Maggie sat back down, the laughter was still trickling down from her toast when Lillian, poised as ever, lifted her glass. “If I may,” she said smoothly, her voice cutting through the chatter. “I’d like to add one more.”
The table quieted, all eyes on her. “It’s been such a joy,” Lillian went on, “to see all of you celebrate love in such… spirited ways.” Her smile flicked toward Pete, who was still half standing, trying to get the waiter’s attention for another round. “Danica, Pete — you two clearly bring out the best in one another. I wish you a lifetime of more laughter than arguments, more joy than chaos, and at least a little bit of this sparkle every day. It’s been such a joy getting to know each of you and to be welcomed into your group.”
She tipped her glass, effortless, golden in the candlelight.
The group let out a warm chorus ofcheers, glasses clinking again. Danica pressed a hand to her heart, touched despite the blush creeping into her cheeks. Pete made a mock swoon face and laid her head on Danica’s shoulder.
Maggie ducked her chin toward her glass, shoulders still tense.
And Gwen sat there, glass lifted, watching it all — the way Pete gazed at Danica, the poise of Lillian, the too-brightsmile Maggie hadn’t dropped yet, the way Izzy leaned into Kiera with a private smile.
The last ofthe champagne was being poured when Kiera straightened in her seat, eyes sparkling with the same intensity that had pried everyone out of the room this evening.
“Okay,” she said, clapping her hands lightly against her thighs, “I have an announcement.”
Pete groaned theatrically. “Not another toast, for the love of?—”
“Not a toast,” Kiera said, grinning now. “Reservations. At a piano bar. Ten o’clock.”
The table erupted — Izzy whooped, Danica clapped, Pete slapped the table like she’d just won a bet.
“You made us a piano bar reservation?” Pete asked, delighted horror in her voice. “You sneaky little minx.”
Kiera shrugged, smug in her practicality. “I know you all. If I didn’t, you’d be in bed by eleven. This way, we actually do Vegas properly.”
Izzy leaned over to kiss her cheek, murmuring something that made Kiera blush under the low lighting.
Maggie groaned, half into her glass. “Pretty sure I’m still dying from the pool. And last night. And all of Vegas.”
“Rally,” Kiera ordered, with the command of someone who’d wrangled high schoolers for a living. “You can’t bail on my itinerary.”
Pete laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. “Oh my god,not the itinerary.”
“She color-coded it,” Izzy added proudly.
Danica perked up. “You did? For me?”
“Of course she did,” Maggie muttered, though there was a smile tugging at her mouth despite herself. “She sent it my way, but again, I don’t open spreadsheets just as a rule.”
“And,” Kiera said, digging in a tote bag at her side, thenproducing two handfuls of sequined items. “I have sashes and tiaras.”
Danica grimaced, but Maggie was already reaching to put on a tiara that proudly readMiss Behaving.Gwen’s offering simply glittered in a curly, feminine font:MILF.
Lillian laughed, pointing up at Gwen’s tiara. “Classy,” she said. Her own readSexy & Single.
Maggie helped Danica with her Bride to Be sash — Pete immediately tied hers around her waist like a cummerbund.
Gwen sat back in her chair, watching the wave of energy build again, feeling the buzz of it under her skin. A bachelorette party. A nightclub. At ten p.m. Vegas wasn’t done with them yet.
Fremont Street wasits usual neon circus — showgirls with feathered headdresses taking photos with tourists, people stumbling while looking up at the kaleidoscope ceiling, the hum of slot machines leaking out of every doorway. Their group wove through the crush until Kiera led them into an empty mall area and they stopped beneath a retro neon sign in loopy cursive:Strangers in the Night.
“Piano bar,” she announced, grinning like she’d just revealed the final square on a scavenger hunt.
Pete threw her arms in the air. “Yes.”
Inside was dim and rowdy, the kind of place that smelled like spilled whiskey and glittered like sequins. Two grand pianos faced each other on a low stage, and the pianists were hammering out dueling versions of “Great Balls of Fire,” harmonizing with total commitment. The crowd — half musical theater nerds, half retirees who hadn’t gone home since 1968 — clapped along like this was holy ritual. Gwen got the idea that there were a lot of regulars at this place.
The hostess wedged them into a table so close to the stage Gwen could feel the vibration of the keys in her ribs. Menuswere perfunctory, cocktails named after Sinatra hits: “Luck Be a Lady” martinis, “That’s Life” Old Fashioneds, “Fly Me to the Moon” glitter shots. Pete ordered a round of “Regrets I’ve Had a Few,” whatever that was.
