Page 62 of The Party Plot

“Oh no, Denise. I think the party is most definitely over. I’ll pray for you, you know. And for your son.”

Laurel’s stomach lurched, and he felt the hair stand up on the nape of the neck. Lavinia Bonard’s offer of prayers was as harsh as a kick in the teeth, and he could feel her eyes boring into him. He didn’t turn to look.

Denise was still protesting somewhere in the background. Melody put a timid hand on his back. “Oh my God. Are you two okay?” She was trembling, arms tense, the beads on her costume rattling.

“I think so.” He gave Casey one last squeeze before letting him go. Birdie Callaway, who’d been hovering nearby with a handkerchief and a glass of liquid in her hands, immediately swooped in. Taking a hold of Casey’s chin, she began to clean him off without asking, like an overzealous mother cat.

“This might sting. I couldn’t find any water but I think this is someone’s gin and tonic.”

“Birdie.” Casey pushed her hand away. “Please. I don’t want gin and tonic germs all over my face.”

Laurel looked over Casey’s shoulder as Birdie continued to fuss over him. He was nearly blinded by camera flashes. Everyone had their phones out now. It had definitely turned into a night to remember, though not in the way Denise would have wanted. Howie was getting led out of the ballroom, his mom and brother on either side, the security guards at his back. Off to the side, Denise was sobbing to Meredith, face flushed, mascara streaks down her face. Meredith looked a little green. As Laurel watched, she stumbled off, apologizing.

“Sorry. It’s the blood. Or maybe something in the shrimp.”

He didn’t look away quickly enough, and Denise caught his eye. “And you’re just over here laughing about it!” she hissed.

Laurel shrugged. It kind ofwasfunny, except for Casey’s nose. Meredith was now throwing up into a vase. Laurel saw Mary Devereux cover her mouth and gag in sympathy, then rush out of the room. Jasper and Peaches, meanwhile, had descended upon the table of spilled hors d’oeuvres and looked to be having the absolute best time of anyone there. There were black smudges of Howie’s hair dye all over the hundred-plus-year-old hardwoods, and a plastic skull from one of the toppled tables had rolled into the middle of the ballroom, stranded there on its own.Alas, poor Yorick, his brain suggested, and Laurel tried again not to giggle.

“Mom,” he said.

“My own son. I thought I raised you better.” Denise wiped her nose. “Is it really true?” she asked, lower lip wobbling. “Are you—? And with the party planner, of all people? Does your father know?”

“Yes.” He crossed his arms. “And yes.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell me? You know I would have supported you. I mean, if you’d found someone suitable. I’m very progressive, Laurel. I’m insulted that you wouldn’t trust me with this information.”

Someone suitable. She just had to get one last dig in. “Mom.” He sighed. “You know, you just never gave me a reason to.”

He turned away before she could answer, putting a hand on Casey’s shoulder. “Hey. Let’s get you out of here.”

Casey smiled at him, then winced. “Ooh. Yeah. Adrenaline’s wearing off. I think I need to sit down for a second.”

Laurel glanced at Melody. “You coming?”

She smiled and reached out, wiping something off his cheek. “I’m ok. Birdie’s driver is taking me home, apparently.”

“Get home safe. I’d hug you, but I’d get blood and shrimp all over your dress.”

Denise was saying something else, something aimed at Casey this time, but Laurel didn’t listen, leading him out of the ballroom, through the vestibule and into the front entryway, where there were benches. A photo station had been set up, with a (he assumed) red carpet rolled out in front of a wall of sunflowers and daisies, crammed together petal-to-petal, their powdery pollen smell filling up the room.

“Huh,” Casey said, sitting down. He was cradling his head, and Laurel worried that he would be in more pain as the time passed. “I guess it’s not as hideous as I thought it would be.”

“We should get you to a doctor.”

Casey let out a sniffly laugh. “What, because I don’t hate the flower wall?”

“No, because you got punched in the face and bled everywhere. You might have a concussion.”

“Sure. Later.” Casey waved a hand in the air. “First we need to call the police. I was serious about pressing charges. He assaulted me and tried to assault you. And also,” he added slyly, “I think it would be hilarious if he got arrested twice in twenty-four hours.”

“Oh my God,” Laurel said. “I love you.”

Casey looked up at him with a dazed little smile. “Oh. I love you, too. But I thought we were saving that for Venice.”

Laurel’s breath caught, a galaxy of stars bursting to life inside him, lighting him up, and he desperately wanted to kiss Casey then, but he was worried about bumping his nose, so he settled for stroking his cheek, instead, smoothing his hand over Casey’s face and down his neck, and tracing a thumb along his collarbone.

“I guess I couldn’t wait,” he murmured.

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