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246 pages, Kindle Edition
First published April 8, 2013
The room's centerpiece, a seven-tiered fountain, obscured the flock. Bubbly champagne frothed downward as waiters reached out to catch the golden ambrosia. They circulated through the room with their balanced platters, passing by women in long gowns and men in black jackets. Murmured voices were underlain by the slightest whisper of classical music. Precious stones winked in earrings and cuff links, and guests appraised each other from behind their champagne flutes. A young woman in a red dress tossed a flirtatious glance at a young man on an older lady's arm, while two men huddled together in the shadows, trading secrets over empty glasses. People touched and parted, a dance of consequence, as everyone tried to break into circles higher than their own.
"Ryan Carter wants to have dinner with me on Friday. And like a dozen other people. But still." I collapsed onto the sofa and kicked off my shoes.
Eva frowned. "But aren't you in a fight?"
"Yes. I don't know. Is this a really bad idea? Apparently he suggested it."
Eva's grin broadened and her dark eyes twinkled. She peeled off the rubber dish gloves and dropped down next to me on the sagging cushions. "I think it's a great idea."
"But what if he's a Wickham?"
She shrugged. "Maybe you're a Lydia."
I shuddered. "Don't say such things." Lydia might have caught Wickham in the end, but she was still vain and flippant and unlikeable. "I want to be Elizabeth."
Eva gave me a look.
"Fine." My head dropped against the back of the couch. "I'm a Jane. I'm a Jane, okay?" The staid older sister.
"There's nothing wrong with being a Jane."
"That's what the Elizabeths always say," I muttered darkly.
Rachael was on her way to a friend’s party but ended up walking into the wrong place and walks in on super sexy NFL star Ryan. Two different people held a very strong attraction to each other.
"This is ridiculous. WHo cares this much about appearance? Why am I spending so much time on this? For God's sake, I shaved my legs. I hate shaving my legs. Who am I shaving them for? For society? Why am wearing the torturous, deforing device knows as heels?"
"Shut up. You can be a feminist and still like looking pretty."
I slid further down in my seat, crossing my arms and feeling grumpy. Then I perked up. "You think I look pretty?"
"Who's playing?" I asked Abe. I didn't ask what sport. I was pretty sure that would be sacrilegious.
Mike dropped down on my other side. "Michigan and Notre Dame."
So, a state and a badly mangled Parisian cathedral. "Oh. Cool."
"What's the point of going up and down on a piece of wood when you have the real thing?"
My lips quirked. "That's what she said," I muttered, not quite able to help myself.
He snorted. "How come I get yelled at when I say stuff like that, when you make the exact same jokes?"
I spread my arms out airily. "Because I am filled with grace and poise."