Page 21 of Bordeaux Bombshell (Sunshine Cellars #3)

“Okay, ladies. My helpers are going to pass around this little quiz to see who knows the groom best.” Daisy’s voice cuts off any more conversation, and Olive eagerly slips papers to the trollop and me before twirling away.

“Hmm, I do not know Kel very well. I think this might be a challenge.” Manon laughs, the twinkling sound grating on every nerve in my body.

“Have you never met him?” I can feign innocence too, bitch.

“Non, I am here visiting the Ridgefields. Jackie invited me to join in today.”

Swallowing a snort of disbelief, I scan the sheet to see how easy the questions are going to be.

1. Favorite color?

2. Favorite movie?

3. Favorite food?

With a grin, I pull the cap off the cheap pen that was dropped on the table by one of the young girls and start scribbling. I’m halfway through this ridiculously easy game when Manon makes a sexy little chuckle.

“Well, since I do not know Kel, I think I shall answer these about someone I do know.” She pulls an expensive-looking pen from her purse—of course the floozie brought her own—and starts looping it across the page and talking to herself.

“Favorite color? Blue. Favorite movie? Indiana Jones. Terrible movie.”

Her words sink in, and I freeze in the middle of a word.

That’s not Kel’s favorite movie. But it is Nate’s.

And Kel’s favorite color is red. Blue is my favorite color.

And Nate’s. I can’t even count the number of times he and I came to blows over board-game markers and various other colored tchotchkes as kids.

The only time it was ever convenient was when planning our years of shared birthday parties.

The bitch absolutely knows who I am. She’s doing this on purpose, and the knowledge sinks into my gut like an anchor.

I knock back the rest of my cocktail and get to work.

This wench is about to learn the hard way that I not only grew up chasing those boys but learned how to fight dirty from them too.

“What superhero would he be?” I muse out loud. Leaning forward, I reach across the table, tapping to get Jackie’s attention. “Gosh, Jackie, remember how Nate and Kel would argue over who was better, Batman or Superman?”

“Goodness, I’d forgotten, Sydney. You’re right.” She nudges Mom, who looks up from her page with a distracted air. “Of course, I couldn’t tell you which side those boys took. Do you remember, Rebecca?”

They start reminiscing, smiling over the happy memories I reminded them of.

Point to me. I smirk before flicking my ponytail back over my shoulder.

“Of course I know, but I’m not telling. Although, considering Kel was an emergency room nurse for years, I would think the answer was obvious.

” With an exaggerated glance around the table, I purposefully catch Manon’s eye before writing “Batman” on my sheet.

I’m just getting started, bitch, and I have enough stories to do this all damn day.

Manon hums beside me. “Dream vacation?” She leans back in her seat, pen tapping the table. “Avignon is always lovely. I have many…happy…memories from there. A plan for the future, no?”

I scowl at her, recalling Nate describing his visit to Avignon and the Rhone Valley. As I look up, Jackie is elbowing Mom, side-eyeing me. Instead of reacting, I pick up my champagne and chug it, eyes watering from the bubbles fizzing up my nose.

“Ah, first job. I think I can guess this one—Nate often told me of the many harvests he and Kel helped with as children.” She pauses, then turns a knowing look on me.

“Didn’t they have to throw away a whole cask because you jumped in and started stomping it with your shoes on?

I do remember Nathaniel telling me many stories about l’enfant terrible.

” She winks across the table, eliciting laughter from everyone else, especially my mom. Traitor.

For the record, I was ten when the boys blindfolded and tossed me in, screaming about it being the wood chipper. They didn’t have to toss the grapes because I had shoes on, but because I was so scared I’d peed my pants.

And they were the ones who got grounded for it, not me.

Pushing back my chair, I swipe a half-empty champagne glass off the table, not caring whose it is, before I finish it off.

“Fuck this.” I’m being too loud, and I know it, but I can’t seem to control my temper.

“We get it, Manon, you fucked Nate when he was in Bordeaux. But guess what?” Heat fills my cheeks, maybe from the alcohol, maybe because the room has fallen silent and everyone is staring at me, but the words keep coming.

“He came home. The second Kel called and said we needed him, he was on a plane. He came back to us because we’re his family, not you. ”

Oh god, oh god. I need to stop talking. I need to shut the fuck up. Maybe this could all have been salvageable, but my mouth keeps going without my permission. “You may have taught him how to do that fancy little tongue swirl, but guess who he’s been doing it to? I’ll give you one guess—not you!”

My mom’s quick gasp and horrified “Sydney Anne!” is the only sound as I stomp away from the table.

I’m halfway across the room, feeling about as small as a rodent, when someone snags my arm and pulls me into a chair. Someone else pops to their feet, shouting “Bingo!” into the pregnant silence.