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My dozen or so guests took up various locations in the great room. A pair of honeymooners were cuddled in an oversize armchair talking quietly. They had eyes only for each other. As it should be.
A middle-aged couple, celebrating their empty nest, was on the window seat with a puzzle laid out on the coffee table next to them. A group of young women on a bachelorette trip were sitting around one of the round tables, planning out their evening while sipping glasses of white. Another couple, gay men in their forties, were near the piano, clearly enjoying the music.
This was my dream. A reality finally, after all my saving and hard work. Why didn’t it feel better? I was still me, I realized. Maybe that was the problem.
Darby would be on his way home. Would he still want to meet later? I itched to pull out my phone and see if he’d texted but kept myself in check. Being present for my guests was my job now. Even if one of them was Arianna Bush, who at the moment had entered the lobby and headed toward the bar.
I met her there, with my bottle of rosé still in hand. “Arianna, may I get you something to drink?” I sounded too formal and slightly suspicious, even to my own ears.
She darted a glance my way, then ran her fingers through her dark hair, which hung straight and shiny down her back. I’d been brave at dinner but now, standing here with her, I wanted to slither away and hide under a rock. How could I ever compete with her? No wonder she was a successful influencer. She glowed.
I hated her.
“I’d love a glass of chardonnay,” Arianna said. “But I see you don’t have any.”
“John will be right back with some,” I said. “Would you like a little rosé while you’re waiting?”
She made an impatient, almost imperceptible sigh. Had she grown that accustomed to everything coming to her exactly when she wanted it? Was that what wealth provided? Did it make one troubled over the tiniest of inconveniences when everything suddenly appeared whenever they wanted?
I poured her a quarter-full glass of the rosé and tried to think of something to say. “He’s making great progress on the gazebo.”
“Yes, he is.” She drank half of what I’d poured her in one gulp.
“Where’s Rob tonight?”
“He went into town where the internet was better. Something for work.” A dig? Maybe, but who cared anyway? This was a spoiled, duplicitous woman who thought only of herself. She was dangerous. My sense of sanity wanted to slip away. This was why I didn’t become involved with men. They only hurt me in the end. Trey was the only man I could trust to always be there for me. Why had I hoped for anything different? Men leave.
“He’ll be back to take me to dinner,” Arianna said.
“Good. I hope you’ll have a nice evening.” I set aside the bottle of rosé. John returned with a tray of cheese and crackers and a bottle of the white tucked under his arm.
“Everything all right, Miss Wattson?” A retired air force pilot, John was in his early sixties with silvery hair and a broad jaw.
“Yes, fine, John. Thank you. Ms. Bush would like a glass of the white, though.”
He gave her his best American hero smile before splashing a generous pour into a glass. After she had it in hand, he set out across the room to offer my newlywed couple a refill.
“Thanks again for last night,” I said, not meaning a word. “It was a generous thing to do.”
“We have the means, so it’s no big deal.” Arianna’s hand shook as she brought the glass to her mouth.
“Is everything okay?” She seemed upset and jumpy. What did it mean? God, I wanted to just sit her down and make her tell me everything they’d talked about.
“Yes, fine.” Her gaze flickered to my face. “Seeing Darby’s had more of an effect on me than I thought it would.”
My stomach dropped to the floor. This is it. The beginning of the end. Why had I been so stupid? “In what way?” I managed to ask without my voice shaking.
“Are you two really engaged?”
“Um, yeah. Why?” Had he told her the truth?
She looked me straight in the eye. “You don’t seem like his type.”
“Opposites attract?” Was that what she meant? Or was she implying that she was his type and not me?
“You’re not opposites. You’re exactly the same. Which I’ve heard doesn’t always mean a good relationship. In the end, couples need to challenge each other. You two seem like a comfortable old pair of shoes. Boredom could set in at any moment.” She watched me over her tipped-up glass before placing her glossy lips to the rim. How did she keep that lipstick intact while drinking?
“Things that work,” I muttered instead. Like Guy Clark and his Susanna.
