“Hey there, hot stuff.”
I hung one final web on a bookshelf and found Frannie standing within pinching distance. “Hi, Ms. Frannie.”
Sylvie joined her, carrying three red Solo cups. “Y’all taste this Spooktacular Punch.”
I dusted some residual glitter from my hands and took a cup. Then immediately winced. “Is there vodka in here?”
“Wards off vampires.”
Rosie happened to be walking by at that moment, her arms full of a box of small pumpkins. “Sylvie, you’re supposed to be perfecting your punch recipe for thechildren.”
Frannie took another long swig. “I’d say it’s pretty perfect to me.”
Sylvie inspected my handiwork then let her gaze do an obvious drift toward Olivia. “How’s married life, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Wealthy?”
I bit back a grin and thought of my confusing overnighter in Little Rock. I could still smell her hair in my face. Still recall the feel of her hands on my skin. “Great. The best. Should’ve done it sooner.”
“That is exactly what I said about my bunion surgery.” Frannie rattled the ice in her dry cup. “You know this morning we saw photos online of your gala with the governor. Very swanky.”
“It was,” I agreed. “Not my usual scene.”
“Next time,” Frannie said, “I need you to take samples of my cupcakes to hand out to the dignitaries.”
I thought of Olivia’s meticulous PR work. “I’m sure that would go over well with my wife.”
Sylvie took a step closer, like a woman about to impart a secret. “Do you care?”
I had to be careful with these two ladies. They could be my best allies or they could make me disappear to parts uninhabitable, unknown, and very painful. “I do care.”
Frannie propped her hand on her hip. “So you like our girl, eh?”
“I’m married to her. I would hope that implies I like her.” This was thin ice—this odd space where I didn’t want to lie, yet I had a ruse to maintain.
“You two looked perfect together at the gala,” Frannie said, a proud aunt.
“Except for those photos of them fighting.” Sylvie slipped her phone from her pocket and pulled up a picture. “Scroll through there. Quite a gallery of less than flattering shots.”
Sure enough. There were multiple pictures of Olivia and me nose-to-nose and wearing our angry faces.
“You didn’t know?” Frannie asked.
“I’m not much for internet gossip.”
“Me neither,” Sylvie said. “I mean from the looks of the photos, you’d think you two were trying to fake a marriage and publicly cracking at the seams.” She lifted her cup and watched me over the rim. “But we know that wasn’t it at all, right?”
“Right.” I swiped to another photo Sylvie had pulled from TMZ.
“Probably just bad camera angles,” Sylvie added.
“Yeah.” I handed her back her phone. “I should go find Olivia and—”
“But let’s say a couple was in that situation.” Sylvie stepped in my path and gave me a weighty stare. “Not you, of course. A hypothetical couple.”
“Like Willa and Romero in our latest book club romance.” Frannie downed the remaining droplets from her cup and fanned herself. “I’m only halfway through the book, but they’re in a marriage of convenience that just turned lava hot. Isn’t that right, Sylvie?”
Sylvie’s red lips curved. “We’re talking scorch-the-earth and leave no remains.”
Frannie added to the intel like she knew the fictional couple. “They started out as enemies, then woke up married, thanks to the magic of an angry Irish leprechaun.”
