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Callum delivered the invitation last week between the Fourth of July boat ride and Sophie and Baden’s wedding. It was handwritten in delicate calligraphy and I couldn’t help but grin when I opened it as Callum stood over my shoulder.
We read it silently together.
You are cordially invited to HighTea
In honorof
The Titan Queens’ NewestInductee
Queen JuniperRyan
It provided the date and time—today—as well as the location, which is Brienne’s home.
I was so charmed to be invited to such an event, especially since I helped come up with the idea of a monthly tea. But two things immediately had me on the verge of declining.
“That’s awesome,” Callum had said as he plucked the invitation from my hand to read again.
“I can’t go,” I blurted.
His gaze cut to me as he frowned. “Why not?”
“I don’t have anything to wear.” At the bottom of the invitation, it said semi-formal attire required. “And… well, I’m not a Titan Queen.”
Callum set the invitation down on the counter, leaned an elbow beside it and said, “You’re going. You’ve got plenty of pretty dresses to choose from.” When I started to object, he held up a finger telling me to be quiet. “And as far as being a Titan Queen, you most certainly are.”
“I’m not,” I insisted. “Those are women who are romantically involved with Titans men. You and I are not romantically involved.”
“Not true,” he replied, pushing up off the counter. “It’s for women the Titans men care about and you can’t argue against the fact I care for you. You know I do, so just give up on the excuses and text Brienne your RSVP as she requests at the bottom of that fancy little invitation.”
And that was that.
I’ve never been to a tea party before, but Brienne did not disappoint. The table is a feast for the eyes with a pristine white linen cloth upon which delicate china teacups and plates find their home next to polished silver cutlery. Centerpieces of fresh roses and hydrangeas in pastel hues lend a fragrant elegance to the affair.
Tiered silver trays hold finger sandwiches with crusts meticulously trimmed. They have tiny signs in gold calligraphy to identify them as cucumber and dill cream cheese on white bread, smoked salmon with capers and lemon butter on pumpernickel, egg salad with watercress on brioche, and chicken salad with almonds on croissants.
There are trays with scones, their surfaces breaking just so, begging for the clotted cream, lemon curd and strawberry preserves that sit in crystal bowls. My favorites are the sweets—petite pastries from mini éclairs filled with vanilla cream and topped with chocolate ganache, lemon tartlets with dollops of meringue, macarons in assorted flavors and fruit tarts displaying their glazes and garnishes like jewels.
The gentle clink of the champagne flutes announces the presence of bubbly alongside steaming teapots, which release the comforting aroma of Earl Grey and jasmine.
It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen outside Sophie and Baden’s wedding, and I’m not ashamed that I’ve taken a ton of pictures.
Jenna is a vision in a powder-blue, knee-length chiffon dress with a subtle floral print in a darker blue. She’s wearing white strappy sandals, and a string of pearls graces her neck with matching stud earrings.
Waving Brienne away, Jenna laughs. “That tea went utterly cold an hour and a half ago.”
Which prompts Stevie to stand up. To my shock, she did not show up in semi-formal attire as requested, instead rocking a pair of torn jeans, a Harley-Davidson tank top and biker boots. Her excuse was that she and Hendrix were going out for a bike ride later in the afternoon and she wouldn’t be doing that in a dress.
However, I get the feeling Stevie just didn’t want to dress up and guess what… none of the other women held it against her.
Stevie grabs the most current bottle of champagne from the ice bucket and proceeds to walk around and top off glasses. Reminiscent of the first night I met a handful of the Titan Queens at Callum’s house, we’ve been imbibing, and it shows.
“I make a motion,” Stevie says dramatically as she waves the now-empty bottle of Moët in her hand, “that all future high tea parties dispense with the tea and we just have champagne as the liquid refresher.”
“I second that motion,” Kiera says and points to the silver-tiered trays sitting in the middle of the round table. She’s stunning in a fitted lavender sheath dress with cap sleeves and a boat neckline. She chose a wide-brimmed hat with a matching lavender ribbon that perches jauntily on her head with her golden hair streaming down her back. “I also make a motion we do away with scones.”
“Hey,” Brienne scolds, whipping her head Kiera’s way. “I made those.”
“No offense,” Kiera says to her soon-to-be sister-in-law. “But those scones are dry as the desert, and I truly mean no offense because any scone I’ve ever tried is dry.”
