Page 68 of Love and Other Champagne Problems

Sumner made a soft humming noise. Both of our hands were back at our sides when the elevator doors opened, and good thing too, because when they parted, they revealed my mother waiting on the other side. She’d been poised toward the elevator, but slouched back onto her heels as if who’d she’d been expecting hadn’t been on.

And then she blinked. “Margot,” she gasped in realization, her eyes widening near saucer wide. “Oh, my heavens, you lookbeautiful! More than I’d imagined!”

I looked down at the way the dress fell against my figure, down at my Claire-Haute sandals. In a pathetic way, my mother’s compliment affected me more than I should’ve let it. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d called me beautiful, and even though I was wearing a face full of makeup, and even though she only wanted me to be beautiful to impress a man, it still felt good.

And I hated that it felt good.

She fluffed her own hand down the front of my dress, smoothing out a nonexistent wrinkle. She then went fromstudying the dress to the jewelry that draped against my throat. One dipped down into the dress’s neckline, drawing the eye to my cleavage. Satisfied with that, she looked to my earrings, and then to my hair. Every inch of me was analyzed, scrutinized, and ultimately passed her test. “Margot,” she whispered, speaking to me without looking in my eyes. “You are very beautiful.”

The compliment once more felt like a balm to something prickly inside me, even though I knew her motives behind it. “The women at the country club wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Of course not.” My mother gently brought a section of my curls around my shoulder, laying them delicately against my collarbone. “You’re dressing like a woman for once.”

The comforting balm became like ice.

“And you, Sumner—very handsome.” My mother’s eyes, though, flicked to Sumner, a slight curve to them. “The suit is very striking on you.”

His expression was unreadable. “Thank you.”

“Well, come on, come on!” My mother grabbed my hand, and I couldn’t help but wonder when the last time that happened. “Let’s go show you off.”

I pulled my hand from her grip, though, and settled back onto Sumner’s arm. I felt far more comfortable with his touch than hers. He settled into the embrace easily, tucking my arm close against his side. My mother didn’t seem too bothered by my brush off, but instead whisked us toward the country club.

I had to hold myself back from trembling as we walked nearer and nearer to the entrance of the grandballroom. I could already hear the music trickle from the open doors, the soft and beautiful piano that people were no doubt dancing and chattering to.

My mother scanned the grand ballroom before setting off somewhere, but I didn’t see where she’d set her sights. I was far too concerned with staring at my shoes.

“Clothes don’t change who you are,” Sumner reminded me softly, and with his other hand, he patted where I gripped his jacket sleeve. “You’re still you, Margot Massey.”

“I don’t feel like me.”

“Well, you look like you. Just you in a dress.”

“Margot?” Mrs. Holland exclaimed as she passed by the ballroom’s doorway, stumbling upon me first with a champagne glass in her hands. A spark of unease shot through my chest. “Oh, why don’t you look lovely! Wow. I wouldn’t have recognized you if it weren’t for your gigolo there.” She looked at him with flirty eyes.

For once, I had no idea what to say in response. It was as if my confidence were embedded in the fabric of my suits, in the stitching—without it, I was at a loss.

Sumner chuckled good-naturedly at her tipsy joke. “Good to see you again.”

Mrs. Holland flushed, tickled with the attention. “Don’t stand in the doorway,” she insisted, urging us forward with her free hand. “Come, come. You’ll want to come in, trust me.”

Sumner took a small step forward, allowing me to decide if I’d continue or book it back into the safety of the hallway. I allowed him to lure me inside, a death grip on his arm. It was almost comical how sick to my stomach Ifelt over the thought of walking in wearing a dress. I was too busy considering my knobby knees, my pale skin.

“Everyone’s staring at me,” I whispered to Sumner, the anxiety behind my ribs tightening.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the hair above my ear. “Maybe they’re staring at me.”

I turned to look at him, to give a tense laugh, but he hadn’t leaned back, and I’d brought my face directly to his. Only an inch separated our mouths for a moment, energy causing me to still.

Until Sumner straightened, pulling away with a subtle clearing of his throat. “Want to dance?”

“No.” I didn’t even hesitate. “I want champagne.”

“Come on, dance with me first and fulfill my Prince Charming dreams before I turn back into a pumpkin.”

“Thecarriageturns back into a pumpkin,” I said, trying to ignore the fact that we’d shared the same thought, Sumner being a prince. My prince. I tried to shove the thought down. “You’d turn back into a cater waiter.”

“The horror.” Sumner picked up my hand, though, his long fingers curving underneath mine. “Dance with me before it happens.”

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