Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
O ne Saturday every month, Alderton-Du Ponte hosted their Mimosa Morning, where members gathered and mingled. It was an excuse to meet and gossip, of course. Getting a bunch of people drunk before noon wasn’t a classy look, but they were of the mind that as long as their drinks had at least a drop of orange juice in it, it was fine.
A Mimosa Morning never passed without someone either picking a fight or sobbing so hard they passed out. I still waited for either to happen.
The one disappointing thing about Mimosa Mornings was that everyone had tables to sit at, which meant I couldn’t stand in the corner and watch everything unfold from afar. No, instead, I had to be squished between Ms. Jennings, who was on her fourth mimosa, and Grace, whose drink was straight orange juice.
“Ally,” Yvette said to Ms. Jennings. The way the circle table was set up had my mother straight across from me, Yvette at her left, Ms. Jennings at her left. With the champagne flute in her hand, Yvette gestured at Ms. Jennings, nearly sloshing her half-drunk mimosa onto the latter’s dress. “Just give me the casserole recipe, would you?”
Ms. Jennings tossed her napkin from her lap onto the table. “Would you quit pestering me about it? I said no.”
“You’re acting as if it’s some Michelin star recipe. Don’t be selfish—share it with us.”
“Well, it must be something special if you’re going to berate me like this for it.”
“This isn’t me berating you.” Yvette’s words ran together as she slammed her champagne flute down on the table, and, if it’d been glass, it would’ve broken. My mother had learned after the first Mimosa Morning to use plastic flutes. “But I can, if you’d like.”
My eyes followed Sumner as he navigated around the tables, delivering drinks and removing dirty dishes. My mother asked him to help serve instead of standing on my guard, though he was asked to keep his eye on me all the while. It at least meant while I waited for the drama to unfold, I had something else to look at. He was far more interesting to watch than the gossip at my table, mostly because I was waiting for his tray to tip over. He still hadn’t learned to hold it.
No one had asked about Aaron Astor yet, a small mercy. That, much like the monthly fight or sob session, most definitely was impending.
We were getting close to one of them happening.
“Ms. Nancy shared it with me ,” Ms. Jennings insisted, taking a long drink of her mimosa. “You’re just jealous I’m the one she gave it to. Guess someone hasn’t impressed Nancy enough, huh? Hurry—you’re running out of time.”
Most of the table gasped at Ms. Jennings’ lack of politeness, but that was to be expected as she drained her fourth drink. “You’re no better, Ally. She just gave it to you because you bribe her with cigarettes.”
“And you bother and bother about her will, so she says. Apparently, I’m not the only one you berate.”
I slipped deeper into my seat, getting ready.
Yvette’s mimosa sloshed again as she leaned forward, and this time, it was pure luck that it hadn’t gotten on the tablecloth. I then realized that if Yvette did get furious enough to throw her drink, being at Ms. Jennings’s other side, I sat in the splash zone. That would not do. I took that as my cue and shoved my chair back. It screamed over the floor, cutting through the conversation at the table, and everyone turned toward me.
“Margot,” my mother began, watching as I stood. “Where are you going?”
“The bathroom. Did I need to ask for permission?”
The group gasped again, because while I might not have used vulgar language, I had disrespected the supreme authority, and both carried the same severity. At least, in their eyes. My mother looked at me with tired eyes, drawing up her mimosa. “Go, go,” she insisted, already turning toward Yvette to change the subject. “How are Annalise’s wedding preparations coming along?”
Of course, I wasn’t going to the bathroom. Sumner was at a far table bussing it, smiling at the ladies who chatted him up. They seemed far more interested in him than they’ve ever been in any of the other staff members, but it was understandable—Sumner was one of the few male faces among the women on the serving rotation.
I caught his eye as he straightened from the table, his tray half-loaded full of dishes and empty champagne flutes. With a subtle tip of my chin, I beckoned him out into the corridor, to which he gave me a less-than-subtle nod.
Though the chatter followed me into the hallway, there wasn’t a soul in sight. Everyone who normally traversed through here already was in the grand room. The husbands of the women who drank their morning away were no doubt all on the golf course, or, if they’d already finished their rounds, having their own drinks or cigars in the outdoor bar. Everything moved like clockwork around here, not a single surprise or thing out of place.
Sumner slipped out of the event hall and into the corridor, holding his now empty tray. “Is it hot in there or is it just me?” he asked me as he tugged on the collar of his shirt. “How’re you doing in there? Surviving?”
“Barely,” I deadpanned, all at once stilling. “We’re getting to the fun part of the morning, though, when everyone gets tipsy and starts saying nasty things.”
A corner of his lips tipped up. “Nasty?”
“Last time, Mrs. Holland started talking about the latest sex position she discovered, and accidentally said a name that wasn’t her husband’s.”
Sumner fully laughed now, looking away from me and then looking back. This was another reason why Sumner was a breath of fresh air to be around; anyone else would’ve gasped, scandalized. Instead, he only gave a musical laugh. “Is that why I haven’t seen you drinking much? To avoid spilling your own secrets? ”
“More like I need to be sober to remember everything for blackmail later.”
“Ah, right, right.” Sumner shifted on his feet, and I wondered if he was about to excuse himself to get back to work. “Is that new?” Sumner asked, eyeing what I wore.
The suit was a Malstoni design from years ago, custom made and one of a kind. It was loosely based on one of his runway designs, though he’d made it more feminine. The jacket was long and cream colored, with pearl buttons and silver stitching. I wore a tight lace shirt underneath, one with a nude lining that almost gave it the illusion of sheer material. It looped low on my chest, and I’d layered silver jewelry to make up for the empty real estate.
“I’ve had it a while.” I reached down and tugged on the end of my sleeve, straightening the fabric. “If you see someone about to throw their mimosa at me, be sure to use your body as a shield.”
He still hadn’t lost his amusement. “Oh yeah? And why should I?”
“Because this suit cost four thousand dollars, while your shirt looks like something I could buy in a pack of three-for-five at Walmart.”
Now some of that amusement was replaced. “The country club provided this shirt, thank you very much,” he said in defense, tugging at his collar again, and muttered under his breath, “ Three-for-five. ”
Now it was my turn to don a small smirk, effectively pushing his buttons. “It’ll happen,” I promised him as I moved to lean against the far wall. “Just you wait.”
“You know, there’s something I don’ t understand,” Sumner said, taking a few steps closer to stand before me. “Your mother is afraid of you acting out, and yet she still wants you to come to these events?”
“Ah, you’ve discovered the conundrum of it all.” I tapped the heel of my shoe against the ground. The loafers were Claire Haute, which I normally would’ve never paired with something as classy as a Malstoni suit, but the pearls that were sewn into the top of the shoe accentuated the pearl stitching of the suit too nicely to pass up. “There are few things my parents consider more than optics .”
“Optics,” he echoed, almost as if he didn’t know what the word meant.
“‘What would everyone think? What would everyone say?’” I was sure these two questions ran through my parents’ thoughts on a daily basis. “If my mother were to tell me not to attend, everyone would be nosy about the why . ‘ Margot lives in the hotel; why isn’t she here? ’ Or ‘ What else does your daughter have to do on a Saturday morning? ’ Rumors start when someone isn’t present, because everyone loves to talk behind someone else’s back.”
“You make it sound so cutthroat.”
I gave a languid shrug. “You haven’t been around long enough, but you’ll see. People do the most horrible things all for the sake of climbing to the top of the elitist pyramid.”
Something in Sumner’s gaze flickered then, a faint response that I wouldn’t have caught if I wasn’t staring. He always accused me of having a problem, but this was why—the longer one stared, the more they saw. “But not you?”
“I’d rather sit back and watch everyone’s downfall. It’s far more fun.”
“Remind me not to get on your bad side.”
“Don’t worry; I won’t let you forget it.”
Sumner’s eyes dipped to my mouth, and it was only then that I realized I was smiling. It was a small curl to my lips, one that pinched the apples of my cheeks. The moment I noticed, it slipped from my face, and I forced my lips back to their neutral position.
“You’re not holding your tray correctly,” I told him, straightening from the wall.
Sumner took his tray out from underneath his arm. “I’m not?”
“You’re holding it too much in front of you. It’s much harder to maintain balance when something is sticking off in front of you, rather than at your side.” I reached around him and pressed his arm to his side, and bent his elbow so that the point of it dug into his side. Nancy hadn’t been lying when she said there was more squish to his arm than I’d been expecting, and it nearly made me smile again. “Your arm will be able to leverage the weight easier with your side supporting it, and your forearm will help you balance the tray. You can load your tray up more and it won’t be as straining.”
Sumner allowed me to move him like a puppet, not fighting as my fingers grabbed his arm to reposition, brushing against his skin. “I’m surprised you know this, given—” He abruptly stopped.
“Given what?” I came around to his side. “Given that I probably haven’t worked a day in my life?”
“I wasn’t going to say it like that.”
It was true, though, at least not in the way these servers worked. The staff at the country club was hard-working, dedicated, and that was one of the biggest things I’d noticed over the years. “I got used to watching and learning,” I told him. “You do a lot of observing at these parties when no one comes up to talk to you.”
Sumner watched me with a muted expression. He lowered the tray so it wasn’t between us anymore.
“I didn’t say that so you would pity me,” I said when he remained wordless, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut.
“I’m not.”
“Tell that to your face.”
He tilted his head to the side. “What about yours?”
To that, I simply raised an eyebrow.
“Why don’t you smile more?” And then he quickly shook his head. “Don’t give me that look. I’m not telling you to smile more. I’m asking why you don’t. There are times I can actually see you keep yourself from smiling. Why do you do that?”
He was like me, it seemed. Didn’t miss anything. “You look too close.”
“I like looking close. I like it when you smile.”
He said it too factually for it to sound flirty, but I still donned a teasing expression. “Am I pretty when I smile?”
“You’re pretty when you don’t,” Sumner said, looking down at me. “You’re beautiful when you do.”
Again, his words sounded factual, as nonchalant as informing me that his shirt was blue, but they licked up my skin like a flame anyway. I became all too aware of how close I stood to him, how close we stood together. We fell into a brief silence again, and this time, and I should’ve taken it as my cue to let us go back into the hall.
I didn’t move. I didn’t want to. “I’ve told you before; I’m not a happy person,” I replied in a low voice. “Not much makes me smile.”
“You’ve smiled around me. So, I’m the only person who can make you smile?”
“It appears so.”
He chuckled at that, and the sound wormed its way to the center of my chest, the vibration creating a strange pressure. I wanted to make him laugh again, but I didn’t know how. I hadn’t been trying to do so.
Footfalls on the marble floors sounded, interrupting the bubble of space the two of us had created in the hallway. They weren’t coming from in the event hall, but from the rounding south wing, most likely a late joiner to the party. I didn’t bother looking, inwardly sighing. Hopefully it wasn’t Annalise. If she came, the wedding preparations would be all anyone wanted to talk about, and that would’ve eventually led to me , and I was exhausted by the mere thought.
From my peripheral, a pair of people stepped around the corner, and that was when Sumner grabbed my upper arm and dragged me to the side. He pulled me into an alcove in the hallway, pressing me against the wall and out of sight from whoever had begun walking down it. I’d allowed myself to be pulled by his whirlwind of movement, but when we came to a halt, so did everything else.
Sumner’s eyes were wide as he focused off to the side, as if trying to listen for whoever had been approaching, but not focused on me. It allowed me to focus on him.
He stood close enough that I could smell the scent of his woody cologne, close enough that I could feel the body heat radiating through his blue polo. The barest hints of sweat had gathered along his temples from a morning of bussing tables, and it tamped some of his golden hair down, turning it brown. My gaze traced down from his temple to his sharp cheekbone, from there to his jaw, from his jaw down the curve of his throat.
He met my gaze and swallowed, and my heart jumped in response. Despite the fog in my mind, I had enough wherewithal to raise an eyebrow at him.
“It’s your father,” he said, breathless as he dropped my arms. It was then that I noticed his chest rose and fell fast. “I—I’m supposed to be working, not chatting with you.”
“I take priority over you bussing tables,” I whispered back. “We don’t have to hide from anyone.”
Sumner didn’t answer, and his gaze had fallen from mine. The footfalls were louder now as they approached, but the conversation was too hushed to be able to pick out individual words.
It was ridiculous, the pair of us pressed in a hallway like we were caught doing something wrong, but still, I didn’t move. I truly didn’t understand his fear. Sure, my mother might’ve asked him to bus a table, but she also asked him to keep an eye on me—I didn’t understand why he was alarmed enough to scuttle into a corner.
Being this close had the memory of last week rising up in my mind, unbidden. We’d stood much like this when I batted the tray of drinks out of his hands and took his face in my hands. A week ago, I’d kissed him without thinking about it. A complete stranger. Now, the idea of doing the same—of reaching up, laying my hands on his cheeks, and bringing his mouth to mine—seemed far, far more forbidden.
It’d mean something now if I kissed him. It hadn’t meant anything before, but it would mean something now.
A bead of sweat had formed and slid down the side of his throat now, and without thinking, I reached up and swiped it away with the pad of my thumb, my fingers curving lightly around his neck. Sumner jumped at the touch, eyes widening. I watched myself in the reflection of his pupils, and the black depths expanded ever so slightly. The rapid rise and fall of his chest paused.
I pressed my hand a bit firmer against his throat, and underneath my fingertips, the pulse in his throat pounded. Rapid. Stuttering. A captive bird, desperately fluttering around its cage. Because of my father? Or because of me?
I smiled, another small one that pinched my cheeks. “Breathe, Sumner Pennington,” I whispered, and without another word, I slid out from the space between his body and the wall and stepped into view of the approaching pair.
My father, dressed in one of his most expensive suits, walked down the hall with a tall woman at his side. I walked toward the event archway, intending to go straight inside without interacting with them at all, until I realized my father was grinning like a madman as he approached. His attitude was far, far different from how it normally was around me alone, much more animated and lively.
“What luck!” he exclaimed as he and the woman came to a halt in front of me. “It’s almost as if you were waiting for us. This is my daughter, Margot.”
I gave the middle-aged woman a less than subtle appraising look, stunned. Her pantsuit was a deep emerald color, velvet, with a coat that dipped in at the waist and pants that had a small flare at her ankles. “That’s a Malstoni from one of his first collections,” I said with a little bit of awe, stunned for more reasons than one. Malstoni’s earlier pantsuit collections were no longer being made, which meant the woman was wearing a small fortune on her body.
That, and she was actually wearing it. I didn’t think I’d ever seen another woman opt for Malstoni’s pantsuits, only ever his dresses.
The woman smiled, her mauve lips accentuating her perfectly white teeth. “Beautiful taste,” she told me, a slight English accent clinging to her words. “You knew that in ten seconds, mmm? I’m quite impressed.”
“More like five,” I corrected. “I knew it as soon as I saw the pick stitching at your collar. But not the stitching at the lapel—it’s clear that was altered up by a different tailor, most likely done with a machine.”
My father’s happy little smile disappeared. “ Margot , this is?—”
“Old pieces such as these pull a stitch a time or two,” the woman said, appearing unbothered. She regarded me as if my father wasn’t even there. “I surely wouldn’t walk around with the collar coming undone. ”
“Why not just replace it?” It was a foolish question, of course. I, myself, had pointed out its uniqueness. This wasn’t a suit you could just replace .
“Why replace something when it’s perfectly beautiful otherwise?” The woman leaned in a little and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “And I could’ve requested Malstoni to fix it himself, if I wanted to pay out of price. I like to view this piece as a one-of-a-kind collaboration, you know. Malstoni, my tailor, and me. Quite the unique combination.”
It took me only a moment of regarding her to decide. “I like the way you think,” I said, offering my hand. “As my father said, I’m Margot. Margot Massey.”
She gave me a strong handshake back, but didn’t immediately let go, eyes bouncing all over me. I didn’t realize it until she spoke, but she was the surprise. The one thing that broke the clockwork, that threw everything into an uproar. I’d been waiting for it, and she’d manifested before my very eyes. “It’s a very big pleasure to meet you, Margot. I’m Vivienne Astor.” And, in case it hadn’t sunk in, she generously added, “Of Astro Agencies. Aaron Astor’s mother.”