“Everything isfarfrom okay. It’s a freaking disaster.”

A million worst-case scenarios ran through his head. Jezebel had gotten into a fight with Tyrion. Or Dottie had decided to deep-fry Twinkies in the back yard. Or, God forbid, Lurch had peed in the kettles again. “What happened?”

“They’re coming,” Adalia said, her voice strained.

“What?” he asked in confusion. “Who’s coming where?”

“Victoria and our father. They’re coming to Asheville, Jack.” She paused. “They’re coming to theengagement party.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Our plan backfired,” Adalia said, aghast. “Now we have to spendChristmaswith them.”

“Well, technically Christmas Eve,” Maisie said. “Hopefully Santa Claus will take pity on us and whisk them away at midnight instead of leaving gifts.”

“This is no laughing matter!” Adalia insisted, her voice so adamant, her curls bobbed.

Which only made Maisie want to laugh—not at her friend, but because it was sort of funny that a couple ofyesRSVPs had led to this emergency summit in Beau Buchanan’s old living room. How bad could two people be? Prescott Buchanan might think he was some kind of god, but he was just a man, like any other. And Victoria? Her boyfriend might let her boss him around, for yet-to-be-determined reasons, but she didn’t scare Maisie.

Except Maisie didn’t laugh, because her gaze found Jack. He’d gone silent and pale upon learning about his father’s holiday plans. And why shouldn’t he? Prescott might have been a bad father to the three children he acknowledged, but from what she could tell, he’d been a nonexistent father to Jack.

Great, you found another one with parent issues, she could practically hear Mary saying, but Mary could stuff a sock in it. It sucked, the way the Prescott news had punctured the little bubble she and Jack and Iris had been in all evening. They’d found their way to a comfortable place where Iris didn’t feel the need to act out, and Jack and Maisie didn’t feel the need to define whatever was growing between them, and then suddenly it had fallen apart. Iris’s glower had come back the second she learned an “emergency” family issue had come up—“They’re notmyfamily,” she’d said—and Einstein, who’d been tolerating Jack all evening, had randomly started barking at him until they left, all of them, for Beau’s old house.

Finn still wasn’t back from Charlotte, so Maisie was standing in for both best men. Except she was currently sitting, watching Adalia as she paced the living room, followed by Tyrion, who seemed to have picked up on her anxiety. Jack sat on the sofa next to Maisie, although he’d put a healthy distance between them, she’d noticed, and Dottie sat in a chair across from them, knitting an animal sweater. Given the size, she suspected it was for Tyrion, something that was completely unnecessary considering his thick coat. Jezebel watched them all imperiously from atop the kitchen cupboards.

They hadn’t invited River and Georgie for the conversation. Adalia had insisted they develop a “strategy” before taking it to the happy couple.

In all honesty, Maisie could understand why Iris had run up to her room the second they’d arrived. Although Iris was technically in the wedding party, she’d only agreed on the condition that she didn’t have to talk about the wedding up until the actual day. Which was a deal Maisie kind of wished she’d thought to ask for.

“I willnotlet them ruin this for Georgie,” Adalia continued.

“Or River,” Dottie said. She shot a look at Maisie, and it was obvious she was thinking about the holiday season many years ago when her niece had come to visit and then frittered off to places unknown, leaving her son behind. Maybe she assumed Maisie was thinking about that too, but actually her mind was on Jack. On what it would be like for him to drink beer and eat canapés with the father who’d so soundly rejected him.

“So we warn them off before the party,” Maisie said. “I’d be more than happy to give this Victoria a talking-to.”

There was that rueful half-smile on Jack again, and Maisie promised herself she’d get another full one before the night was through.

Dottie set aside her knitting and took a sip of her tea, which she’d doctored with a healthy pour of whiskey, Maisie had noted—she’d offered one to everyone, but Maisie had declined. She’d had one of Dottie’s “medicinal teas” before, and it was not possible to operate a motor vehicle afterward. In fact, she’d probably have to end up driving Dottie home.

“This may be an opportunity, my dears,” Dottie said. “No one’s mentioned a bachelor or bachelorette party. We so rarely get to see our Lee.” To Maisie’s understanding, Dottie had met him all of once, but she spoke about him as if he were a dear friend. The lost Buchanan child. “And this may be our only chance to celebrate Georgie and River like they deserve, with thefullwedding party.” A crafty look stole over her eyes. “If we have the bachelor and bachelorette parties before the engagement party, it will give us a chance to talk to Victoria and Prescott individually. They need to understand, in no uncertain terms, that they are to behave or bear the consequences.”

Adalia, who’d just taken a large gulp of the tea she was carrying on her walkabout, nearly choked.

“Wait a second,” Jack said, and it struck Maisie that it was one of the first things he’d said since they’d arrived. “We’re still ironing out the plans for the engagement party, and now we’re planning more parties? This is all going down in less than three weeks.”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Dottie said, waving a hand. “Adalia’s the maid of honor. She’ll plan the bachelorette celebration, and Finn and Maisie will handle the bachelor party. I’ll help all of you in an advisory capacity, of course”—meaning she’d try to take over—“but I plan on asking Prescott to have dinner with me that night so you young people can have your fun.”

She said it in a way that charged up Maisie’s curiosity. From what she’d heard, Prescott hadn’t bothered to hide his disdain for Dottie at the will reading. Why was she so sure he’d accept her invitation? The implication was that Dottie had something on him…but what?

“Why don’t we just have a joint party?” Jack asked.

“Because we need to separate Victoria and Lee if we’re going to give her a talking-to,” Adalia said, her eyes shining. “And because Dottie needs to work her magic on our father.”

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