Page 52 of A Vintage of Regret
“I do.” Brea’s voice softened. “It’s for the youth arts fund. Bryson’s grandmother helped start that charity. And if I don’tgo, Monica wins. It’s childish, I know. But for a few long years, I put up with her trying to be a Boone. Our family name comes with responsibility. Our ancestry goes back to the beginning of this town. I get it sounds as pretentious as she is. However, we take pride in our community. In giving back. In being real, decent, honest people. She does not. I can’t let her win.”
“And here, I was told we don’t keep score.”
Brea gave her a sharp, sideways glance. “Oh, honey. We’re always keeping score.”
Riley snorted. “Well, then maybe I should go.”
Brea’s eyes widened like someone had lit a fuse, and immediately Riley regretted her quick retort. “Now we’re talking.”
“I was joking.” Riley pursed her lips.
“But you’re thinking about it.” Brea leaned in conspiratorially. “Because I know exactly what would happen if you walked into that party on Bryson’s arm.” She winked. “Especially since you’ve put a smile on my son’s face as big as the sky since you waltzed in here today with him carrying your luggage right up into his bedroom.” She leaned in closer. “And don’t try to tell me you’re staying in one of the other rooms. I wasn’t born yesterday, and I’d be insulted if you tried to tell me otherwise.”
Riley’s cheeks flushed.
“Now, what do you say about coming to that party? I could use someone to commiserate with.”
“I’m not trying to start a war.”
“You wouldn’t be starting it. You’d just be reminding everyone Monica didn’t win the last one.” Brea nodded toward Bryson and Devon. “Look at them. You’re telling me you don’t want to walk into that overpriced garden party and watch Monica’s lips curl like she’s just bitten into a lemon wedge, all while desperately trying to save face?” She sighed. “I’m notnormally a mean girl, and I don’t hold grudges. But I haven’t been able to let go of this one. Walter believes it’s because Monica enjoyed undermining me publicly when she was married to Bryson, and I had no choice half the time but to bite my tongue.”
“I’ve never known you to keep your thoughts to yourself.”
“It was a difficult time for Bryson, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”
Riley glanced to the field where Bryson and Deven were still roughhousing like they were sixteen again. Bryson’s head was tipped back in laughter, his T-shirt clinging to his back, sun catching in his hair.
“What do you say? It’s for a good cause, and considering all you’ve been through, it would be good for you to get out and do something fun,” Brea said. “If, once you get there and you’re not feeling it, Bryson will take you home.”
Riley’s lips curled. “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“I’ve got the perfect dress for you.”
Skeptical, Riley turned to face her. “Please tell me it doesn’t have sequins.”
Brea smirked. “It’s vintage. Deep plum. Wrap-style. Subtle slit. Monica will think it’s new off the Paris runway and spend all night trying to figure out if it’s Dior or Valentino while steaming because I never once let her borrow from my collection.”
Riley raised a brow. “And it’s just… in your closet?”
“It’s from my ‘just in case I have to destroy someone’ section,” Brea said matter-of-factly. “Every woman should have one.”
Riley laughed, harder this time. “You’re terrifying.”
“I’m a Boone,” Brea replied, brushing imaginary lint from her lap. “Being terrifying is practically a family motto.” She batted her eyelashes. “Monica’s mother once compared me toMorticia from the Addams Family. She meant it as an insult. I took it as a compliment. The highest kind.”
“You’ve always known how to make me smile.”
They sat in companionable silence for a beat, watching the brothers disappear down a row of vines again. The breeze carried the scent of ripening grapes and summer dust, mixing with the lightest hint of Brea’s perfume.
Riley rested a hand on the book. Everything with her dad and the funeral was on pause since the body had yet to be released. She might as well try to have a nice evening. If she sat around here all night, she’d only drive herself crazy with questions she couldn’t answer. “Bryson’s never liked putting on a suit.”
Brea’s head whipped toward her so fast Riley thought she might pull something. “If you go, wearing that dress I just told you about, he’ll go. Trust me on that.” She pointed to her son. “Because the only thing he’ll be thinking about all night is how to get it off you.”
Riley tried to hide her smile. “Won’t we be late?”
“I don’t mind. Besides, I enjoy making an entrance.” Brea patted her knee. “But we’d better hurry. Can’t be too late.”
Just then, Riley’s phone buzzed beside her. She glanced down at the screen.
