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"Didn't think I'd find ya, did ya?" she asked, shoving a finger in his face. "My daddy knows a lot of people in this state. You can't hide, you no good bastard."
Leif inhaled and exhaled slowly, trying to figure out how a dude handled something like this. He felt caught in some crazy docudrama or a TikTok prank. "I wasn't trying to hide from you."
Much.
"Bullshith."Marcie teetered as she tried to square her shoulders. "You were runnin' like a damn...uh, something I can't think of right now.”
He glanced at Marcie's best friend, Rachel, who still sat in the Mustang looking guilty as hell. "How much did she drink, Rach?"
She held up a half-empty bottle of Crown Royal. "She started last night. I'm sorry. I couldn't talk her out of it, and I couldn't let her drive herself. She's loaded."
Good Lord.
Marcie swayed, her blue eyes still locked on him. Abigail had edged onto the grass, and he could only imagine the censure in the woman's eyes. He'd seen her around St. George's, hovering over the school like a blimp or like that character inMonsters, Inc.that was always watching.Abigail Beauchamp Orgeron seemed to be the perfect mother, business owner, and citizen-always going the extra mile. She was the kind of woman who made him twitchy.
"Okay, look, Marcie, this isn't the time or place to talk about what happened between us. Things didn't work out, honey. One day you'll see breaking off the wedding was the right decision for both of us." Leif placed a hand on her elbow, mostly so she wouldn't fall, and turned her toward the car. ''Now go back with Rachel. It's crazy to show up here like this. When you sober up, you're going to feel-"
"Don't tell me what I feel. I waited all my life to wear this dress. See what you've done to me," Marcie said, wrenching her arm away and catching sight of Abigail. She dragged her drunken gaze from his neighbor's head to her loafers. "Wait. Who's that?"
"Uh, nobody," Leif answered before Abigail could open her mouth. Somehow it made him sound guilty.
Marcienarrowed her glazed eyes.
"Wait, are you sleeping with her?Her?She's not your type. She's, like, old. My mom has those shoes.”
Abigail looked at her sensible loafers, then at Marcie. It was like watching a Real Housewife go toe-to-toe with a nun.
"For your information, I'm his neighbor, and every woman should have a good pair of loafers--even rude, inebriated women."
Marcie's brow crinkled. "Inevreated?"
"Drunk,” Abigail clarified.
"Well, that's his fault," Marcie said, pointing to Leif. “Sorry I said you’re old. But my mom totally has those shoes."
Abigail turned to the waif-like preteen staring at him and Marcie with eyes as big as dinner plates and said, “Come on, Birdie. We'll do this later. Mr. Lively has his hands full."
Birdie stood agog, not budging. "Okay."
"Wait." Marcie held up a finger. "I got something for you, Leif."
Oh, God. Please don't let it be a shotgun. Surely Rachel didn't let her bring a weapon. But then again, Rachel wasn't the most sensible of girls. She'd brought a drunk, bridal-gown-wearing Marcie from New Orleans.
"Now, Birdie." Abigail's voice sounded more urgent.
Leif glanced at Abigail, then worriedly at the rump of Marcie. The rest of her had disappeared into the car. "You guys don't have to go. It's fine."
But it was not fine.
The fluffy veil swayed as Marcie wriggled out, lunging toward Leif.
Whew. No shotgun or pistol or machete. Just a plate. With a huge hunk of cake.
"This is for you," she said, scooping a hunk of white iced cake off the plate. ''Thought you might like a piece since you insisted on almond butter cream for the wedding cake."
And then she smashed the entire piece right between his eyes.
He didn't try to stop her because he knew he had it coming. He was the one who'd broken off the engagement. He was the one who'd broken her heart...or at the very least ruined her grand New Orleans wedding, complete with the vows at Saint Louis Cathedral, a carriage ride through the Quarter, and a honeymoon in Tahiti.
