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Everyone looked to me for my answer.
Marrying Aaron Astor had never been a choice given to me. My mother hadn’t even told me she met him at Christmas until February. She’d gushed over the fact that the elegant Vivienne Astor, Aaron’s mother, had reached out in the new year asking if Charlotte Massey’sdearest daughterwas single.
“He’s the perfect match,” my mother had said while we were on a video call with my father. “He’s everything we’ve been waiting for.”
I lifted my chin now. “I think any rich 25-year-old desperate to marry someone he’s never met must be a poor sight to see.”
The conversation stalled in awkward silence. The butterflies all looked at each other as if debating to flutter away to a new flower, one thatwould actually give them the titillating conversation they were hoping for. My mother just looked like a furious wasp.
“Then again, I should be honored—a man, as rich as Aaron Astor, is interested inme.” I left no room for emotion in my voice as I stared Ms. Jennings down, a challenge.
She broke away first, of course. They always did.
I turned my attention back to the ballroom, watching as the space, thankfully, held signs of winding down as the hour stretched closer to eleven. The catering staff had begun clearing the buffet tables and gathering the dirty dishes. A few still milled about with trays of drinks, but all the small hors d’oeuvres had stopped being served.So close, I thought to myself, glancing at the massive clock on the far end of the room.So close to turning into a pumpkin.
“Margot’s never been interested in dating before,” I heard my mother explain to our little gaggle of big mouths. “And of course, when she starts, she goes for the big one.”
“And here I thought she wasn’t interested in romance in general,” Ms. Jennings replied. “Not even the slightest little crush?”
“Must’ve been boring,” someone muttered.
My mother’s voice was firm. “She’s been very focused on her studies. Theo and I have a dedicated daughter.”
The words made my stomach feel sour. I stood there amidst the nonsense, wondering why they had to bat it back and forth around me. I was no flower.
I looked back to where the waiter stood with his tilting tray, still shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Hehadn’t moved since I last glanced over, hadn’t found someone else to serve the remaining drinks to. His shoulders were stiff, and despite his black pants and white shirt, he seemed out of place. His eyes bounced all over the ballroom, ending up on a revolving pivot back in my direction.
He tried to be smooth about it, but it was obvious—he’d still been watching.
It piqued my interest to the point that I could no longer ignore it. Without a word of polite excuse, I stepped away from the group, making my way to the cater waiter.
His eyes widened as I closed in on him, and he took a step backward. It was choppy enough that the champagne glasses swung again, his tray too far from his torso to give it the proper balance. Though he tried, he didn’t have a chance to run before I was upon him, stopping within an inch from his teetering tray.
“Intriguing, am I?” I asked as I swiped up a champagne flute. I kept my back to my mother, but highly doubted she’d march over and pull it from my hands again. Not with her underlings to distract her.
The waiter’s shoulders seemed even stiffer now, and he held the tray with the singular champagne flute between us almost as if a barricade. “I was just looking to see if you needed another drink.”
“You mean my sixth?” I lifted my eyebrows. “It was you who kept me stocked, wasn’t it? Trying to get me drunk?”
He blinked rapidly, darklashes fluttering. They were quite pretty. “No, I just—wanted to make sure you had what you needed.”
“Not anyone else in this room. Me, specifically.” I didn’t smile, but the expression I offered was close. “Are you trying to get on my good side? That could be tough—I’m not known to have one.”
He looked around helplessly, as if trying to find an escape path, but couldn’t get his feet to move. “You looked lonely. Over there, by yourself. That’s why… I came around a few times.”
Lonely. The word looped around in my head, almost foreign in the context. Lonely, in a room filled with so many people that the air was thick with heat and Chanel No.5? Lonely, when I resented the thought of anyone walking up to me? Lonely, when I refused to even make eye contact with someone?Lonely. For a moment, it didn’t make sense.
Finally, something in me sighed in a sort of revelation.Somebody noticed.
“I prefer my own company over this lot’s,” I returned, taking a sip of the champagne. I wasn’t sure if it was just my tastebuds, but it almost tastedsugary. Almost as if it were sparkling juice.
I looked the waiter over a bit closer. The uniform of the country club for the serving attire was a black turtleneck paired with a white shirt and a black apron tied around their waist. His didn’t quite fit him right, as if he wore shirts two sizes too big. Not name brand; not the standard uniform the country club doled out.
The watch latched to his wrist looked clunky and old, like something a child would dig out from a cereal box—aviolation of dress code, since no jewelry or watches were allowed when serving. He almost looked like he was pretending to be on the staff, as if he’d found a tray somewhere and just swiped it up.
That thought only increased my curiosity.
A woman walked past us then with a flute in her hand, and I eyed it. The bubbles in hers were far more of a light golden color, whereas mine seemed almost a burnt amber. Indeed, different. I nearly laughed. Hewasserving me sparkling juice. Which meant there was only one culprit behind this imposter and his poorly done-up hoax—my mother.