I saw my father shaking hands with someone near the fireplace and my mother nursing a G & T, probably her third, on one of the sofas, but I headed toward Tripp, doing my best to will that edgy feeling into butterflies. He was chatting with a group of women near the window, and they were clearly enthralled by whatever he was saying. As I got closer, he took a step back, and I saw that he wasn’t alone. Amber was there too, wearing a dress that nearly fit, and she was holding out her left hand toward the little group, as if she were showing off a—
Oh no.
Oh no, he didn’t.
He couldn’t have.
He wouldn’t even.
But he had.
And the ring on her finger was the exact same one Tripp had proposed to me with last night.
“It was, like, so romantic,” she was gushing. “He came over in the middle of the night. Said he just couldn’t wait any longer because he knew for sure I was the one.”
I nearly gagged. Backing away unseen and shaking with rage, I found the bar and ordered a martini. (One good thing about people with old money, there’s never a shortage of good gin.)
In a daze, I took my drink out onto the terrace, where my older brother, Buck, spotted me and roped me into schmoozing with a bunch of men in suits whose names I forgot immediately. All I could think of as I stood there, drinking and half-listening to them banter about politics and boats, was what an asshole Tripp was. He must have gone right from me to her last night. What the fuck was wrong with him?
Eventually the men wandered off to refill their scotch glasses, and Buck turned to me. “What’s with you? You were totally mute during that conversation, and your expression makes Muffy’s Resting Bitch Face look downright pleasant.”
“Sorry. I was thinking about something.”
He grinned cockily before tipping back his whiskey on the rocks. “Let me guess. Tripp’s engagement? Don’t let it bother you.”
“Why not? It sort of makes a fool of me, doesn’t it? Everyone knew we broke up because I wanted to get married and he didn’t.” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell him about last night yet.
He took another swallow and shook his head. “He still doesn’t. But Deuce changed the conditions of his inheritance because he’s such a fuck-up with the gambling. He owes like three hundred grand or something. And if he wants the money, Deuce said he has to quit dicking around, get married and settle down.”
My jaw dropped. Quit dicking around and get married? That sounded way too familiar. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. I heard it today from some guy who works for Deuce and heard him talking to the lawyers about it.” He laughed. “What an asshole. You dodged a bullet, as far as I’m concerned.” He clinked his glass to mine. “Cheers.”
Fuming, I tipped back the rest of my drink. “Excuse me.”
I set the empty martini glass on a passing server’s tray and went directly to the bar to order another. Locking myself inside the first floor powder room, I took a gulp of my drink, set it down, and leaned on the marble vanity. I breathed heavily, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Scolding myself. Hating myself.
You fucking idiot! Of course he didn’t want you! He told you last year he didn’t! He just wanted his money and you were the ticket. You ridiculous, stupid, gullible woman, thinking of giving him another chance.
But I hadn’t. Thank God I hadn’t. Except now I was filled with gin and frustration and rage—with Tripp, with myself, and even with Amber, for being so blind to his deceit. For once, I wished I was the kind of person to unleash my feelings in public, to go out there and publicly shame him for what he’d done, call him out on his slimy desperation and his lies, expose him for what he was. I wished it so hard I was shaking.
But I couldn’t.
That is, I couldn’t until I discovered Tripp and Amber holding court in the dining room, regaling yet another crowd of bystanders with the romantic story of their surprise engagement.
“He didn’t even want to get married before me,” she bragged. “Did you, honey?”
“I sure didn’t, baby doll.”
Baby doll. What an asshole. I set my third empty glass down on the floor—at least, I think it was the floor. Levels of things were a bit hazy at this point.
“I guess it just took finding the perfect woman to make me change my mind.” He gazed at Amber with wretchedly fake adoration. “And when you find her, you know.”
Perfect woman. I think I snorted at that, because a few people turned around and looked at me. But I ignored them, looking over the desserts laid out on the table and sideboards, pretending to search for the perfect after-dinner treat.
“The ring’s gorgeous,” someone said.
“Isn’t it?” Amber said delightedly. “He had it custom made for me.”
Custom made for her. My hands started to shake as my eyes alighted on a silver tray of scones. I wrapped my fingers around one and eyeballed the possible trajectory.
“That’s right.” Tripp kissed the back of her hand. “Just for you.”
A second later, I hurled the first scone, which missed its target—his smug face—and hit him in the chest.
Startled, he looked up just about the time the second scone pinged off the chandelier and landed at his feet. “What the hell?”
People started looking around, some getting out of the way. Good thing, because the third scone knocked a vase off the table, and it crashed to the floor at Tripp’s feet.