Page 39 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

A bead of sweat had formed and slid down the side of his throat now, and without thinking, I reached up and swiped it away with the pad of my thumb, my fingers curving lightly around his neck. Sumner jumped at the touch, eyes widening. I watched myself in the reflection of his pupils, and the black depths expanded ever so slightly. The rapid rise and fall of his chest paused.

I pressed my hand a bit firmer against his throat, and underneath my fingertips, the pulse in his throat pounded. Rapid. Stuttering. A captive bird, desperately fluttering around its cage. Because of my father? Or because of me?

I smiled, another small one that pinched my cheeks. “Breathe, Sumner Pennington,” I whispered, and without another word, I slid out from the space between his body and the wall and stepped into view of the approaching pair.

My father, dressed in one of his most expensive suits, walked down the hall with a tall woman at his side. I walked toward the event archway, intending to go straight inside without interacting with them at all, until I realized my father was grinning like a madman as he approached.His attitude was far, far different from how it normally was around me alone, much more animated and lively.

“What luck!” he exclaimed as he and the woman came to a halt in front of me. “It’s almost as if you were waiting for us. This is my daughter, Margot.”

I gave the middle-aged woman a less than subtle appraising look, stunned. Her pantsuit was a deep emerald color, velvet, with a coat that dipped in at the waist and pants that had a small flare at her ankles. “That’s a Malstoni from one of his first collections,” I said with a little bit of awe, stunned for more reasons than one. Malstoni’s earlier pantsuit collections were no longer being made, which meant the woman was wearing a small fortune on her body.

That, and she was actuallywearingit. I didn’t think I’d ever seen another woman opt for Malstoni’s pantsuits, only ever his dresses.

The woman smiled, her mauve lips accentuating her perfectly white teeth. “Beautiful taste,” she told me, a slight English accent clinging to her words. “You knew that in ten seconds, mmm? I’m quite impressed.”

“More like five,” I corrected. “I knew it as soon as I saw the pick stitching at your collar. But not the stitching at the lapel—it’s clear that was altered up by a different tailor, most likely done with a machine.”

My father’s happy little smile disappeared. “Margot, this is?—”

“Old pieces such as these pull a stitch a time or two,” the woman said, appearing unbothered. She regarded me as if my father wasn’t even there. “I surely wouldn’t walk around with the collar coming undone.”

“Why not just replace it?” It was a foolish question, of course. I, myself, had pointed out its uniqueness. This wasn’t a suit you could justreplace.

“Why replace something when it’s perfectly beautiful otherwise?” The woman leaned in a little and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “And I could’ve requested Malstoni to fix it himself, if I wanted to pay out of price. I like to view this piece as a one-of-a-kind collaboration, you know. Malstoni, my tailor, and me. Quite the unique combination.”

It took me only a moment of regarding her to decide. “I like the way you think,” I said, offering my hand. “As my father said, I’m Margot. Margot Massey.”

She gave me a strong handshake back, but didn’t immediately let go, eyes bouncing all over me. I didn’t realize it until she spoke, but she was the surprise. The one thing that broke the clockwork, that threw everything into an uproar. I’d been waiting for it, and she’d manifested before my very eyes. “It’s a very big pleasure to meet you, Margot. I’m Vivienne Astor.” And, in case it hadn’t sunk in, she generously added, “Of Astro Agencies. Aaron Astor’s mother.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Apparently, Vivienne had not planned ahead to drop in on Mimosa Mornings, if the look on my mother’s face when the tall woman walked in was any sign. My father must not have had the opportunity to warn her, either. I wasn’t sure the last time I’d seen my mother so frazzled, though, to her credit, she tried to hide it. She didn’t do a good job. I wondered if Vivienne picked up on my mother’s nervousness—then again, she had the rest of the mimosa-goers hounding at her heels to prove an effective enough distraction.

“My, you’re so beautiful!” Mrs. Holland exclaimed, rubbing Vivienne’s hand as if it were a lamp and she was trying to draw out a genie. “Look at that skin!”

“What moisturizer do you use?” This was Ms. Jennings, her worry wrinkles standing out prominently.

“Oh, that perfume!” Yvette exclaimed, all but gripping Vivienne’s suit jacket like a child with their mother. “So beautiful! So—so—rich! I mean, rich, as indeep,of course, though it smells expensive as well!”

It was almost amusing, watching them make fools of themselves in front of Mrs. Astor with alcohol on theirbreath. I wondered how many of them would regret their behavior later, sober. Another reason I knew Vivienne’s visit was unannounced—my mother absolutely wouldn’t have drunk any champagne. She also would’ve forbidden anyone else to drink it. Especially Ms. Jennings. She would’ve canceled Mimosa Morning entirely.

“So flattering, so kind,” Vivienne would say to everyone’s compliments, taking the overwhelming hoard of rich ladies in stride. Almost as if she’d had to handle it many times before, and perhaps she had. “You’re all lovelier than I expected. Very welcoming.”

“Is that an English accent I hear?” someone asked. “I thought you lived in California!”

“Oh, yes,” Vivienne said with a laugh, giving a good-natured nod. “My family and I spent our early years in England, but Malcolm, my husband—he moved us back to his hometown on the west coast after Aaron turned ten, I believe. My accent is slowly fading, but I’m delighted it’s still somewhat recognizable.”

She had a way of saying these compliments without them falling flat, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of the lilt to her words or the gentle way she looked at everyone. It almost felt like she was a mother hen and everyone were her chicks.

Except for me, who stood separate from it all. It was only a matter of time now. The topic I’d successfully dodged all morning… It was only a matter of time.

“Why are you here so early?” Yvette asked, and I was sure she’d meant to sound happier about the prospect, but her voice came out almost accusing. “I thought you weren’t coming in until next month, for the wedding.”

“I had a few things to do in New York, and it’s only an hour’s flight to come by here before heading back home.” Vivienne looked at me with a fond smile. “I wanted to meet Margot as well, though I’m sure Aaron will be very disappointed I met her first. I’ll have to rub his nose in it.”

He had the chance to meet me and declined, I wanted to tell her, to hear what she’d say in an excuse. A woman like her, so poised and perfect, would have an excuse for her son’s behavior—and probably a great one.

At the mention of Aaron, anoohhsound worked through the crowd like a wave. “You’ll have to go back to him and sing the praises of our fair Margot,” Yvette said, turning around to beam at me.

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