“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You had a lot on your plate. I didn’t want you to panic.”
Jean dumped the contents of her tin cup on the grass.
“You’re leaving?” Charlie asked when she stood.
“Why, is there another big announcement? New single dropping? An engagement?” Her eyes flashed as she glared up at him.
“No!” It was hard to concentrate when she was standing this close. “It’s nothing like that.”
“Do I know you?” Mugsy interrupted.
“I’m Eve. Sockless Tommy’s niece.” Jean twisted a strand of hair around her finger, pulling it in front of her face.
Mugsy looked like she had more questions until her phone buzzed, distracting her.
“Is she here?” Smithson demanded, shoving a path through the crowd. “I should go welcome her. Help her get settled in.”
“It’s a tour bus,” Mugsy said.
“That’s basically a house on wheels,” Jean added. “All you have to do is park.”
She and Mugsy exchanged a look of reluctant allyship, as though surprised to find themselves on the same side of the argument.
“I need you here.” Mr. Pike clapped Smithson on the back. “The party’s still going strong. Why don’t we let Charlie handle this? I’m sure he and Adriana have catching up to do.” The part he didn’t say, but Charlie heard loud and clear, was that no one really neededhimto stick around.
Smithson’s smile was forced, but he followed Mr. Pike back to the buffet, where the other guests were filling plates with grilled wild game sausages and beans.
“You should eat something,” Charlie said, in a desperate bid to keep Jean from disappearing. “Or we could take a walk? To look at the stars.”
“Those stars?” She jabbed a finger skyward, where pinpricksof light were scattered like glitter. “Sounds like you have your hands full anyway.”
Emma Koenig came to stand beside Mugsy. “I’ve never been a fan of sausage.”
“Are you a vegetarian?” Charlie asked.
“That too,” Emma said, with another glance at Mugsy.
Charlie had the distinct impression there was a second conversation happening under the surface, but he didn’t have time to figure it out because Jean was walking away.
“Wait,” he called after her.
“No,” she answered.
Mugsy grabbed his arm when he made to follow. “You heard her, Charlie.”
“I know, but I really need to talk to her. She thinks… something that isn’t true.” He tried to say the rest with his eyes. It was tricky in the dark, especially with Emma standing right there, ready to write a diagnosis in her notebook.
Lovesick fool. Symptoms: repetitive thought patterns. Difficulty regulating body temperature. Mood swings.
“Whatever it is, you can sort it out tomorrow,” Mugsy said. “First things first.”
The dismissiveness hurt, until Charlie remembered that Mugsy didn’t know the girl in the blue dress was Jean—hisJean—not the random relative of a booze tycoon. Maybe not the best moment to open that can of worms.
His father flicked two fingers in arun alonggesture. He was probably banking on a romantic reunion between his son and a chart-topping pop star, perfectly timed to coincide with the company’s centennial. The weight of his father’s expectations pressed down on Charlie, driving out a sigh.
“Fine,” Mugsy said, misreading his reluctance. “I’ll go with you.”
