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There’s a grand piano in the corner. A guy’s been noodling at it, and now he bangs out a few chords and leans into a mike that’s on top of the piano.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom!”
There’s applause. A couple of cheers. Violet clings to her groom’s arm. Maybe she’s afraid he’ll turn and run. She waves. Marie Antoinette couldn’t do it better. More cheers. She and Elevator Boy move forward. Violet looks around the room at the peasants. She is beaming. Her gaze skims over the aunts, the uncles, the cousins, the parents, us…
Her gaze sweeps back.
And settles on Bailey.
I can almost hear what she’s thinking. Who is that woman? Could it be…No. It isn’t. Wait. It is. No. It isn’t…
Chester is trying to head for his parents, but Violet has other ideas. She tugs one way. He tugs the other. They tussle silently for a couple of seconds, but she wins the war.
They’re coming straight through the crowd. To us.
“Matthew,” my PA, my Bailey, whispers. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.”
I still have my arm around her. And I can feel her starting to tremble.
“Baby,” I say, just loud enough so the people nearest to us can hear me.
She looks up at me. And, no hesitation this time, I lower my head and claim her mouth. It’s trembling too, and I kiss her until her lips soften and, crowd or no crowd, she gives herself up to me.
It isn’t easy to end the kiss, but I do.
Vituperative Vi and Napoleon the Launderette Tycoon are standing before us.
“Bailey?” Violet says.
She sounds the way I figure Stanley must have sounded when he confronted Dr. Livingston.
I keep my arm around my woman. “Violet,” she says, and I want to cheer because her tone is firm and calm.
“Aunt Rose said you were coming, but I didn’t actually believe…”
“Hi,” I say briskly. I stick out my hand. Napoleon takes it. It’s like holding onto a dead fish and when I let go, I fight back the desire to wipe my fingers against my trousers. “I’m Matt O’Malley.” I turn to Violet and hold out my hand again. She takes it and I know that the happy couple has at least the dead fish thing in common. “It’s my fault Bailey didn’t get back to you sooner.” I draw my girl closer to my side. “I have to admit, I didn’t want us to give up our long weekend in the Hamptons. We don’t get the chance to get out there as often as we’d like.”
Okay. I’m lying. But not completely. I do like the Hamptons. Bailey likes Jones Beach. Sure, one’s pricey real estate and one’s a public park, but so what? They’re both out east on Long Island, and ol’ Vi isn’t likely to know the difference.
Yeah, but she hasn’t bought into the whole story either. Not quite yet.
“So,” she says, looking at Bailey, “this is your boss?”
“Well, yes. Matthew is—”
“I hope I’m much more than that,” I say with a quick smile. ?
?Right, honey?”
Bailey looks up at me. The situation is getting to her. I can see it. Actually, I can feel it. Her posture has stiffened.
“And you’ve been—dating—for how long?”
The dating drips with innuendo. I wait a beat. Bailey remains silent. I can’t believe she’s going to let this round go to Violet.
“Three weeks,” I say.
“Three months,” Bailey says.
