Page 44 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

I answered immediately. “Of course.”

It was another one of those things where I said it, but I wasn’t sure if I meant it. In a way, it was truthful. I wanted to marry Aaron Astor, because marrying him meant keeping all the things I held dear. My suits, my car, my financial status. I’d rather marry him than lose it all.

“I don’t want to go for a walk,” I decided suddenly, taking a left when we entered the country club and continuing down the empty hallway, knowing Sumner would follow. “I want to go to the golf course.”

I hated golfing. My father, in his desperate attempt to pretend I was a son instead of a daughter, took me out with his friends once when I was little. The businessmen had a wonderful time instructing their sons how to line up a swing, how to aim with the wind, the perfect posture. When it’d gotten to my turn, my father hadn’t even wanted to touch me to adjust how I held the golf club.

Golfing wasn’t a fond memory, but taking the carts for a joyride was right up my alley.

It wasn’t hard to procure a golf cart, even though rentals were supposed to have stopped at six. One glimpseof Margot Massey, and everyone jumped to accommodate. I’d gotten lucky, though, and the staff member renting out the carts was a new hire, which made the whole process even easier. Sumner had simply followed my lead, much as he always did.

The sun crept closer and closer to setting on the horizon, which meant that almost all the straggling golfers had packed it in. Meaning we had free rein over the entire course.

Sumner insisted on driving, though I quickly regretted letting him. “Can’t you go any faster?” I asked him as we drove away from the first hole.Creptaway, really. “You’re going ten miles per hour.”

“It’s a golf cart, not your sports car.”

“This wasn’t what I had in mind when I said I wanted to take it out.”

Sumner acquiesced to my complaints by setting his foot down a bit firmer on the gas pedal. The speedometer didn’t even raise by five. “Now is it more fun?”

At least there was finally enough wind to pick up my hair. I folded my arms across my chest. “Slightly.”

We meandered through the next four holes in silence, though it was the comfortable sort. I could hear the softness of Sumner’s breathing mixing with the musical tones drifting through the speakers. He’d picked a playlist that had soft instrumental music, and it fit the tone of the evening perfectly. Nothing loud, nothing harsh. Just simple and comforting, just like his presence.

The longer the quiet stretched between us, though, I knew I needed to bring up Saturday. I needed to apologize and actually clear the air instead of justpretending it was clear. I wasn’t sure why it was so hard for me; perhaps because I had little experience in crafting apologies. I didn’t have much experience in hearing them, either—it’d been a while since I’d received an apology that didn’t have a hidden motive behind it.

I cleared my throat again. “I still can’t believe you missed the hair-pulling match on Saturday,” I said in a deadpan voice. “I told you there’d be one, didn’t I?”

“Oh, I heard about it. Someone asked me to take out the trash. Maybe I can bribe the guys at security to let me watch the CCTV.”

“So that’s why you got in trouble with my mother, hmm? For being on trash duty instead of keeping an eye on Miss Margot?” My mother would’ve argued he should’ve been taking care of the trash—of me.

Sumner’s hands flexed a little over the golf cart’s steering wheel, tightening, and then loosening. “Does your mother talk to you like that often?”

“Only when I go too far in testing her patience.”

Bringing her up soured my mood. My mother had resorted to giving me the silent treatment. Even back in New York, her cold shoulders were frequent. We did always work better when we never spoke to each other. Either she didn’t tell my father about the whole incident—doubtful—or he couldn’t bring himself to waste any more energy on scolding me—probable—because he hadn’t approached me over the whole incident.

I picked at the hem of my shorts again. “About Saturday?—”

“Why did you do it? Why spill a drink all over Mrs. Astor?” Before I had a chance to say anything, Sumnerclarified, “The other servers were talking about who the woman in the fancy suit was when I was collecting the garbage. The staffdoestalk, you know. Maybe not as much as the people in your circles, but there’s also gossip behind the scenes.”

Of course there was. I couldn’t imagine that there wouldn’t be. “You’re just assuming it was on purpose?”

“You said to your mother that it was.”

I looked out over the green, the sunset turning the world a beautiful shade of yellow. I hadn’t realized he’d been there for theentireconversation.

“I don’t get you sometimes.” Sumner did sound confused, and in a way, maybe even a little exasperated. The sound of his voice took whatever warmth that’d been trapped in my chest and froze it cold. “You want to marry Aaron, so why do something that could sabotage it?”

“My mother told you—I’m impulsive.”

“And yet, in the short time I’ve known you, I learned that you don’t do anything without a reason. Even if it seems like the opposite.”

I said nothing in response to that, and Sumner didn’t probe again. Perhaps he was waiting for me to cave.I ruined her ten-thousand-dollar outfit because she was about to show everyone a photo of her son. It didn’t quite give off the sophisticated vibes I was going for. Then again, spilling a drink on someone wasn’t sophisticated in the slightest, either. I wasn’t sure why it bothered me so much, the idea of Sumner thinking negatively toward me, but it was all I could think.

Sumner had quickly become almost like a depressant for me, settling my mind and calming my nervesjust by being around. Whereas people drained me, sucked me dry, Sumner was different. I found myself wanting to share my mind more with him, even though it went against everything I’d ever done.

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