Something About You (Just Me & You) (2 page)

“Beer? It’s not even six o’clock,” she pointed out.

“Isn’t it?” He pulled back his jacket sleeve to check a
freckle past a hair. He wasn’t even wearing a watch. “Then we’re behind
schedule. You’ll need liquid reinforcement before you go into the lion’s den
and tell Cybil and Shuck the bride and groom are in gay
Paree
.” He
rubbed his chin. “I think Sebastian said something about getting hitched in
Montmartre.”

Again, that sly, sidelong look. Only this time it lingered
longer. Then it dawned on her.

“Wait a minute. So you knew all along that — damn it!”
she fumed. She imagined Molly and Sebastian huddled in their respective call
boxes calling both her and Gage — stacking the decks to make sure that at
least one of their friends stepped up to do their dirty work.

Now the man beside her was chuckling softly.

“I’d say that as the bride’s number one, you have a
situation on your hands, wouldn’t you? Cheers.” Gage clinked his beer bottle
against hers and downed most of it in several smooth swallows. Sabrina stared
in fascination as he wiped his mouth with the cuff of his tuxedo jacket. She
took a small sip of her own beer. Then a few more.

“You’re an objective third party,” she reasoned aloud. “You
should make the announcement.”

“Me?” Gage looked slightly alarmed. “Hell no. I’m on the
Coles’ shit list.”

She could believe it. Even in her protocol-driven
profession, she’d met men like him. Men with a severe case of the fuck-its. All
of Molly’s bad boys had qualified. Moody poets, tortured artists, struggling
musicians. Oh yes, Gage Fitzgerald had the fuck-its in spades.

“What did you do?” she dared herself to ask.

“I took Sebastian on a road trip to Vegas during our
sophomore year in college. As you’ve probably gathered, kid genius has a wild
side. He just needed some coaxing.”

“So?” Sabrina shrugged.

“He was seventeen.” Gage grinned broadly. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m a bad influence on women everywhere. I have a
master’s degree and a career in a male-dominated profession.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it,” he concurred soberly. “To Cybil,
equal rights for women ended once they could legally own real estate. Looks
like we’re both outnumbered and outgunned.”

“So how do we decide who gets the short end of the stick?”
Sabrina asked.

“Simple. We flip for the honors.”

“Flip a coin,” she repeated dully. “You can’t be serious.”

“Seems fair, unless you have a better idea.” He foraged
around in his pocket and produced a quarter. “Call it.”

“Heads,” Sabrina said as the coin spun in the air and landed
on one black cuff. It came up tails.

Taking note of her grim expression, Gage said, “Bottom’s up,
Maid March. You’re playing to a tough crowd.”

She peered into the Cotillion Room. The musicians were still
parked next to the altar between two vases of mums, but the guests had
scattered. Some had decided not to wait any longer. Bidding them farewell at
the door were Cybil and her twin daughters. They wore the same bridesmaid’s
dress as Sabrina’s, only the muted green that made her look like a dialysis
patient toned down the twins’ ruddy complexions and strawberry-blond hair.

Sabrina handed Gage her unfinished beer. He stepped in front
of her and opened the French doors.

“Don’t worry,” he said with a wink. “I’ve got your back.”

Right.

Shoulders back, she made her way down the center of the
aisle using the purposeful stride that signaled to press and constituents that
the Hon. Rep. Ward was about to take center stage.

Only no one seemed to notice.

Sabrina glanced at the sea of unfamiliar faces. Cybil had
made sure that the entire Cole family and all of their acquaintances were
invited, but Sabrina couldn’t spot any of Molly’s friends or family, nor did
she see any of their neighbors from Cadence Corners, the small community where
the two friends had grown up. 

Sabrina cleared her throat and began to speak. “Ladies and
gentlemen, may I have your attention? Excuse me?”

It was a futile endeavor; her natural timbre was husky and
inaudible without a microphone. So she put two fingers in her mouth and
whistled, long and loud.

The Honorable Theo Ward would not have approved, but heads
swiveled in her direction and the room went quiet.

“Ladies, gentlemen — everyone — thank you for your
attention.” She slipped into her cordial public-relations voice. “I’m the maid
of honor. It’s probably come to some of your attentions that there’s been a
delay.”

“Only some of our attentions?” a drunken groomsman cawed
from the bar. Sabrina felt her face flame. Maybe she should have finished the
beer.

“All of us who gathered together here today want to share
Molly and Sebastian’s big day.” She scanned the crowd briefly with a benevolent
smile — a trick she’d learned from Theo. “But sometimes two people who
really love each other want to keep their vows private…”

Sabrina no longer knew what she was talking about or why.
She noticed that the Cole clan had closed ranks and were now staring at her in
shock. 

“What the Sam Hill are you chattering on about, Sabrina?”
Schulster “Shuck” Cole shouted, his brow drawn in an angry furrow. “Skip the
oration and cut to the chase.”

Wonderful
, she thought. He was already three sheets
and blowing. She cleared her throat and brightened her smile. “Molly and
Sebastian have eloped to Paris.”

“Paris?” Shuck’s face paled a bit. “What’s in Paris, other
than soup and diapers?”

“Not Paris, Texas. Paris.
France
.”

The room buzzed with conversation. Shuck’s cheeks began to
mottle; Cybil looked away dramatically, her mouth drawn in a taut line. The
Cole twins just looked disappointed.

When all else failed, resort to humor, Theo had told her.
Only Sabrina’s mind had gone blank. Then, like an angel of mercy, Gage swooped
in from the sidelines. He grabbed two flutes of champagne from a table and
crossed the room in a few easy strides.

“Here,” he said under his breath as he handed her one of the
glasses. “You look like you need it.”

Then he turned around and gave the guests a charismatic
smile that Sabrina usually associated with celebrity magazine covers.

“Hey, folks, I’m the other messenger Molly and Sebastian
tag-teamed to get shot,” he said in his rich, rumbling voice. “Sabrina already
did the hard part.” One big arm snaked around her shoulders, and then her cheek
was forcibly pressed against his lapel. “I only have a couple more things to
add. But first—”

Releasing her, he downed most of his champagne. “There,
that’s better. Actually, it’s a helluva lot better.”

A few of the guests chuckled as the tension in the room
disappeared. Sabrina made herself keep smiling. Nothing explained how Gage
Fitzgerald from Chap Stick County, flying only by the seat of his pants with a
bad case of the fuck-its, had saved her with his innate sense of comedic
timing. He made establishing a close rapport with strangers look easy.

“The happy couple apologized for getting you decked out in
your silly suits in this hot weather,” he went on. “They also want you to know
that they’re having a blast. Hot damn, isn’t it great that they started their
life together in Paris?”

“Hell yeah!” someone called from the back of the room. 

“Finally, I am under their express orders to tell you all
that under no circumstances are you to leave tonight without having a good
time. I know Shuck and Cybil would agree.” 

The subtle pinched look that stole across the Coles’ faces
was priceless.

“How are you folks feeling? A little hungry? Thirsty? No,
not you guys growing roots at the bar, the rest of you. The booze and the eats
are paid for, so let’s get this party underway.” Gage lifted his champagne
flute. “Cheers to Molly and Sebastian. Or as they say in Paris — what do
they say in Paris?” he asked Sabrina.

“
A la tienne
.” She raised her glass. 

The room was filled with the sound of tinkling crystal.

“Back atcha,” Gage said softly, catching her gaze. Of course
to catch it, she had to crane her neck. She imagined what she must look like
from his almost aerial view: a cap of messy blond on brown, a flutter of
eyelashes, and a bump of nose.

The musicians struck up Ravel as though cued, and guests
began to mill around comfortably while a small army of white-coated waitstaff
swanned in bearing chafing dishes. Sabrina looked around for Gage, but he had
disappeared from view.

She made her way to the cake table for another glass of
champagne. She should go easy on the alcohol. She’d always been a
featherweight, even when she was at university. But this was Molly’s wedding —
or rather, her un-wedding?

Sabrina admired the cake, a four-tiered wonder decorated
with elaborate curls of white chocolate and candied rose petals. She wondered
if Molly would want pictures.

“Commendations for such an eloquent impromptu speech,” a
woman’s voice said from right behind her, cool and controlled. Sabrina jumped,
splashing champagne on her dress.

Cybil Cole had a ninja-like way of infiltrating other
people’s personal space before she spoke. She wore a chiffon dress in a
soporific shade of puce that looked good only on fifty-something Junior
Leaguers and pampered Peyton Heights housewives. Cybil happened to be both.

Sabrina gathered her wits and mimicked Cybil’s plastered-on
smile.

“I wish I could tell you it was my pleasure. I know you
wanted to see Sebastian get married.” Sabrina employed the measured tone she
used when fielding questions from the press. “Unfortunately, these things
happen.”

“I suppose. However, it would have been nice to know of the
change in plans before I added lobster bisque to the menu.” Cybil’s eyes
narrowed. “You and Molly are as thick as thieves. Did she mention or even
allude to eloping, by chance?”

“I didn’t hear a whisper,” Sabrina said honestly. Something
in Cybil’s eyes stirred like leaves under river water. She took a step closer
and lifted a bony hand drenched in vintage Harry Winston under the pretext of
brushing imaginary lint from Sabrina’s shoulder.

“Don’t grow that halo on my behalf, Sabrina March,” she
hissed through her smile. “I simply refuse to believe you.”

She whooshed back, leaving Sabrina in a cloud of
powdery-smelling amber. Cybil had to be one of the last women alive who still
reached for the Shalimar bottle.

Sabrina clenched her teeth and tried not to think about the
check that came across her desk like clockwork at the beginning of every
campaign season signed
Mrs. S.L. Cole
. She hitched a hand on her hip.
“Look, Cybil, let’s get a few things straight—”

“Heavens!” Cybil interrupted, looking appalled as she peered
over Sabrina’s shoulder. “What’s he done to the fine linen?”

Sabrina whirled around. Gage was headed their way, toting a
large white tablecloth with bulging contents. Out of the corner of her eye, she
could see Shuck Cole also barreling in their direction. Sensing she was about
to witness a collision of unprecedented magnitude, she downed the rest of her
champagne.

“Shuck, how’s it going?” With a wide grin, Gage slapped his
palm against the other man’s, engaging him in a hearty handshake. “Cybil, you
know a good foie gras.”

“It’s truffle pâté. Always good to see you, Gage,” Cybil
lied.

“Paris, France. Well, hell’s bells.” Shuck went straight to
bluster. “Does my impractical son know how much this shindig cost me? And not
even a wedding for the trouble!” He looked at Gage with suspicion. “I’m gonna
ask you straight up, Fitzgerald: did Sebastian tell you about these
shenanigans?”

“Who, me?” He looked surprised as he hoisted the tablecloth
over his shoulder, but Sabrina detected mischief in his eyes. “Oh, sure. I
drove him and Molly to the airport last night.”

“How could you?” Cybil asked, horrified.

“No worries, Mrs. C. I had free time in my schedule. You
know how bad the parking is.”

The insouciance of his delivery was unbelievably audacious —
and impressive. Shuck drew a breath to launch his next tirade. Before he could
begin, Gage wrapped his free arm around Sabrina’s shoulders.

“Now you’ll have to excuse me while I whisk the maid of
honor away for a moment of Zen in the shade,” he told the Coles. “I think we
both need it.”

If she hadn’t had the second glass of champagne, she would
have been far less malleable. Instead, she let him lead her out to the balcony
through the French doors.

“Well, that was poor form,” she pointed out. “The attendants
can’t just duck and run.”

“So this is the thanks I get for coming to your rescue? Wax
poetic in front of an audience that’s busy chasing shots, and you set yourself
up for the big fail. You were choking up there, honey.”

Easy for you to say after I did all the heavy lifting.
Sabrina side-eyed him.

“In any case, I’m smart enough to stay away from the Coles
when they’re circling the tank,” he went on. “And you—” He chuckled. “—I saw
you facing off with Cybil. You were about to take the gloves off.”

“She’s like an intrusive monarch,” Sabrina muttered. “She
deserves a
dies horribilis
.”

“Admit it.” Gage paused on the bottom step of the staircase
leading to the south lawn, putting them at eye level with each other. “You
don’t want to go back in there any more than I do.” He tossed his head in the
direction of the Cotillion Room.

Sabrina blew her bangs out of her eyes. Gage made a
persuasive argument, and lucky for him, she was in a very persuadable mood. 

“What’s in there?” She eyed the bulky tablecloth warily.

“Vintage port, courtesy of Shuck’s cellar. Very long, very
French bread.” How could she resist that wide, lazy smile? “Everything we need
for a little peace and quiet.”