“I think I forgot my legs at the speakeasy.”
She came around the car before I could object and steadied me when I climbed out. To my credit, I only stumbled a little. To Winnie’s credit, she somehow managed not to laugh in my face.
The front door opened before we reached it. Lady Ferdinand stood there in a white shawl with a book tucked beneath one arm. “Well,” she said, taking one look at me. “Someone had fun tonight.”
“I’m sho… sophish… sophisticated,” I said.
“You’re swaying.”
Winnie pressed her lips together. I realized then—through the pleasant fog of alcohol—that she’d positioned herself slightly between me and Lady Ferdinand.
Protectively. Trying to save me from embarrassment.
“Thank you,” I murmured.
Her eyes flicked toward mine briefly, filled with warmth and understanding. “I’ll take it from here,” she told Lady Ferdinand gently.
The playful mischief in Lady Ferdinand’s posture dissolved. “Of course, dear.”
Then, to my immense horror, she leaned closer to Winnie and stage-whispered, “He likes you very much.”
“Lady Ferdinand,” I groaned.
Winnie looked far too amused. “I gathered as much,” she replied politely.
Traitors. Both of them.
Lady Ferdinand walked past us to her waiting driver in the driveway, still looking unbearably pleased with herself while Winnie guided me inside. Meanwhile, my drunk brain tried to figure out if her driver had stayed the whole time or had conveniently showed up at the perfect time. And furthermore, was the moon staring at me?
The house felt impossibly quiet after the speakeasy.
We made it exactly halfway to the stairs before I caught my foot on absolutely nothing and stumbled forward. Winnie grabbed both my arms to keep me upright.
“I think the alcohol went straight to your legs,” she said.
“I underestimated the severity.”
Winnie shook her head fondly, and we climbed the stairs slowly after that. Or rather, Winnie climbed the stairs normally while I attempted to ascend with dignity and failed repeatedly.
At one point, the step creaked loudly beneath me and we both froze. From upstairs, Billie mumbled something unintelligible in her sleep. We waited.
Silence.
Winnie leaned closer and whispered, “Stealth mission.”
That shouldn’t have been funny. Unfortunately, it absolutely was in my current state. I started laughing and had to press one hand over my mouth while Winnie unsuccessfully tried not to laugh, too.
“You’re making this worse,” she hissed through visible amusement.
“I’m emotionally compromised.”
“Yes. That’s becoming increasingly apparent.”
When we reached my bedroom, I was breathing harder from laughter than actual exertion.
“This is humiliating,” I informed her as I collapsed onto the bed.
“You’re doing wonderfully.”
