Page 42 of The Fiancée Farce
“Ready to meet my family?”
Tansy’s smile went wry. “Hardly.”
Gemmahadasked for honesty.
“Gemma!”
She turned, catching an armful of black hair and purple sequins. “Oof.” She laughed. “What the hell are you doing here, Yvonne?”
“Couldn’t leave you to the wolves, could we?” Teddy rubbed his knuckles against her head, fucking up her hair.
“A noogie? What are you, twelve?” She swatted at him. “Fuck off. I’m serious. You told me you weren’t coming.”
“We weren’t, but then we started talking and feeling guilty and we decided, fuck it. Why not get dolled up and wreak a little havoc on your behalf?” Teddy grinned. “Tansy, lovely to see you again.”
She smiled. “Teddy. Nice tux.”
He smoothed his hand down the front of his jacket, chest bare beneath. “Thank you. Beautiful dress. You’ve lovely shoulders.”
She blushed sweetly. “Thank you.”
“Is it just you two, or—” Gemma broke off as her other roommates came into view, Lucy trailing behind Max and Rochelle. “Ah, you brought the cavalry, I see.”
Her chest warmed, knowing how much her friendsloathedcoming to stuffy parties like this,especiallystuffy parties where her family would be in attendance. That they’d come meant the world to her.
She turned to Tansy. “Tansy, you’ve already met Teddy, but these are the rest of the heathens I call roommates and friends. Yvonne, Max, Rochelle, and Lucy.”
Gemma met Lucy’s eye and smiled, hoping the fact that she had shown up tonight was a sign Lucy was over their little tiff. Their conversations over the past few weeks had been polite, if distant, and Gemma was more than ready for their friendship to return to normal. When Lucy smiled softly back, Gemma breathed a sigh of relief.
Yvonne grabbed Tansy by the shoulders and smacked a kiss against each of her cheeks. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
Her Metropolitan French accent, usually soft and vague, was more pronounced, here’s open and heri’s stretched, a sure sign she’d already hit the open bar.
Tansy laughed, flustered. “You too.”
Gemma brushed her fingers against the tulle of her skirt, palms slightly clammy. “You haven’t seen my father around here, have you?”
“Gemma.”
She cringed. Oh, she knew that bark. It was almost as bad as his bite. “Speak of the devil.”
“You’re late” were the next words out of Victor’s mouth. Notnice to see youorcongratulations, or evenhello. Just immediate condemnation.
If this was a sign of what was to come, Gemma was in for a treat of an evening.
“Didn’t think I could be late to my own engagement party, Dad.” She scanned the room, looking for a drink. A glass of champagne would do in a pinch, but she’d kill for something stiff. Bourbon, preferably, but she wasn’t picky.
“Victor, there you are. We were wondering where you’d wandered off to—oh.” Bitsie stopped dead in her tracks, cradling Prudence, her prize bichon frise, in her arms. Her lips thinned as she looked Gemma up and down. “Gemma. You’re here.”
“Try to sound a little less enthused next time, Bitsie,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Heaven forbid you give off the wrong impression and someone thinks you actually like me.”
Bitsie laughed, a high trill that set Gemma’s teeth on edge. Prudence yipped loudly. “Oh, Gemma. You haven’t changed a bit.”
Uncle Sterling rounded the corner, Gemma’s waste-of-space cousin at his side. Madison had her arm looped around Tucker’s, an empty glass of champagne dangling from her fingers. That girl from the wedding—Tansy’s stepsister, whose name Gemma couldn’t remember for the life of her—clomped along behind Madison, clumsy in her heels, expression dour. Uncle Brooks sauntered slowly behind them all, hands in his pockets, greeting Gemma with a cheeky wink.
“Wow, who died?”
Bitsie choked on her champagne. “I beg your pardon?”
