Page 101 of Love is a Game

All eyes shift to Violet.

She downs the last of her champagne. “Jess—this NDA agreement. It’s air-tight?”

“A hundred percent,” Jess assures her.

Violet sets her glass aside, runs her eyes around our faces.

“Molly, my daughter, was conceived in the back of a hearse the afternoon of her—” She raises her fingers in air quotes. “Father’sfuneral.”

Raquel chokes, spraying a mouthful of champagne straight into the pool as a synchronized gasp ripples through the group.

“Holy shit!” Raquel sputters, wiping her mouth. “I’m gonna need you to repeatthatgolden nugget.”

Violet swallows. “My family assumes Molly was conceived before my husband died. But…Nick isn’t her father.”

Silence.

Then Raquel, eyes wide, leans forward. “Wait. Thenwhois? The priest?”

Vivian groans. “Raquel.”

“What? I mean, it was ahearse! Like, wow.”

Violet closes her eyes, as if preparing for impact. “Nick’s brother.Luca.”

More silence.

Then Raquel explodes. “Oh.My. Lordy!”

“Whoa.” Mia breathes.

The rest of us exchange stunned looks.Prim and perfect, Violet?

Questions fire from all angles—how, when,why—but Violet calmly lifts her empty glass, extending it toward Raquel. “Refill.”

“Absolutely,” Raquel says, still giddy. “Honey, you are onedark horse!”

“Oh, me next?” Susan murmurs, realizing Violet has no intention of elaborating further. She offers a coy smile. “Well. When Keith and I got together…he was actually my superior.”

Several eyebrows rise.

“I was working as a teacher’s aide before finishing my degree,” she explains. “Keith was my supervising teacher. And, well…there weresparks.”

Raquel leans in. “Forbidden romance ‘sparks’?”

Susan takes a sip of champagne, eyes twinkling. “One afternoon, after a field trip—some kind of outdoor survival workshop—we were the last ones back, double-checking the return of all the compasses, first-aid kits, and emergency whistles. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, we were tangled on top of the stack of safety vests.”

A beat of stunned silence.

Then I blurt, “Susan!”

She just shrugs, a wicked glint in her eye. “Oh yes. And believe me, Keith wasquitebuilt back then…it was…raunchy.”

Appreciative laughter erupts.

Raquel rubs her hands together. “My turn! Okay, ladies,picture this—” she leans in, pausing for dramatic effect. “Portugal, 1987. I was young, single, and absolutelyferalfor a man with a good swing.”

Mia groans. “Oh god.”

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