She leaned closer. “Of course!”
“So can I,” he said, chuckling at her instant frown.
“You’re a rat.”
He straightened in his seat as they stopped at a red light. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.”
“Maman et père …you know that…”
“What?”
“Well, they weren’t very happy.”
Her face clouded over a little and she nodded. “That’s putting it mildly.”
“How do you let go of that? How did you trust Cort? I mean—Christ, Mad! Jax told me that Thatcher was cheating on you, and yet here you are! Talking about moving in with Cort and setting a wedding date. How did you…I mean, how can you be so trusting? How do you know it won’t all go to shit?”
“I love him,” she said simply. “And he loves me. If I love someone and I’m sure he loves me in return, I have to trust him. I have faith in him.”
“But what if he lets you down?”
She took a deep breath. “I suppose we could fall out of love someday. I hope not, but life is long, and I’m not such a dreamer that I would tell you it’s impossible. But, Jean-Christian, I have some control over that. Even if we do fall out of love, I can work to find it again. I choose him. I choose us. Forever.”
Work and choice. Two words that Libitz had also used. Was it truly that easy? Was loving someone a choice? Was marriage work? And with love and work, could he have something that had eluded his parents?
“You know I’m going to find out who she is,” said Mad in a singsong voice, grinning at him.
J.C. chuckled at her minxy smile. “How about you tell me more about your wedding plans instead?”
***
Libitz had spent all morning and most of the early afternoon helping Kate direct caterers, choose music, and arrange centerpieces of mums for the round tables she’d had set up in her backyard. Luckily the weather had complied, and it was a gorgeous afternoon for a BBQ, complete with blue skies, sunshine, a light breeze, and the promise of a clear evening.
As the guests arrived, including Kate’s cousins, the English brothers, and their significant others, the backyard took on a festive atmosphere. They watched Caroline English frolic through the sprinkler with delight, her mother, Daisy English, giggling every time her soaked toddler rushed back into her arms.
Jessica Winslow English and Emily Edwards English, both expecting, sat at a table with Jessica’s sisters-in-law and new moms, Skye, Elise, and Margaret Winslow, cooing over the three baby cousins with delight. Christopher Winslow, who’d just won his first congressional seat in Washington last fall, had just proposed to his girlfriend, Julianne, while vacationing with the secretary of state on Cape Cod. Libitz waved at Julianne, who was speaking to Molly English, the new bride of the youngest English brother, Weston.
The only unmarried English brother was Stratton, who had his arm tightly around the waist of his girlfriend, Valeria, as they talked to his parents, Tom and Eleanora. But he was 100 percent off the market—it was just a matter of time until he popped the question and they started making bambinos of their own.
At a table off to the side were Alice Story and Bree Ambler, whom Libitz had met briefly at Kate’s wedding and liked instantly. Both were strong, savvy, single businesswomen. My peeps, thought unmarried business-owner Libitz, crossing the lawn to sit with them.
“Is this seat taken?” she asked.
“Nope,” said Bree, a striking platinum blonde with icy blue eyes. “It’s all yours.”
“Thanks,” she said, placing her glass of Chardonnay on the table and joining them. “We met in the receiving line at Kate and étienne’s wedding, but I’m—”
“Libitz.” Bree shook her hand. “Bree Ambler. I recognize you. You were the maid of honor.”
Libitz nodded. “Kate’s best friend.”
“From New York?” asked Alice, shaking Lib’s proffered hand with a strong grip and a warm smile.
“I own a gallery there.”
“I work on Wall Street,” said Bree. “We should have lunch sometime.”
“I’d love it,” said Libitz with a grin. “In the market for any art?”
Bree shrugged. “My sister’s more the creative type.”
“I’m not sure I’ve met her.”
Bree and Alice shared a look.
“You’d know if you did,” said Bree with a sigh. “She’s…unforgettable.”
“Speaking of unforgettable, I think I see Priscilla,” said Alice, sitting back in her chair and rolling her eyes.
“What is she wearing? Is that a fucking muumuu?” asked Bree.
“Probably. She’s so embarrassing.” She turned to Libitz. “We both have what you’d call…‘black sheep’ sisters.”
“Pains in the ass,” corrected Bree.