This feels like a trap.
Gossip isn’t sharing, and it’s not a game. It’s an arms race. Every secret demands another. And once I start stockpiling other people’s secrets, it’s only a matter of time before they begin hunting for mine. For the version of myself that I buried. The person I used to be.
She’s long gone now, replaced by a version of me who no longer measures her worth in achievements or promotions. This version is loved by the best guy in the world and finally safe from the things that once hurt her.
So I can’t think of information I’d want to know less than who Tippy Schaeffer was skirting around the neighborhood with.
“No,” I promise.
“Well, aren’t you an original.” She smiles—it’s an almost endearingly hopeful grin, and I get the feeling that even though she didn’t get to tell me her secret, she’s pleased. Because she got something even more rare: a glimpse of someone who will not sell her out for gossip or social status.
I’m not sure I feel solidarity, exactly. But I do feel something close. Pity, maybe. Or recognition.
Leaving Tippy to her makeup and her secrets, I reemerge in the dining room, cautiously scanning the crowd.
There’s no sign of Carol, but I spot Detective Travis Ardell, holding court with a few Racquet Club members near the window. Gemma breezes past him with a drink on her tray, and whatever he says to her as she brushes by earns him a tight smile.
At the bar, Ford McGinnis is swarmed by wide-eyed fanboys and golf groupies acting like he’s the second coming of Arnold Palmer.
Or Christ. Although it’s possible Jesus and Arnold Palmer are one and the same here.
Celebrity sightings around Winter Park aren’t unheard of. This is the kind of place where you could run into some NBA player’s wife at Trader Joe’s, or spot a former boy band member on the Pilates reformer next to you. No one’s ever heard of Winter Park, and yet somehow everyone shows up here.
Gemma reaches Ford and hands off the drink she was carrying, stopping long enough to make him laugh. And unlike the drooling crowd, she manages to play it cool.
A passing onlooker notices Gemma and Ford talking and whispers, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone try so hard to pull a Nora.”
My head swivels around, a flash of protectiveness flaring for both Gemma and Nora. I scan the crowd, searching for the source of the snide comment. But they’ve already vanished. I barely have a second to look before I turn right into Nora and Autumn, the country club set’s beloved party planner.
Autumn’s brows knit, still bristling from the jab.
Nora’s making a face to object, too. “Why are they saying ‘pulling a Nora’ like it’s some party trick? I didn’t ‘pull’ anything. I met a guy and fell in love. And then, may I remind everyone, hedied.Some party trick.”
Autumn and I both open our mouths, but Nora stops us. “It’s fine. I’m fine. But nobody’s pulling a Nora. That’s not a thing.”
Pacified by Nora’s reassurances, Autumn slips back into herhostess persona. “You two look beautiful. Are you having fun? Did you try the signature cocktail?” Before we can respond, she sidles up to me and drops her voice to a whisper. “Hey. So do you know of a reason why Carol Parker would be looking for you? Because I just bumped into her and—wow. She isfurious.”
I fake a frown and try not to laugh, feeling like I might finally have the strength to settle the matter of my prank with Carol.
“What’s going on?” Nora asks, looking between Autumn and me.
“Este.” Autumn somehow manages to sound both cheerful and exasperated. “I don’t know what this is about, but I am going to tell you the same thing I told Carol: You two cannot fight at myparty.”
If Gemma is keeping food service in order, Autumn’s the mastermind behind décor and presentation—making sure there’s a photo booth in the corner and every tablecloth is draped with symmetrical creases.
“Este,” Autumn says in a warning tone, all but stomping a foot in protest.
And the earnest pitch in her voice sends me over the edge; giggles bubble out before I can stop them.
Nora still looks confused, but I raise one hand like I’m prepared to take some kind of solemn oath. “Autumn”—I’m about to promise something reassuring, like maybe I won’t eventhinkunfriendly thoughts about Carol—when Carol suddenly materializes. I suck in a breath through my teeth.
So much for my solemn oath.
Carol’s eyes are blazing like she’s trying to set me on fire with sheer willpower. “You and I need to have a conversation.”
“Este,” Autumn whines as a vein in her forehead starts to throb.
Hoping to smooth things over quickly for Autumn’s sake, I turn to Carol with my brightest, most chipper voice. “What can I do for you, Carol?”
