Page 40 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

I stared at her with a flat expression, remembering precisely what she’d said about me meeting the Astors. I wasn’t living up to her expectations.

“Oh, show us a photo of him, would you?” Ms. Jennings asked, pressing her palms together. “We’ve all done our digging—ahem, to make sure Margot isn’t getting the short end of the stick—not that your son is the short end of the stick, of course, but?—”

“What she’s saying,” my mother cut in, “is that we haven’t been able to find pictures of Aaron online.”

“We were very careful about my sons’ privacy,” Vivienne said with a nod, bringing her orange juice to her lips. “We gave each of them the choice to remain behind the camera or in the spotlight. We tease that Aaron is a bit of a recluse sometimes—he values his privacy, you see.”

Everyone in the group gave a reverent nod.

“But… I suppose I can show you a picture, if you were to keep it between us.”

And just like that, the group squealed like they were teenage girls.

My pulse had sped up as Vivienne pulled her phone from her pocket, everyone crowding around her to get a good view. I scanned the hall for Sumner, but I hadn’t seen him since he’d pulled me aside in the hallway. He must’ve ducked into the kitchen to help with cleanup, nowhere in sight.

They’re all going to see him before me, I thought, staring as Vivienne’s thumb swiped through her photos. There was no room for me to press into the group, stuck on the outskirts, as always.They’re all going to know what the man I’m going to marry looks like before I do.

I took a sharp step backward, feeling as though there suddenly wasn’t enough air in the event hall. Surely there were too many people crammed in one space; it had to be a fire hazard. Surely we shouldn’t all be huddled together.

Surely this couldn’t be happening.

Everyone around me got first dibs on my life… but me. My parents, the deciders. The country club members, the gossipers. Me, the afterthought. Just as with every other choice in my life, I was the last person consulted with. And I couldn’t let it happen.

Without thinking it through in its entirety, I shoved into Yvette’s back hard, and with how many mimosas she consumed, she had too delayed of a reaction to right herself. She pitched forward, heels stumbling, and the force sent her and her mimosa sprawling all over Vivienne and her one-of-a-kind suit.

Everyone shrieked.

Yvette ricocheted off of Vivienne’s lap and onto the ground,her plastic champagne flute bouncing harmlessly on the floor. Staff workers rushed toward Vivienne with napkins while Mrs. Holland tried swatting the mimosa off of the expensive clothing. As if it would’ve helped. The liquid seeped into the velvet material, creating a darkened stain on the front of Vivienne’s pants. She blinked, stunned, mimosa dripping off her chin.

I leaned to the side, hiding behind Ms. Jennings. If the ladies hadn’t been so tipsy, I’m sure I would’ve been found out immediately, my evil deed witnessed and condemned. But when Yvette looked up from the floor, she zeroed straight in on Ms. Jennings, and didn’t look at me at all.

“I’vehadit with you, you tramp!” Yvette screeched, completely forgetting time and place, and all hell broke loose from there.

Yvette launched from the marble and grabbed an entire fistful of Ms. Jennings’s auburn curls, snapping Ms. Jennings’s head back. Someone’s mimosa flute fell to the ground, which sent more specks of liquid flying up. My mother called out Yvette’s name and rushed toward the dueling duo, and Ms. Jennings didn’t even question why Yvette sprung at her—she grabbed Yvette’s own hair, the two locked in a vicious embrace.

“You’re just jealous!” Ms. Jennings shouted, unfazed by the grip on her head. “I’mso sorrythat your husband likes my company better!”

“It isn’t your company he likes,” Yvette fired back, eyes blazing. “Which is why he only ever stays an hour!”

Scandalized gasps cut through the group, and Vivienne covered her mouth with her hand. I pressed my lipstogether, but not to fight off a smile. It was a situation that I would’ve normally looked on with amusement, sipping at my own drink while the dramatics unfolded, but I simply stood there, a buzzing sound filling my head.

I hadn’t thought it through, not thoroughly enough the way I normally did. When I pushed Yvette, I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting, but it escalated far further than I thought. I looked at the stain on Vivienne’s front. I was the reason it was ruined, all because I hadn’t wanted anyone to see Aaron’s picture before me.

Grace tried to tug Yvette’s hands out of Ms. Jennings’s hair, her own expression twisted and flushed with embarrassment. “Mom—Mom,please.”

My mother attempted to untangle Ms. Jennings, and while thick in the fray, she turned to me. Her eyes flashed. “Margot.”

Security came in then, escorting the two huffing and puffing—and blushing—ladies out of the room. It was too late, though. The damage had been done. The liquid had set into Vivienne’s suit, and she’d stopped dabbing at it. Or, really, stopped allowing Mrs. Holland to dab at it, and lifted her hand to ward the napkin off. I couldn’t bring myself to study her expression.

“Vivienne, I am so, so sorry,” my mother rushed out, fretting with her palms opening and closing over the murder of the fine cloth. “I’ll—I’ll have it cleaned, replaced?—”

“It’s an original Malstoni,” I found myself saying when I should’ve kept my mouth shut. “You can’t replace it.”

My mother looked at me sharply, the realizationrolling like a wave in her eyes. In a split second, I saw it all—the promise of her wrath.

But she had to placate first. She rushed in with more flowery words, more platitudes, expressing her deepest apologies. Vivienne stood up from the chair they’d ushered her into and excused herself to the bathroom, waving off when anyone tried to follow her.

The gossip ensued. “Her poor outfit.”

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