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I’m pretty sure she makes it daily, on the chance that a visitor might pop by.
I get the next hug, followed by Damian, and then Vi.
“And who is this beautiful young lady?” Mariann demands, unceremoniously bringing Sarah into a quick hug, too.
The poor lamb looks completely taken aback by the casual display of affection from a complete stranger.
“Sarah Andrews, ma’am,” she introduces herself.
Mariann pats her hand. “None of that. I’m Mariann, yes? Tell me, how do you know everyone?”
I know what she’s asking:who are you fucking?
Mariann is an incorrigible gossip, and makes no apology about being after great-grandchildren—either from her actual descendants, or from the rest of us.
“She’s my best friend,” Violet replies for Sarah. “Don’t tell Garret. He faked his death for two years, so he can be demoted to second best friend.”
“Very fair,” Mariann says, ushering us in.
“And she’s also Marius’s future wife,” Violet adds.
I laugh at Sarah’s gasp, as all eyes fall either on me or her.
“What the hell, Vi?” she demands.
“Did I miss something?” Damian asks with a frown.
Violet shrugs. “He bought her a brand-new wardrobe. Dozens of pretty dresses.”
Everyone nods. “Well, do invite me to the wedding, dear. You know I love a chance to dress up.”
Sarah glares at Vi, who’s smirking like a Cheshire cat.
Meanwhile, I stand in the entryway, equal parts amused and concerned.
Amused because Sarah’s ridiculously offended by Vi’s teasing, and concerned because I know, without the shadow of a single doubt, that my grandmother will hear of this before the end of the day. Mariann will call her the moment she can get away. And Mamie will be pissed to hear a secondhand account from her friendly rival.
I grab my phone and send a quick text.
Me: I hope you’re enjoying the Caribbean.
Mamie: Keep up, boy. I’m in the Maldives.
I roll my eyes. Of course she is.
Me: I’m at Mariann’s with a few friends. M will boast she met my future wife first.
Mamie: WHAT.
Me: I’m not engaged, promise. Vi’s just teasing the new girl.
Mamie:…I will be in town next week. I will inform Mariann that we’re having lunch. And you’re bringing the girl.
I sigh. None of those words were formulated as a question, and I know better than to take them as such. Violet is trouble.
Me: I’m not seeing the girl. She doesn’t like me much, in fact.
Mamie: you’re saying a lot of words, none of which are relevant to me. 12:30 sharp, boy.
