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Fourteen
Presley was underdressed.
Who threw a Fourth of July party that was a suit-and-tie affair? Mags, apparently. Cash didn’t care about dress code. He was dressed country cool in black jeans, cowboy boots and a black button-down shirt with bold, stitched embellishments on the chest. The women at the party were dressed grander in gowns or pantsuits bedazzled with glittering rhinestones or sequins or a combination of both.
Only when she saw Hallie did Presley let out a breath of relief. The other woman looked chic and professional in a sophisticated black pantsuit with a sash tied at the middle. Her high-heeled shoes were not as tall as Presley’s, but enough to lift her so that the wide legs of her suit didn’t brush the marble floors.
“I’m underdressed,” Presley confessed instead of saying hello.
“No, you’re not.” Hallie smiled. “You look amazing. Hey, Cash.”
“Hey, Hal. Seen my brothers?”
“I came with Will and Hannah, so yes. Luke popped in, but I don’t know where he ran off to.”
Presley searched the well-dressed crowd, spotting an incredibly famous country singer who had aged really, really well. “And Gavin?”
“Gavin?” Hallie squeaked, a blush stealing her cheeks. “I—uh, why would I know where Gavin is?” She sucked down an inch of her wine.
Well. That was an interesting reaction. Presley folded her arms over her chest and studied Hallie carefully, having the distinct impression that the blonde was hyperaware of Gavin’s whereabouts while pretending not to be. “Why would you know where Gavin is, indeed?”
Cash picked up on none of this, his eyes traveling the room.
“If you need to mingle, I’m good here,” Presley told him.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He gave her a soft smile, followed by a softer kiss, and then let her go. He walked across the room, but not before promising, “Be back.”
“Are you two,” Hallie started, moving closer to Presley to whisper the rest of her question, “back together?”
“No. Yes. Sort of.” Presley winced. “I’m not sure I can have this conversation without a glass of wine.”
“That can be arranged.”
Hallie was not only beautiful and kind, she was also good company. Each with their own glass of champagne, they mingled among the famous, Hallie introducing Presley and making a smooth getaway so they weren’t trapped in any conversation for too long.
Knowing Presley wanted to meet and speak with Carla Strouse, Hallie was sure to include the famous singer in their rounds. After an introduction, the twin excused herself and left Presley and Carla alone. Presley felt a ping of guilt that she hadn’t been forthcoming about why she wanted to meet Carla, but she couldn’t very well blurt out that she was going to grill Cash’s ex about “Lightning,” now, could she?
Hallie had found Carla Strouse on one of Mags Dumond’s many balconies. This one was on the second floor and less populated than the patio below, where guests had spilled out into the yard and were littering the beach, as well.
“Anyway, enough of my gushing. I’m sure you’re tired of me standing here reciting all the reasons I adore you,” Presley said with a chuckle. That was the truth. She had always loved Carla’s music. Gushing came naturally. “I assume at these parties it’s gauche to morph into a fangirl.”
“Please.” Carla, both pretty and friendly, rolled her eyes. “I nearly died when I spotted Louise Hatton here. Louise Hatton, the woman who inspired me to sing when I was six years old! We’re all fangirls deep down.”
Carla, with her short, layered hair, full mouth and twinkling green-blue eyes, was more beautiful in person than she was on stage, which was quite the feat. She was also really freaking nice. Presley didn’t know the reason for Carla and Cash’s breakup, and she couldn’t imagine one, either. They were both famous, attractive. They’d looked good together, too. There was no shortage of flattering photos of them online.
“You’re here with Cash, right?” Carla brushed her hand along the shiny silver dress fitted to her lithe body.
“I am.” Presley drank the rest of her champagne in a rush. She wondered if Carla was sizing her up and comparing. There was no comparison, really. Carla was a glowing beacon of perfection whereas Presley was, well, not. “We went to college together.”
“In Florida.” Carla’s light eyebrows lifted.
Presley wondered how much Cash had shared with the other woman about those days. A petty part of her wanted to trumpet that she’d been with Cash first, but she hadn’t technically been with him first, had she? She’d been with him only a few nights ago. Knowing that Carla had also been with him made Presley feel more than a little self-conscious.
“He’s wonderful, isn’t he? I mean, he’s complicated. He is a man,” Carla added with a delicate snort. “But he’s great.”
