Page 53 of A Toast for Laurent

“Then why is some woman named Marion all over social media claiming you and Phoebe are engaged?”

I peered up from the inventory spreadsheet. “What?”

“See for yourself.” She walked to my desk, her short hair tucked behind her ears and the freckles on her nose more evident now that her skin had been exposed to the late spring sun.

I took her phone, and Phoebe and that dress, stared back at me. It took me a second to realize I was also in the picture. When I did, I skimmed to the caption.

“Fuck me,” I muttered, thrusting a hand through my hair.

“Is she pregnant?”

“No! It’s… it’s complicated.”

“It’s only as complicated as you make it out to be. Try me.”

I hated her logic but admired it all the same.

Before I could say anything, a hand and a bag slapped against my door, and Phoebe flung into my office. “We got a problem.”

“I know,” I said, taking in her disheveled state. Her blonde hair was tossed about, strands sticking out in different directions. Her shirt was wrinkled, and a sheen of sweat dotted her forehead. “Did you go for a run?”

“I ran all the way here, so we can fix this before it gets out of control.”

“What gets out of control?” Franc poked his head in. “Oh, isn’t this a nice surprise?” He moved in and hugged Phoebe. “It’s good to see you, Phoebe. You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Franc?” she said as he pulled back. “You have changed a lot.”

“Okay, step away from her,” I said, giving my brother the death glare.

He held his hands up and stepped back with a smirk I wanted to slap off his chiseled face.

“When the fuck did you get engaged?” Nero strolled into my office, his face in his phone, not even noticing the other three people occupying the space.

“Why did Paul tell me to tell you congratulations?” Chardonnay asked from behind him.

“Who is Paul?” Phoebe asked.

“The mailman,” Rose said.

“Phoebe!” Chardonnay exclaimed when she noticed her. “I can’t believe it’s actually you. How are you?”

“That’s it! Family meeting in twenty minutes in the barn. Everyone, out of my office!”

“Twenty minutes? You do know we all have jobs,” Nero said.

“And I see you're busy doing yours right now.”

“Fair point. Barn in twenty.”

A chorus of mumbles followed as my siblings filed out. Phoebe tried to blend in between Nero and Franc.

“Not you,” I barked. Phoebe’s eyes widened as she slowly spun back to me. “Sit down. We need to talk.”

She eased into the chair across from my desk, the same chair she sat in when she first came to me with this ridiculous ruse. Her eyes focused on her fidgeting hands in her lap.

I sat and stared, waiting for her to meet my gaze, but she seemed to be playing a different game—one that required her to never look at me.

“Phoebs, what the fuck?”

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