“When hosting an event, it’s polite to send an invitation to all members of your and your spouse’s extended family. This holds true even if you don’t think they can make it or if they don’t like you very much.”
That earned her a round of titters.
“While we’re on the subject of invitations...”
I tuned her out. Nothing personal. I didn’t pay attention to my etiquette teacher either.
Eventually she stopped going on about invitations, greetings, and introductions, and moved on to topics of conversation at the dining table. The good news was she sat down, which gave us permission to start eating.
“If you and your spouse are in the middle of an argument,” she said, “don’t drag your guests into it. His refusal to pick up his socks is not a public discussion, and your guests won’t thank you for making them uncomfortable.”
“Don’t know about that,” Mila said under her breath. “My parents are the reigning champs at subtle comebacks and cutting quips, and their favorite targets are each other. I’m pretty sure people come to our Independence Day bash every year just to witness their fireworks.”
I made a face. “Is it that bad?”
“Oh yeah. It’s a good thing I know a healthy marriage is two people who love each other to bits but underneath can’t stand each other. I’ll be prepared for the rest of life’s contradictions.”
“That reminds me of the dame—my mom,” I explained. “I went through what history has dubbed my print period. Lots of funky designs with fruit, cartoon characters, stars, whatever I thought of. I went to a wedding rehearsal wearing a dress covered with bananas, a galaxy jacket, and a blue headwrap.
“The mother of the bride told me I looked like a circus act. The dame came out of nowhere, told her I looked amazing and she’d be able to tell if that supermarket fragrance she was trying to pass off as Chanel No. 5 wasn’t making her eyes water.”
“Oh, shit,” Mila gasped.
“The best part is she hated that outfit and practically begged me not to wear it. If anything will make my mom go full contradiction, it’s someone getting in my face.”
“She’s badass.”
“Hello,” Delilah snapped. “Some of us are trying to listen.”
“You’d be able to hear better if you sat somewhere else.”
She rolled her eyes.
What? I thought that was a perfectly reasonable suggestion.
The staff streamed in, cleared our empty plates, and replaced them with turtle cheesecake and a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
“It’s so much harder to hate this place when the food is this good,” I said.
“Tell me about it.”
I raised a brow. “Do I detect a fellow captive?”
Mila laughed around a mouthful of cake. “I wouldn’t call myself that. I chose to come, but it wasn’t to pick up a husband. All of my friends are here and it’s our last summer together before we go to college. I couldn’t miss out.”
“I get it. When you put aside the counseling and mini-dates, this is a great place to spend the summer. Snorkeling was amazing.”
“Wasn’t it?” Mila swept away an ash-brown strand that stuck to her lips. Mila was a pretty girl. Strictly speaking—with those big brown eyes, oval face, and teasing smile—she was a siren. I wouldn’t hold that against her, though. “I’ve never done anything like that. Might take up scuba diving after this.”
“Why wait? I bet we could find an instructor in town who’ll take us out. Want to go together?”
She beamed. “I’d love to.”
“Ahem.” Rosalie cut into our conversation. “Girls, if I could have your attention, please.”
“Sorry,” we said.
“As I was saying,” Rosalie continued, “it’s standard to sit across from your partner, instead of side by side. Communicating face-to-face is much better than craning your neck around. Also, it’s easier to share dessert.”
“Is it? Want to slide some of that over here?” I asked. “I’m going through my ice cream quick.”
“Yeah,” said Mila. “It’s the cheesecake I want. Ice cream is all yours.”
We leaned in, digging through each other’s plates. Out of the corner of my eye, Delilah reached for a napkin.
My glass banged on my plate, showering my food in cider and spilling it over the rim. I leaped back and my chair toppled over.
“Oops.”
“Oops, my ass!” I shouted. “What the fuck, Delilah?! What’s wrong with you?!”
“It was an accident.” She tried to maintain a blank expression, but fire spat from her eyes. “Sorry.”
“The hell you are!” I snatched up her glass and tipped it right over her head. She shot up screaming.
“Belle,” Rosalie cried. She rushed between us. “Girls, let’s leave it there.”
“Preston hasn’t changed his mind about marrying you,” I said. “He chose you. What exactly are you trying so hard to protect?”
Delilah looked from me to our silent audience. Her face crumpled.
Spinning around, she tore out of the dining room.
BUBBLES CLUNG TO THE fine hairs on my arm, popping too gently for me to feel.
Delilah doused my favorite silk butterfly dress. That earned me an afternoon in my bathroom, handwashing it in the sink.
Mom spoke to me from the soap dish. “How was your day, dear?”
“You don’t know?”
“How would I?”
“I figured Mrs. Desai gave you regular updates.”
“Your movements aren’t being reported on, Belle. I’ve spoken with her once to confirm the address to send your sim card.”
“Oh. Good to know there’s some freedom in my prison.”
Mom didn’t take the bait. “Well, tell me. How is it going?”
“So far, so good for me. None of the guys are interested in the new girl. I’ve been keeping to myself. Relaxing on the beach. Catching up on some reading. Looks like I’ll be walking off this beach ringless after all.”
“No one is interested? How can that be? You’re a wonderful young woman with so much to offer. Intelligent. Funny. Generous. I don’t understand.”
She truly sounded stunned. It was hard to be mad at someone who thought I was as wonderful as my mom did. It baffled her that men wouldn’t throw themselves at my feet, but the strong “I’ll step on your head climbing over you” vibes that I gave off would do that.
“Would it be the end of the world if no one proposed to me?” I carefully wrung out my dress and hung it on the shower rod. “I’d come home, pack for college, and life would continue moving on.”
Silence came from the other end.
“Cecilia? Are you still there?”
“I’m here, darling,” she spoke up. “Have the calls from that man stopped?”
“They have.”
“Email, social media, and such also clear?”
“Nothing for days.”
“Good. Security has also spoken to the neighbors. First, I want to say that we don’t know for certain that it’s him. The man described has blond hair.”