each other with flax basket-weave armchairs anchoring the end facing the fireplace. Soothing slate, ecru, and white dominated the traditional space, which flirted with a hint of modern farmhouse because watching Fixer Upper did that to a person. In fact, Melanie had nixed the shiplap at the last minute. Punches of dusky blue and teal livened the space, and a huge crystal chandelier watched over the muted Turkish rug. The space was tasteful and fashionable enough to be featured in a local magazine.
Melanie was quite proud of it, but looking at it through Tennyson’s eyes, she could see that it was safe, boring, and exactly like a dozen others she’d seen in magazines. When she’d walked into Sherwin-Williams wearing lululemon (bought on sale, of course), carrying a Louis Vuitton bag (anniversary gift), and driving a Lexus (because, yes, they are awesome), the clerk had probably pulled the South Shreveport Basic Bitch color palette.
“Well, it’s very . . . you, Mel,” Tennyson said.
Melanie tried to smile, but she really wanted to slap Tennyson, which was not “trying.” So instead she summoned her best hostess voice. “Thank you. They featured it in SB Magazine this past January.”
“Oh well, a nice feather in your cap for sure,” Tennyson said, patting the dog, who wore a bow the same persimmon as Tennyson’s dress.
Why had she said that? Ugh. She sounded so insecure.
“Uh, the puppy? Are you . . .” Melanie arched her brows and looked at Prada. The dog’s pink tongue curled adorably as she panted all over the expensive leather.
“She’s my service animal and will stay in my purse,” Tennyson said, a challenge glittering in her eyes. Melanie didn’t want to deal with this again, even though she knew the dog was not her service animal. Instead, she nodded.
But why in the heck had Tennyson brought the stupid dog? Of course, Melanie knew why. It was one more way to draw attention to herself. People would coo over the little fluff ball, and Tennyson would look . . . something. Trendy? An animal lover? Any logical, sensible person would look askance at someone who brought a puppy to a party, but that was Tennyson. She always did the unexpected. That was her MO and had been for as long as Melanie had known her.
At that moment, Andrew and Emma breezed in, and Melanie got caught up in last-minute preparations. Thirty minutes later, guests began arriving, glasses clinked as toasts abounded, and the loud buzz of conversation distracted Melanie from her defensiveness around Tennyson. Everyone seemed to be having a great time, even her normally stoic mother, who sat on the sofa and held court over a few of her invited friends. The waitstaff circulated with Pimm’s Cups and mint juleps, which everyone seemed to enjoy. Laughter rang out, and after another thirty minutes, Melanie had forgotten Tennyson was even there.
Until Poppy got out.
Melanie wasn’t sure exactly how it happened. She had put Poppy in the crate in the laundry room. They never shut the kennel door because Poppy liked to lay her head over the lip of the crate so she wasn’t fully inside. If Melanie hadn’t let the dog have her way, what happened next wouldn’t have occurred.
Melanie supposed someone had been looking for the lavatory and bumbled into the wrong room. The headstrong retriever wasn’t nose blind and took advantage of the situation by escaping out the open door. Poppy was somewhat obedient, except when it came to shoes, socks, and food. And, man, did Poppy love to beg for food. The delectable smells in the living and dining rooms had likely been too much to ignore, and Melanie caught sight of the fluffy, sneaky dog slinking in and weaving through the crowd toward the fragrant chafing dishes. She’d been in the middle of a conversation with Janie Thackery over the trends in bridesmaids dresses and failed to catch Kit’s attention so he could head Poppy off.
Of course, Kit was oblivious to her piercing stare. Her husband was locked in a conversation with their banker, and standing next to him, glowing with a healthy tan and wearing a size 4 black dress that accentuated her utter skinniness was Charlotte. The woman kept darting admiring glances at Kit and touching his arm as if she were his partner in life and not business. Her weird high-pitched laughter had been abusing Melanie’s ear all evening.
“Kit’s got the perfect plan for that. He always does.” Yeeeheee, tee hee, haaahaaahaaa.