“Libby,” he said with mock-sternness. “Are you stalling?”
“Puh. Me? No. I can’t wait to get in there. Get this party started.” It would have been more convincing had her voice not dwindled to a sigh by the end.
“Why don’t you tell them you want to spend the day in bed?” Color flooded his face. “Reading, I mean. Or sleeping. Alone. Ithought the whole idea of Me-mas was getting to do whatever you want.”
“I feel like I owe Hildy a Me-mas to remember.”
“That’s nice of you.” His thumb brushed her cheekbone, lightly touching her bottom lip before he lowered his arm. For someone so reserved with his facial expressions, Jefferson was surprisingly free with physical affection. He kissed the spot he’d marked with his thumb before taking a step back. “I’ll go in through the kitchen. See you on the other side.”
Libby watched him lope across the grass. One way or another, the moment of truth had arrived.
The mirrored finish on the doors reflected the deepening blue of a clear, sunny day. Libby decided to take it as a positive omen. Carefully sliding open the massive wall of glass, she stepped inside, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dimness.
“Oh.” The occupants of the not-empty-after-all living room stared back at her, champagne flutes in hand. “Me-mosa time already?” Libby tried to sound cheerful, but it was hard to hear herself over the roaring chorus ofnononononononononoin her brain.
Hildy. Her uncle. Mr. L. And Jean, shaking her head in a silent,I wouldn’t bother.
“What was the meaning ofthat?” Uncle Richard demanded, pointing at the glass.
Libby glanced behind her, confirming that, yes, from inside, the terrace might as well have been a stage, brightly lit and visible to all. Maybe they hadn’t been sitting here long. If they arrived after the butt grab, Libby might be able to salvage the situation.
“We were… doing yoga?” She glanced at her audience to see how that had gone over.
“That didn’t look like any yoga I’ve ever seen,” Uncle Richard huffed. “And I’ve seen plenty in my day!”
“It’s probably a Me-mas thing.” Hildy sounded only slightly less desperate than Libby. “She gets a freebie.”
If anything, her uncle’s outrage grew. “With your fiancé?”
“Hello? We’re not really engaged.” Hildy snapped her fingers at Uncle Richard as if that would jog his memory.
He waved this off, champagne sloshing dangerously in his glass. “A technicality. It doesn’t excuse this disgraceful behavior.”
Hildy took a swig of champagne. It looked like she was fortifying herself for what came next. “Jefferson isn’t my boyfriend.”
“He broke up with you?” Uncle Richard set down his glass so hard Libby was surprised the stem didn’t snap. “My poor Hildy! You must be devastated. Not even speaking of how upset our advertisers will be. This is quite a blow—for everyone.”
“I’m sure we’ll cry ourselves to sleep,” Hildy muttered. “News flash! This is all—well, mostly—part of my plan. Besides, not everyone in this family is into weirdly huge age gaps. Ahem.”
“My marriage is not on trial,” her uncle sniffed. “Furthermore, there is no such thing as a ‘freebie.’ In my experience, they’re terribly expensive.”
Jefferson entered the room, taking stock of the situation in a rapid-fire slideshow: Libby still standing by the door, tense and unhappy; the transparent-from-inside glass; the worst possible audience gathered to watch.
Uncle Richard gestured angrily at him. “What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”
“We ran into each other on the beach,” he said, after a blink of hesitation. “Watching the sunrise.”
“It’s okay, Jefferson.” Libby didn’t want him to lie for her, on top of everything that had already gone wrong. There was a glug and a splash from Jean’s direction as she refilled her glass. “It’strue that I was kissing Jefferson. As you all apparently saw. And the reason is that… I like him.”
There was an extended silence, like they were waiting for Libby to go on. But that was really it. The headline and the story. One bullet point.
“That’s rather brazen, in front of your husband!” With a look of sympathy, Uncle Richard turned to Mr. L, who plucked at the cuffs of his dress shirt, basking in the attention.
“I’m not actually married,” Libby told Hildy’s uncle.
“Yet!” Mr. L sprang into action as if he’d been awaiting his cue. Hurrying across the room he knelt in front of Libby. From his pocket, he produced a small velvet box.
Surely not,Libby thought, heart sinking past her ankles. Even Mr. L had to realize this was not the moment.
