“Nothing,” I tell him.
“Clearly, they know something.”
“We’re not really a talk about your problems kind of family,” I say, huddling closer, lowering my voice.
Seth settles back, watches Brad for a moment. He’s telling some anecdote about how Thad got out of a speeding ticket, and he’s telling it like it’s surprising and funny that a rich white kid got away with something.
“Leaving aside that you just classified me as a problem —"
“Sorry.”
“ — Thanks. Where exactly does their knowledge end?”
I take another sip of wine, both hands around the glass, and contemplate Brad for a moment.
I’m not close with my family in that way. I’ve shared relationship woes with Winona a couple of times, since we’re the closest in age, but in general my closest confidants have always been friends, not them.
Like Lainey. Poor Lainey could probably quote fights that Seth and I have had almost verbatim.
“Seth,” I say, turning my head.
He’s looking at me. Has he just been looking at me this whole time?
“You should hold onto your butt,” I murmur. He glances away, a smile creeping onto his lips.
“Is that considered proper etiquette for a black tie event?”
“They think we haven’t seen each other since our mutual and amicable breakup your senior year of college,” I say in a rush.
Seth stares at me. He blinks once.
I take a sip of my wine and stare back, because I’ve finally done it. I’ve stunned Seth Loveless. After a moment he glances at the rest of the table, turns back to me.
“Mutual?” he murmurs, totally incredulous.
I pin my lips together with my teeth and nod.
“Amicable?” he goes on, his eyebrows raised, one corner of his mouth twitching like he’s going to break into laughter at any moment.
I give him what I hope is an apologetic, charming smile and shrug dramatically. Seth shakes his head. He grabs his own wine glass, takes a drink, leans back in his chair again.
Then, he slides his arm along the back of my chair, the fabric of his shirt sliding over the lace that covers my upper back, pulling at the tiny buttons.
Every hair along my spine stands up.
“So I take it they don’t know about The Whiskey Barrel either,” he says.
“Not that I can tell.”
“I thought every soul in Sprucevale knew about that.”
I let myself lean back a fraction of an inch until his arm is touching his shirt is touching my dress is touching my back, and I can feel the faintest whisper of his warmth.
“You’re not quite as notorious as you imagine,” I murmur. “Besides, do you really think any of them —” I nod at the table, filled with people quietly listening to Brad, “ — have friends who frequent that establishment?”
“I like The Whiskey Barrel,” he says. “Or, I did.”
“My point exactly.”
“…so if Thad’s got to tie himself down, I can’t think of a better ball and chain than Ava,” Brad tells an entire room full of people.
By the way, this is why I drink at weddings.
“All right,” Seth goes on, leaning in further, his lips closer to my ear. “I’m guessing you also didn’t mention the Mariott in Harrisonburg?”
He’s not even close to touching me, but I can’t stop imagining it: his lips moving against the shell of my ear, his voice like roughed-up silk vibrating through me.
I turn my head toward him, and he’s right there.
“No,” I say, barely audible to myself. “I didn’t mention to my very proper, old-school family that I booty-called you the moment I’d properly filed for divorce.”
As soon as I say that, I want to walk it back. I want to grab those words out of the air and replace them with after I got divorced, but that’s not how talking works, is it?
Seth is just watching me, not even pretending to care about Brad’s speech, like he’s trying to read the right response in my freckles.
“What?” I finally say.
“Nothing,” he says, but there’s a smile on his lips so faint I almost miss it.
“Obviously I haven’t told them anything else,” I say quickly, under my breath. “Which is probably why you’re still the perfect, courteous, dashing, handsome golden boy in their eyes.”
We’re both facing forward now, pretending to be utterly absorbed by whatever Brad is saying.
“You say that like you think I’m not,” he teases.
“I think of you as considerably more human,” I say, just as Brad picks up a champagne glass and holds it aloft.
“Please join me in raising this toast to my little brother and his beautiful bride!” he says. “To Thad and Ava!”
“Woo!” I say. The table clinks glasses with each other. We murmur to Thad and Ava, and then we drink, and then Olivia rises from her seat and heads up to the microphone.
Since she’s my sister, I actually shut up during her speech.Seth twirls the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. He’s sitting back in his chair, his jacket off, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbow, one arm slung over the back.