“We hope so,” Mrs. Thompson and my mother chorus, then chat with Mildred.
Pippa starts to shrink away like that meme where the yellow cartoon guy vanishes into the bushes.
I don’t want to see her go. “This was fun?—”
“No need for abut, Chase. And I don’t mean a bum. The other kind. The conjunction. This was fun,butI don’t want to hear something like,Wow, you’re a handful. I don’t like playing juvenile games, especially when they’re at my expense. My wedding day is an accident waiting to happen. It’ll be much worse than me crashing through a cake and wearing the frosting with the bride and groom topping figures on my head like an edible fascinator hat.”
I want to laugh at the picture she painted, but she bustles away through the crowd.
“Wait,” I call, following her.
Pippa doesn’t stop until she reaches the front door, where rain splashes down, drenching her hair and gown. Before she careens down the slippery marble steps, I lasso her around the waist, drawing her back inside. She spins to face me and we’re chest to chest, much like the slow dance position earlier.
“Thanks for not running off during our dance, but?—”
“Truly. I understand. You don’t have to explain?—”
“I do.” Those words carry a new meaning, considering our mothers’ proposal that we get married.
Before I can explain and apologize for everything that happened in high school, Benedict approaches from onedirection, Marlow from the other. They bookend us like a moldy old sandwich.
13
PIPPA
I’m not sure which is worse, standing here with my eye makeup likely running down my face in front of Chase, who suggested we go on a date. Or Benedict Moss and Marlow closing in on us.
Marlow smells like the high school girls’ bathroom during a dance and Benedict bears the odor of a musty basement.
He says, “Ah, there you are, you flighty little minx. I was hoping you saved a dance for me.”
I’ve already peopled enough for one night and automatically stiffen as though that’ll lessen the impact of the energy required to face this load of creepy rubbish dressed up like nobility.
Yeah, that’s right, Benedict, Freddie gave me your number and by that, I mean he warned me about you, so scram!
Only, I don’t say that because I’m fresh out of verbal word salad. I’ve used up today’s ration of saying things I shouldn’t out loud. I hardly have the energy to speak, no less move.
Marlow’s steely eyes appraise me, then flutter in Chase’s direction. “And I’d hoped Chase was going to ask me to dance.”
“This is perfect. We can relieve you each of your burdens,” Benedict says.
“I’d hardly say Pippa is a burden,” Chase counters, picking up on the subtext more quickly than me. Easy for him, he’s an extrovert and probably feeds off events like these.
Benedict glances down and then smooths his hand along his shirt buttons. “Of course, she’s not, but I would like the pleasure of her company for the remainder of the evening if you can spare her.”
Chase looks at me in a way that seems to ask,Do you want me to clock this guy? Or at least he wears the same expression as Freddie when he’s ready to throw punches.
Benedict lifts onto his toes and puffs his chest. “Come along, Pippa. Let me show you how a real man handles a woman.”
My mouth drops open. Seriously, if I weren’t running on social fumes, I’d come to my own defense. I’d tell Benedict where to hang it and that he can take Marlow with him, but I’m afraid that if I speak, it’ll sound like,Cover summer taco paper.
“A real man?” Chase asks, challenging Benedict.
“Handles a woman?” I manage because that was just wrong.
Benedict takes my hand in his and then walks his first two fingers along my skin before reaching my chin and tipping it toward him. You know the fight-or-flight response? Usually, you can rely on me to flee. Chase seems the type to fight. I just learned today that there is a third option. Freeze. And here I am, a soggy icicle. “I can show you things that are beyond your wildest imagination,” Benedict whispers into my ear.
I flinch, regaining my motor skills.
