Page 36 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

“You also saidhot.” I opened my mouth to object when Sumner cut me off. “When I told you a woman wanted help with her sunscreen, you said that she shouldn’t get felt up by a ‘hot guy in his twenties.’”

I resented the way he said it. When I’d first seen Sumner, one of my initial thoughts had been that he was handsome. Handsome in a way that he could’ve fit into the diamond life perfectly. I remember thinking it, and I remember it being a throwaway thought. One I would’ve admitted aloud, easily, without a second thought.

Now, saying those words felt far more charged.

Clearing my throat, I got to my feet. Sumner tipped his head back to peer up at me. “Hey, I called you pretty the other day. You’re allowed to compliment me, too.”

“I’m not complimenting you.” I scooped my jacket up from the pool lounger and threaded my arms through, despite the fact that I already felt close to passing out from heatstroke.

“So, I’m not hot?”

“No.”

“I’m not handsome?”

I didn’t like how he was looking at me, like he’d somehow discovered the upper hand. I didn’t like it one bit, but my mind blanked on any ways to tip the situation back into my favor. My beautiful mind, one that could come up with ways to best anyone at the drop of the hat, was a well that had run completely dry. “Passably,” I muttered, and walked toward the country club, once more fidgeting with the stupid vest buttons. Sumner laughed as he caught up behind me.

CHAPTER TEN

One Saturday every month, Alderton-Du Ponte hosted their Mimosa Morning, where members gathered and mingled. It was an excuse to meet and gossip, of course. Getting a bunch of people drunk before noon wasn’t a classy look, but they were of the mind that as long as their drinks had at least a drop of orange juice in it, it was fine.

A Mimosa Morning never passed without someone either picking a fight or sobbing so hard they passed out. I still waited for either to happen.

The one disappointing thing about Mimosa Mornings was that everyone had tables to sit at, which meant I couldn’t stand in the corner and watch everything unfold from afar. No, instead, I had to be squished between Ms. Jennings, who was on her fourth mimosa, and Grace, whose drink was straight orange juice.

“Ally,” Yvette said to Ms. Jennings. The way the circle table was set up had my mother straight across from me, Yvette at her left, Ms. Jennings atherleft. With the champagne flute in her hand, Yvette gestured at Ms. Jennings, nearly sloshing her half-drunk mimosa onto thelatter’s dress. “Just give me the casserole recipe, would you?”

Ms. Jennings tossed her napkin from her lap onto the table. “Would you quit pestering me about it? I said no.”

“You’re acting as if it’s some Michelin star recipe. Don’t be selfish—share it with us.”

“Well, it must be something special if you’re going to berate me like this for it.”

“This isn’t me berating you.” Yvette’s words ran together as she slammed her champagne flute down on the table, and, if it’d been glass, it would’ve broken. My mother had learned after the first Mimosa Morning to use plastic flutes. “But I can, if you’d like.”

My eyes followed Sumner as he navigated around the tables, delivering drinks and removing dirty dishes. My mother asked him to help serve instead of standing on my guard, though he was asked to keep his eye on me all the while. It at least meant while I waited for the drama to unfold, I had something else to look at. He was far more interesting to watch than the gossip at my table, mostly because I was waiting for his tray to tip over. He still hadn’t learned to hold it.

No one had asked about Aaron Astor yet, a small mercy. That, much like the monthly fight or sob session, most definitely was impending.

We were getting close to one of them happening.

“Ms. Nancy shared it withme,” Ms. Jennings insisted, taking a long drink of her mimosa. “You’re just jealous I’m the one she gave it to. Guess someone hasn’t impressed Nancy enough, huh? Hurry—you’re running out of time.”

Most of the table gasped at Ms. Jennings’ lack ofpoliteness, but that was to be expected as she drained her fourth drink. “You’re no better, Ally. She just gave it to you because you bribe her with cigarettes.”

“Andyoubother and bother about her will, so she says. Apparently, I’m not the only one you berate.”

I slipped deeper into my seat, getting ready.

Yvette’s mimosa sloshed again as she leaned forward, and this time, it was pure luck that it hadn’t gotten on the tablecloth. I then realized that if Yvette did get furious enough to throw her drink, being at Ms. Jennings’s other side, I sat in the splash zone. That would not do. I took that as my cue and shoved my chair back. It screamed over the floor, cutting through the conversation at the table, and everyone turned toward me.

“Margot,” my mother began, watching as I stood. “Where are you going?”

“The bathroom. Did I need to ask for permission?”

The group gasped again, because while I might not have used vulgar language, Ihaddisrespected the supreme authority, and both carried the same severity. At least, in their eyes. My mother looked at me with tired eyes, drawing up her mimosa. “Go, go,” she insisted, already turning toward Yvette to change the subject. “How are Annalise’s wedding preparations coming along?”

Of course, I wasn’t going to the bathroom. Sumner was at a far table bussing it, smiling at the ladies who chatted him up. They seemed far more interested in him than they’ve ever been in any of the other staff members, but it was understandable—Sumnerwasone of the few male faces among the women on the servingrotation.

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