Page 112 of Masks and Mishaps

“Yeah, we left your brothers to fend for themselves against the wolves.” I take out my phone. Stacked messages from my father and Hannington are a strange irony.

“What’s wrong?”

“My dad texted me. He said, ‘I heard the wedding is off. How is Mom?’”

“Just tell him to fuck off.”

“I will when you tell your dad to fuck off,” I reply, winking at her. “Hey, Tommy mentioned he left without saying goodbye to anyone.”

“Don’t care. He always comes crawling back.” But in spite of her words, her expression is grim.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nope. I’m fine. I’m not lacking in the Daddy department.”

I kiss her cheek before I check my next message. “Hey, Hannington took us up on the invite. His family is here.”

Essie pulls her mouth to the side. “I can’t believe your mom invited them.”

Something about her tone unnerves me, and my eyes narrow to slits. “What happened?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

Nope—unacceptable. I lean down. “Anything that happens to you is a big deal to me. It’s a big deal to me when youblink, Essie. Tell me.”

She sighs slowly and glances to the side before she says, “Weston asked me out last Monday.”

“WHAT?” I bellow.

“Calm down,” Essie orders, resting her hand on my side. “I handled it.”

My inhalation runs sharply through my nostrils. “I don’t want you to handle things. I handle things. Your goddamn daddyhandles things.”

“Well, when you’re not here, I’m my own daddy. I rejected him even though he basically said he would sabotage my offer. But I wasn’t going to let him ruin me, so I called Claudia and got her to invest into my model. There. Handled.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” I demand.

“Because you love Warner.” She stares into my eyes with her soft, sympathetic gaze. “And I knew you’d murder Weston, which—believe it or not—might piss off his dad.”

“Debatable,” I murmur, glancing to the side. “I’m going to find him.”

“Don’t say a word,” she warns. “Just let it go.” Her expression is magnificently serious.

“Do I have to?” I ask. And when she nods, I sigh and say, “Fine. I won’t say anything.” I kiss her forehead. “Go have fun. I’ll change my shirt and find you.”

Essie’s expression is serious. “Dalton,pleasebe good.”

“I’m good, baby. I promise,” I assure her, ushering her out the pantry door. “Good as gold.”

***

Joke’s on Essie; gold prices are volatile as fuck.

The house is packed with a mix of my mom’s friends and what I have to assume is everyone she’s ever met in the Hudson River Valley. I weave through the throngs of drunk people, scanning for Weston. He’s not on the first floor or in the backyard, but I do see Essie with Cora and Everett. Everett looks like he’s identifying the genus of the trees in the immediate vicinity—again—but despite the riveting lesson in dendrology, Essie’s eyes meet mine. I give a reassuring wave before I go back inside.

I finally head upstairs, unbuttoning my shirt as I go, and the party sounds fade to a muted, indecipherable blur until only the faint tingle of the crystals in the chandelier punctuate my walk.

And lo and behold, like a gift from the universe herself, the man of the hour stumbles out of a bedroom right as I enter the second-floor hallway. A giggling woman half-dangles off him, and they’re clearly reveling in post-nut bliss until they see me.

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