Page 12 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

Nancy coughed, but it quickly turned into a hacking sound that had her doubling over. I stood rigid beside her, drawing in a breath and holding it while. The wrapper in her lap fluttered to the ground. Just as I decided the fit was going on too long, just when I was about to run back inside to get her something to drink, it cleared. “By God,” she exclaimed breathlessly.

My heart pounded, and I forced my chin to the side, trying to calm the brimming panic. “Those pack-a-day cigs are catching up to you.”

She cleared her throat a few more times, her wheezing breaths slowly returning to normal. “Being alone is a choice,” she said finally, not looking at me. Her gaze, too, fixed back on the pond, as if all answers rested beneath the surface. “It isn’t forced upon you like you think it is, Margot. You can choose to be alone, or you can choose to have people in your life.”

I thought of my mother, her grip on my chin earlier this morning. “People don’t want me in their lives.” Except for Aaron Astor.

“Then find someone who does. That’s your choice.” Nancy reached down and laid her hands on the handles of her wheelchair, her grip looking frail as she tried to maneuver it around. She was decidedly finished with viewing the water. “You’ve already got one person to try with.”

I reached for the back handles of her wheelchair. “Who?”

She swatted at my arm hard enough to sting. Notthatfrail, apparently. “Get your hands off,” she snapped in her usual grouchy tone, but continued on. “The waiter boy. The one you already kissed.”

“You mean Sumner.”

“Sumner, eh? Interesting name.” She huffed as she wheeled toward the house. I followed just behind her, resting my hand on one of the handles, urging her along as unnoticeably as possible. “Yes, I mean him. Go makefriends with him, and I might consider putting you in my will.”

“I’m sure if you gave Ms. Jennings that opportunity, she’d jump on it.”

“She’d jump more things than that,” Nancy muttered with a shake of her head, but I saw her lips raise a little at her joke. She made her way to the back door ramp, and we went up it. When we got to the door, though, she wheeled herself inside but stopped just over the threshold, refusing to let me enter. “Go. Make a friend. And check out his tush this time for me, would you? If it’s a nice one, send me a picture.”

With that, Nancy snapped the sliding glass door shut, flipping over the lock with no remorse.

CHAPTER FOUR

The vast estate of the Alderton-Du Ponte Country Club with Massey Suites looming off to its side was stunning during the day. Willow trees lined the smooth roadway leading up to the grand building, their branches swaying in the wind as I drove underneath. They cleared to display the beautiful eighteen-hundreds-style architecture that expanded with an impressive square-footage.

The structure had gone through many renovations and additions over the years, but still held the charm Mr. Hubert Alderton had fought so hard to maintain. The estate itself was over fifty acres, accommodated with private pools and spas, with their grand golf course spreading out over the greenery. Even the air itself smelled expensive.

Such a beautiful place, but it was as if I could feel my soul shrivel each time I got close.

“Good afternoon, Miss Margot,” one of the valets greeted me as he opened my door. He was in his mid-thirties, tall, but would never look me in my eye.

Please leave, his expression read. When the othervalets saw me looking, they pretended to be busy with other things at their station, but it was clear they all shared one uniform thought:Please be on your way, Margot Massey.

No one liked to interact with Ice Queen Margot any longer than they needed to, lest she freeze their hearts. I wasn’t sure when it’d become that way, that even the staff began avoiding me, but I’d grown to expect it.

I passed the man my car key. “Keep it out,” I told him flatly. “I’ll be just a moment.” Without another glance, continuing on toward the pearly gates of hell. I could’ve sworn I heard a sigh of relief behind me.

The Massey Hotel & Suites lobby was just as magnificent as Alderton-Du Ponte, with floor to ceiling windows in the entryway that let in an enormous amount of natural light. The heels of my loafers clacked on the marble floor as I walked through the entrance. I didn’t expect to find Sumner waiting for me—after all, I hadn’t given him a time I’d be back by—but when I did a quick scan, I found him sitting in one of the lounge chairs, bathed in sunlight.

His attention was on his phone, thumbs moving fast as he typed something out. His golden hair was once more ungelled and loose across his forehead, long enough to curve around his ears.I’ll be waiting for you, he’d said hours before, and here he was.

As I approached, the first thing my gaze locked on were his shoes. They weresneakers. Old, dirt ridden. The untied laces on his left shoe were nearly black with grime. He wore dark wash jeans with a tear in the knees and a loose-fitting white T-shirt tucked into the band. Hehadn’t been the definition of elegance last night, but at least he’d been wearingkhakis.

“Your shoes,” I said without preamble, causing Sumner to jump in his seat. His hands fumbled on his phone, causing it to fall from his grip and bounce into his lap. “Your clothes. Go change them.”

Sumner rose to his feet and looked down at himself once more, his golden hair falling into his eyes. “What’s wrong with them?”

“You cannot be following me around looking like you’re homeless.”

Finally, some of his neutral expression cracked, drawing a line between his eyebrows. It made him look less like a mannequin and more like a person. “Homeless?” His tone was a little more than mildly offended. “I don’t have anything likethat.”

He was directing his attention to the suit I had on, and I narrowed my eyes at the Gilfman slander. I felt perfectly put together, and my confidence grew from that solid feeling. How he could feel confident sitting in a luxury hotel lobby looking like he’d just taken the walk of shame was beyond me. “Business casual will do.”

“Jeans aren’t casual?”

I could’ve gasped. “You can’t possibly thinkjeansarebusiness casual. They havetears.”

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