“When’s dinner?” I asked Serena, turning my body fully to her until it was obvious I had cut her in-laws out.
Genevieve guffawed, muttering something to Warren and dragging him away by the elbow.
“A half-hour,” she replied as her eyebrows drew together. “Why did you do that?”
I took an exaggerated sip of champagne, hoping it might help me gather my senses. It didn’t work. “Because, they were possibly the most detestable people I’ve ever come into contact with,” I hissed. Harsher than I intended, but at least I avoided adding, “Tied for first place with their son.”
Serena placed a hand over her heart.
“Genevieve was kind of rude to you, don’t you think?” Georgie added softly, before I could manage to make it worse.
She waved a set of pearlescent nails at us. “That’s just Gigi’s special brand of humor. She’s like you, in that way, Margot.”
I choked on sea air.
“I don’t think she meant it that way,” Georgie murmured.
Serena cocked her head. “What way?”
“Well, just that…”
“You just called me the spawn of Satan drenched in a hive-inducing amount of Chanel No. 5.”
Serena’s eyes narrowed for a split-second. Georgie’s mouth fell open.
“I will give you the benefit of the doubt, Margot, because I believe you’re under a lot of stress,” she replied, slowly, as if measuring each syllable. “But I would appreciate it if you leave any further judgements to yourself.”
My lips parted with a reply, but she whirled around without anything further, weaving through the nearby crowd and disappearing toward the bar platform. There, in the dimpendant lighting, Jesse cavorted with a small gaggle of young men busy quaffing a series of shots. I realized with a shudder that one of them would be walking me down the aisle the next day.
“What was that?” Georgie whispered, warily eyeing them over the rim of her champagne flute.
I bristled. “If Serena won’t defend herself, then I will.”
“Hey,” she said, placing a hand on my shoulder until I broke away and looked at her. “That’s not what I meant—you were right to say all that. Are you feeling okay?”
The answer wasno—the drink was a mistake, it only made memorejittery—and I caught myself scanning my surroundings every spare second and gap in conversation, pulse somehow spiking each time I couldn’t find Teddy. Every minute he remained a mystery, drifting through the partygoers beyond my eyeline, my chest continued to tighten until the air felt thick.
“Perfectly fine,” I lied pathetically, to which Georgie raised a skeptical brow.
When the words left my lips, a wall of people shifted, and Teddy appeared like the honeyed streaks of sunlight through parted clouds. He wore a black suit and matching shirt with no tie. His hair was unusually tame, but the strap of his camera across his shoulder, embroidered in turquoise and orange, betrayed his otherwise polished appearance.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I blurted out as his gaze fell on me.
Georgie crossed her arms. “No, you don’t.”
“Georgette Wheeler—”
He was already a few feet away, maneuvering through the crowd, a head above most.
“Teddy!” Georgie called, mouth twitching as she fought back a laugh. “How convenient,” she whispered to me, “Now you two can have that conversation.”
“What doesthatmean—”
“Hey.” Teddy appeared out of breath as he arrived, straightening the front of his suit.
Time paused when our eyes met, an inevitable blush surfacing on my cheeks as the memories of the last time we saw each other flashed in my mind. Then I remembered Priscilla’s words. He didn’t come back to Bluebell Cove for me, or for Georgie, or for anyone else. Exposing our secrets was just another adventure to him.
I ripped my gaze away, jaw tense.
