Page 37 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

I caught his eye as he straightened from the table, his tray half-loaded full of dishes and empty champagne flutes. With a subtle tip of my chin, I beckoned him out into the corridor, to which he gave me a less-than-subtle nod.

Though the chatter followed me into the hallway, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Everyone who normally traversed through here already was in the grand room. The husbands of the women who drank their morning away were no doubt all on the golf course, or, if they’d already finished their rounds, having their own drinks or cigars in the outdoor bar. Everything moved like clockwork around here, not a single surprise or thing out of place.

Sumner slipped out of the event hall and into the corridor, holding his now empty tray. “Is it hot in there or is it just me?” he asked me as he tugged on the collar of his shirt. “How’re you doing in there? Surviving?”

“Barely,” I deadpanned, all at once stilling. “We’re getting to the fun part of the morning, though, when everyone gets tipsy and starts saying nasty things.”

A corner of his lips tipped up. “Nasty?”

“Last time, Mrs. Holland started talking about the latest sex position she discovered, and accidentally said a name that wasn’t her husband’s.”

Sumner fully laughed now, looking away from me and then looking back. This was another reason why Sumner was a breath of fresh air to be around; anyone else would’ve gasped, scandalized. Instead, he only gave a musical laugh. “Is that why I haven’t seen you drinking much? To avoid spilling your own secrets?”

“More like I need to be sober to remember everything for blackmail later.”

“Ah, right, right.” Sumner shifted on his feet, and I wondered if he was about to excuse himself to get back to work. “Is that new?” Sumner asked, eyeing what I wore.

The suit was a Malstoni design from years ago, custom made and one of a kind. It was loosely based on one of his runway designs, though he’d made it more feminine. The jacket was long and cream colored, with pearl buttons and silver stitching. I wore a tight lace shirt underneath, one with a nude lining that almost gave it the illusion of sheer material. It looped low on my chest, and I’d layered silver jewelry to make up for the empty real estate.

“I’ve had it a while.” I reached down and tugged on the end of my sleeve, straightening the fabric. “If you see someone about to throw their mimosa at me, be sure to use your body as a shield.”

He still hadn’t lost his amusement. “Oh yeah? And why should I?”

“Because this suit cost four thousand dollars, while your shirt looks like something I could buy in a pack of three-for-five at Walmart.”

Now some of that amusement was replaced. “The country club provided this shirt, thank you very much,” he said in defense, tugging at his collar again, and muttered under his breath, “Three-for-five.”

Now it was my turn to don a small smirk, effectively pushing his buttons. “It’ll happen,” I promised him as I moved to lean against the far wall. “Just you wait.”

“You know, there’s something I don’t understand,” Sumner said, taking a few steps closer to stand before me. “Your mother is afraid of you acting out, and yet she still wants you to come to these events?”

“Ah, you’ve discovered the conundrum of it all.” I tapped the heel of my shoe against the ground. The loafers were Claire Haute, which I normally would’ve never paired with something as classy as a Malstoni suit, but the pearls that were sewn into the top of the shoe accentuated the pearl stitching of the suit too nicely to pass up. “There are few things my parents consider more thanoptics.”

“Optics,” he echoed, almost as if he didn’t know what the word meant.

“‘What would everyone think? What would everyone say?’” I was sure these two questions ran through my parents’ thoughts on a daily basis. “If my mother were to tell me not to attend, everyone would be nosy about thewhy. ‘Margot lives in the hotel; why isn’t she here?’ Or ‘What else does your daughter have to do on a Saturday morning?’ Rumors start when someone isn’t present, because everyone loves to talk behind someone else’s back.”

“You make it sound so cutthroat.”

I gave a languid shrug. “You haven’t been around long enough, but you’ll see. People do the most horrible things all for the sake of climbing to the top of the elitist pyramid.”

Something in Sumner’s gaze flickered then, a faint response that I wouldn’t have caught if I wasn’t staring. He always accused me of having a problem, but this waswhy—the longer one stared, the more they saw. “But not you?”

“I’d rather sit back and watch everyone’s downfall. It’s far more fun.”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Don’t worry; I won’t let you forget it.”

Sumner’s eyes dipped to my mouth, and it was only then that I realized I was smiling. It was a small curl to my lips, one that pinched the apples of my cheeks. The moment I noticed, it slipped from my face, and I forced my lips back to their neutral position.

“You’re not holding your tray correctly,” I told him, straightening from the wall.

Sumner took his tray out from underneath his arm. “I’m not?”

“You’re holding it too much in front of you. It’s much harder to maintain balance when something is sticking offin frontof you, rather than at your side.” I reached around him and pressed his arm to his side, and bent his elbow so that the point of it dug into his side. Nancy hadn’t been lying when she said there was more squish to his arm than I’d been expecting, and it nearly made me smile again. “Your arm will be able to leverage the weight easier with your side supporting it, and your forearm will help you balance the tray. You can load your tray up more and it won’t be as straining.”

Sumner allowed me to move him like a puppet, not fighting as my fingers grabbed his arm to reposition, brushing against his skin. “I’m surprised you know this, given—” He abruptlystopped.

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