I ignore him. Most guys want to chat about their conquests. I can’t even claim that I’ve never bragged in a locker room. But Adair is different. I’m not sharing her. Not even with my words. I slide down the zipper of the garment bag to discover a black tuxedo radiating the smell of mothballs. “You sure this will fit me? It smells like an attic.”
“Yeah, well, I haven’t actually worn it before,” he admits sheepishly. “It was my dad’s, and my mom had it tailored to me before I left for college. In her mind, there might have been a scenario in which I desperately needed one, but didn’t have the 30 minutes needed to drive over to where they live.”
Wait, are there actually black-tie emergencies?
“Naturally.” The truth is, I would do almost anything to stop having this conversation. Men don’t talk about clothes, or keeping up appearances. And part of me wishes I could just go as I am, that I truly didn’t care what these rich people think of me.
“Adair will prefer the tuxedo,” he says, eerily up on where my head is at.
He’s got a point. I know she’s nervous about me meeting her family. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s worried I’ll embarrass her or vice versa, but I’m not going to give anyone an easy excuse to look down on me.
I change as quickly as I can, dreading that there will be some button or cinch or component that is entirely alien to me, and will therefore require asking for help. But in the end it’s all simple enough, just a standard cummerbund tux, black-on-white, with a bowtie which I have no idea how to tie. I shove it in my jacket pocket, resolving to call Adair on the way. Something tells me she will be able to help.
A quick glance in the mirror confirms that the tuxedo fits and looks much nicer than my cheap suit. I join Cyrus in the hall and we hop in his Jaguar for the ride to Windfall. I’m sure he noticed I’m not wearing the bowtie, but he doesn’t say anything. Clearly, sharing clothing was as traumatic for him as it was for me.
When we’re halfway there I call Adair, but she doesn’t answer. I immediately call again, but it makes no difference.
“Shit,” I mutter, pulling down the sun visor so I can access the mirror.
“I got you,” Cyrus says without sparing me a glance. He punches up something on the vehicle’s screen, and the phone starts ringing through the car’s speakers.
“Hey, you there yet? I’m on my way,” Poppy’s voice says, bright as ever.
“Nearly. Listen, I’ve got Sterling with me. He needs someone who can tie a bowtie.” Cyrus can’t completely suppress a grin, but I’ll forgive him if it means I don’t have to be the only asshole missing one.
“I’m your girl.” She sounds absolutely thrilled at the prospect, as though she’s been waiting her whole life to be asked. “I just pulled in. Find me in the parking lot.”
Cyrus and I ride in silence another few minutes before we pull through security at Windfall and into a large parking lot hidden behind one of Windfall’s ubiquitous, manicured hedge rows. He parks next to Poppy, who replaces him in the front seat. She’s wearing a pink satin dress overlaid with a white fur shoulder wrap, and it’s easily the most expensive-looking thing I’ve ever seen someone wear.
Cyrus was right about my needing to change. A strange mixture of gratitude and resentment floods me, and it takes a second to realize Poppy said something.
“What? Sorry, I was distracted. You look lovely, Poppy.”
I can tell from her reaction that whatever I said wasn’t a response to her question, but she blushes at the compliment, anyway. “Lean over here, darling.”
She slides her hands around my collar and begins tucking the tie into place. “Bowties are much easier than neck ties,” she explains as her industrious hands make subtle adjustments that would probably be lost on me even if I could see them
“Is a bowtie not a kind of neck tie?” I wonder.
“Don’t be silly.” Poppy’s grin widens, before her face suddenly sinks into a frown. “Damn.”
“What is it?”
“It’s too small for your neck,” she says, holding up a finger and placing her phone next to her ear. “It’ll never work.”
“Felix? It’s Poppy. Yes, I’m looking for Adair. Yes, it’s an emergency.” She pauses for a long time, and I can hear sports highlights start playing on Cyrus’s phone in the back seat.
I can’t help but note that there are actually black-tie emergencies. I’m so out of my element.
“Poppy?” I hear Adair’s voice say through the phone.
“Adair, listen. I’ve got Sterling here in your parking lot, and we need the largest black bowtie you can find. Stat.”
“Got it,” she says before I hear her thanking Felix.
The back door opens, and then the front door. “Come on, Poppy. We don’t need to be here for this. I want to stand by a fire with some Windfall nog. God, it’s fucking cold.”
She beams at him adoringly, taking his proffered hand and using it to pull herself out of the car. I guess that’s working out. I can’t help wondering for how long. Their heads bob off around the hedge, and about five minutes later Adair practically dives inside the car, shivering from cold.
“Lucky, why didn’t you wear a coat?” Surely she has something warm and furry, like Poppy.
“No time,” she says, straightening up and adding her foggy breath to my own.
“I had to take this off one of the staff,” she explains, looking harried. She reaches around my neck and begins fiddling with the tie.
“You took it off a human being?” Did I hear that right?
“I was told it was an emergency.”
“About that,” I begin.
She rolls her eyes. “I
