“I’m sorry I haven’t helped you with this.” It’s been eating away at me for months that she’s doing this on her own, especially since she’s doing it for me.
“You’ve had a lot on your plate,” she says, dismissing my concern.
“You wouldn’t even be doing this if it weren’t for me.”
“And that’s not a good enough reason?” she counters. “They need to raise the funds, and I can help. It’s not your job to fix everything. Your dad was sick, honey. You were needed at home. But you’re going to put on that killer dress, come to this party, drink too much champagne, and actually enjoy yourself.”
“Is that so?” I can’t help laughing at her determination.
“The last few weeks have been hell, and you deserve to have a good time.”
Poppy might be the only person in my life who believes I deserve anything. I have no idea why. If she peeled back a few layers of me, she’d probably reverse her position on that.
My life has been hell for more than the last few weeks, which is why she never tries. I’ve done my best to hide it over the years, but when my father’s health took a turn for the worse, it became not only impossible but also, for the first time, acceptable to be open about it. No one can fault a daughter suffering while her father is on his deathbed. It only made me look like the dutiful, obedient child he’d always wanted. He had known why I was really around, playing my part. Just like he knew why I had come back from Cambridge to Valmont after my short-lived escape. The world assumes I came home to be by his side. I let them believe that. Sometimes the lie is prettier than the truth.
“I need to remember to get tickets,” I say, making a mental to-do list in my head. I no longer have a dying man to care for, it’s time to take back my life.
“Malcolm already bought a table,” Poppy reassures me. “Or his secretary did.”
That sounds more like it. I’m not thrilled to share the evening with my brother, but a charity event in Valmont never runs out of booze. There will be enough social lubricant for the both of us.
“Do I have to bring a date?” I ask.
“Absolutely not!” She casts a coy look in my direction. “There will be plenty of bachelors from all over Nashville there.”
I’ve known ninety percent of Nashville bachelors since grade school. “I’m not really interested in meeting someone. I just don’t want to look like a loser sitting alone.”
“No one is going to let you sit alone,” Poppy says. “I have plenty of people I want to introduce you to.”
Her matchmaking won’t be denied. “Do you have selective hearing?”
“Only when it comes to you denying your happiness,” she says.
I can’t blame my best friend for wanting to see me happy. Her matchmaking has been on the uptick since she and Cyrus began discussing rings. Why do happy people always try to force everyone around them to be happy, too?
I turn the Roadster down Windfall’s private drive. The magnolias have begun to bloom, the delicate pink blossoms perfuming the sultry, spring evening. I need to pick some for mama’s grave before they wilt. They never last long enough.
A black Vanquish is parked in the circle drive, which means Malcolm has guests for dinner. At least, I’ll have an excuse to eat in the kitchen now. I park the Jaguar in the garage and we pile our purchases as Poppy continues to fill me in on the details of how the auction will work, down to her conflict over the centerpieces. “I want to do something cute and on theme.”
“Like?”
Her arms are full as she continues, “Little dog bones or something, but my mother says it’s tacky.”
Miranda Landry believes anything less than Waterford crystal spilling liquid gold and diamonds is tacky. It’s going to take effort to persuade her to go with a theme.
“Why not a traditional centerpiece with little dog bone cookies at the table?”
“That’s genius. She can’t argue with that.” She nearly drops her bag as she struggles to get her phone out to make a note. I hold open the back door to the kitchen while she types it out.
We deposit our bags in a heap on the corner desk where Felix usually plans menus and grocery lists. I turn in time to spot excited, blue eyes pop up over the back of a stool at the counter. “Auntie Dair, you’re home!”
Warmth spreads through me at Ellie’s greeting. She’s probably the only person in this house to genuinely miss me when I’m gone. In fairness, she’s the only person in this house that I miss most of the time, too. Her eyes skip to Poppy, growing from quarters to saucers. “Auntie Poppy!”
I can’t compete with my best friend for her affection, though.
“There is my little darling,” she coos, going over to give her a hug. Her slender, amber arms circle the little girl and Ellie melts into the hug. Poppy loves her almost as much as I do.
“I got you something,” Poppy tells Ellie. She produces a bright red bag emblazoned with a star.
Ellie leaps out of her chair, knocking her glass over as she reaches for the American Girl bag.
“You spoil her,” I whisper to Poppy as Ellie unwraps the doll she brought her.
“I love it!” Her tiny arms wrap tightly around her new treasure before she releases the doll to study it more closely. She analyzes it with the intensity of an astronomer discovering a new star. “She’s so beautiful.”
“Someone should.” Poppy mutters so only I can hear.
Enough said. Poppy gets away with it, though, since she’s not family. It’s harder when I try to spoil Ellie. Malcolm doesn’t like it when I bring her gifts. He says it’s not my place. It’s not as though she wants for anything. Ginny has filled her room with beautiful objects
