Then Kate picks up her brush and flicks it so gobs of paint spray at Renee. The coral paint hits her black business suit and sprays droplets all over her pants and jacket.
“Hey!” shouts Renee. “I object.”
But Kate’s not done. She turns on Arya and slaps her paintbrush against Arya’s cheek and wipes it over her face and down her neck.
I snort.
They all turn and look at me. A calculated gleam enters Kate’s eyes, and I see it mirrored on Arya’s and Renee’s faces.
I hold up my hands in the universal surrender pose. “No way, guys. I’m an innocent party here. I have no opinion about boobies.”
“But you have an opinion about Declan. And you think I shouldn’t go after him, all based on hearsay,” Kate says. She bends over and dips her brush in the paint tray, soaking up as much paint as possible.
“That’s not the definition of hearsay,” Renee says. She grabs a roller from the tray and hefts it in her hand.
“Why are you gunning for me?” I ask Renee.
She shrugs. “Because it’s fun.”
“It’s not. This is a painting party, not a people painting party.” I take a step back.
Arya’s roller squeaks as she moves it back and forth in the tray picking up more paint. “You should agree with me. Michael’s lying, because Percy would never be friends with someone so awful.”
“I do agree with you,” I say. I take another step back. Paint is reallllly hard to get out of your hair.
“No you don’t.”
Okay. Fine. “You’re right. I don’t. Percy has bad taste in friends.”
At that Arya jumps across the living room with her paint roller held out in front of her. I dodge her, but Renee anticipates my move. She slaps her paintbrush down my arm.
I shriek as the cold, thick paint slides over my skin.
Kate runs up and rubs paint over my face and in my hair. The smell of it fills my nose. “Gross, so gross.”
I dodge away but Arya rubs her roller down my shirt and pants before I can get away.
“You’re horrible. All of you are horrible.” I’m laughing as I say this.
They’re shrieking and whacking each other with paint. I can’t find a brush to fight back with so I dip my hands in the paint tray and coat them. Then I turn around and rush back into the paint fight. I rub my hands down Kate’s cheeks, across Arya’s arms, and all over Renee’s formerly black business suit.
“Who’s the booby now?” cries Kate.
“You’ll never be a booby,” Arya says. “Never.”
I’m out of breath I’m laughing so hard. Every bare inch of my skin is covered in paint, and Arya and Kate aren’t much better. Only Renee in her business suit has avoided paint-plastered skin. We all look like a coral-covered horror show.
“You guys, please. I surrender. Peace. Peace.” My attempt to stop the madness is met with a paintbrush smacking the back of my head. The paint drips down my hair and then down my back.
I growl and turn around to confront of the culprit. “Kate…so help me.”
She snorts. “You should see your face. You look so…so…disturbed!”
Ha. She’s one to talk. Her hair sticks up in a blonde and coral mohawk and she looks like a toddler finger painted her.
“What’s wrong with my face?” I ask in mock confusion. “I have a perfectly lovely face. Why is everyone always commenting on my face?” I stick out my tongue and cross my eyes. “Tell me I’m pretty Kate. Tell me.”
“Noooo,” says Kate. “I can’t.”
Renee starts to snicker. “You and Declan are the perfect match, Kate. Neither of you likes Isla’s face.”
“Tell me I’m pretty Kate,” I say. I grab her shoulders and rub my face against her t-shirt. “Tell me.”
It’s too much. I burst out laughing.
Kate wipes her paint-covered hands on my face. “You’re pretty, La-La. Of course you’re pretty. I’d marry you tomorrow if you had a billion dollars. You’d be number one on my list. My parents would love you.”
I grin at her. “That’s better.”
“Still not as good as a booby,” Arya says.
“No one is,” Renee says.
“Percy is,” Kate says. “Right, Arya?”
“He invited me to visit England. He wants me to meet his parents,” Arya says.
We all stop and stare at her in shock.
“Did he…did he propose?” I ask. Which I think is the question on everyone’s mind.
Arya gives a shy smile. “He hinted at it.”
Holy crap.
“Do you love him?” I ask.
“Who cares?” Kate says. “He’ll have a title. He has a castle. Who cares if she loves him?”
Arya glares at Kate. “I do.” Then she says, “I love him. I know it’s crazy. But I do. I even threw out my fault-finding database. It doesn’t matter with him.”
I raise my eyebrows and the drying paint itches and stretches. If Arya threw out her database, then this is serious. More serious than I thought.
“That’s it. He’s the one,” I say.
We’re all silent for a minute as we let that settle in.
Then Kate says, “I talked a colleague into taking us on a sunset sail tonight. I’ll get Declan and Percy on board. It’ll be the perfect spot for him to declare himself. You girls in?”
I scratch at the paint on my cheek. It falls off in little coral flakes. “I don’t know…”
“You can bring Michael,” Kate says.
“I’ll come,” Renee says. “I haven’t been on a boat since my office Christmas party.”
“If I bring Michael, it’ll be awkward. I don’t want things to be awkward.”
“It’s a sixty-foot sailing yacht,” Kate says. “Besides, I’ll keep Declan busy. He won’t even notice you.”
Hmmm.