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Libby’s green eyes sparkled when she laughed. “I hate pumpkin, and if you ever put it in a soup, we’re breaking up.”
Smiling and posing for pictures was easier than Reagan anticipated. It wasn’t like paparazzi were screaming their names, just a couple of photographers, probably for some privately circulated newsletter. Resting her hand on Libby’s
hip as they followed the other guests from the entrance to one of the gardens put Reagan at ease.
“I’d stay away from the salmon mousse,” Libby suggested as they emerged from the covered walkway to the massive white tent erected at the foot of the garden. Millions of tiny lights illuminated the space while adding just enough whimsy to transport them to another place.
No sooner had they joined the other guests with varying degrees of commitment to the theme than a server carrying a silver plate full of bite sized food appeared. Reagan’s growling stomach took control of her hand, but before she could snatch one of the little confections, Libby grabbed her hand and laced their fingers together. The jolt from the contact was enough to make
Reagan forget the o ering as the server continued to the couple behind them.
“Didn’t I just tell you to say no to the salmon?” Libby chided as she chuckled. The brightness in her smile was even more electric than her touch.
“It looked so good,” Reagan whined, her fingers still locked with Libby’s despite no apparent need to remain connected.
Handing her a glass of champagne from a passing tray, Libby shook her head. “Just because something looks good doesn’t mean it’s good for you.”
Reagan tipped her head to one side in tacit agreement.
“I’ve been burned there before,” she muttered, taking a sip of the bubbly too dry for her liking. “So, what does one do at a fancy benefit for the arts?”
Libby drained her glass before changing out her drink for a fresh one. “Well, we should mingle a little. Peruse the silent auction items and maybe make some contributions by losing at some of the casino games.”
The silent auction was set up on a raised terrace overlooking one of the gardens. As Libby talked to some
people she knew, Reagan stood by her side, imagining what it must have been like for anyone to live in the closest thing to Downton Abbey she’d ever seen.
Moving through the crowd took forever. It seemed like they couldn’t get more than a few feet without someone flagging Libby down. The dozen or so interactions were roughly the same. They’d ask about Libby’s grandmother, then give Reagan the once over. The only di erence was varying degrees of subtlety.
To her credit, Libby took it in stride. She was gracious and complimentary about her while Reagan did her best to come up with small talk in between mouthfuls of hors d’oeuvres.
Noticing that Libby was too consumed to eat, she wrapped anything contained inside pu pastry in a napkin and stuck it in her pocket. No doubt she’d need it later.
“I always forget that Dragons are born extroverts,”
Reagan commented as they finally broke away from the crowd and sauntered toward one of many tables lined with auction items.
Libby laughed, tipping her head back to reveal a long, slender neck and well-defined collarbones. “Remind me, Roosters are known for their meekness, right?”
“Pot, what are you calling me?”
Her dazzling green eyes darted to the tattoo hidden under white tuxedo fabric. “I think you know,” she replied, swaying just a little.
Reagan lingered on her gaze for a moment until a waiter brought Libby another glass of champagne. “Come on. Let’s see what we can win.”
After dropping some modest bids on a spa day, charter boat trip, and a month of personal training, they stopped in front of an item too good to be true.
“Did someone seriously donate an electric sports car?”
Reagan asked as they approached the end of the last table
where a large group had gathered in front of a poster of a sleek roadster.
“Last year they auctioned o a thirty-thousand-dollar fur coat. I guess they learned from the ethical backlash and are trying to make up for it.”
Reagan sneered. What kind of monster still wears fur for fashion?
“Are you thinking of placing a bid?” A man dressed in white suit and fedora took the unlit cigar out of his mouth when we joined them. “A gorgeous car for a couple of gorgeous girls.”
