Page 6 of Forty, Flirty & Fake-ly Yours

I nod, setting my wine glass aside before I really do break it into shards. “Samantha. The one I introduced to you.”

“Thatstronzawith the mouth that won’t close? Oh, che palle! Those two have got a lot of nerve.”

“They sure, do,” Dani chimes in.”And they’re throwing their party at the Four Seasons. Look!” She lifts the phone again.

I swallow down the bile sitting at the back of my throat, smearing on a grin.

“Guys, it’s fine,” I clear my throat. “I don’t own that ballroom. Nobody does. The Four Seasons hosts dozens of events every year. One of them just happens to be this.”

“But this isn’t just an engagement party, Roz,” Dani scrolls further, her perfectly manicured nail catching on something that makes her gasp. “Look at this crap. It's basically a tech industry who's who. Look – there's that guy who created that dating app I use…” She has the sense to look sheepish. “I mean, the dating app I’d been accused of using.”

I look away with a scoff. “Wonderful. Because that's exactly what dating needs. Less human connection."

“And peaking of human connection," Dani raises her reddish-blonde brows, “doesn’t mean we should be there, too? You know, networking? Meeting potential clients?"

I stare at her for a beat. “You’re saying you want me to crash my ex-husband's engagement party to my cousin?"

"Not ‘crash’,” Olivia slips in, and I turn to her in betrayal. Et tu, best friend? “It would be market research. Competitive intelligence gathering. Very professional."

"Professional?" I prompt. “Guys, it’s 7:15 on a Thursday night. The party's already started. I'm not dressed for?—"

"Ah!" Nonna Flora's face lights up. She disappears back into the kitchen with surprising speed for someone in her eighties.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” I curse.

“What?” Dani asks, gaze bouncing between me and Nonna as she retreats.

“I know that 'ah,'" I tell her and Olivia and even Sarah who’s yet to leave. "That's her matchmaking 'ah.' Nothing good ever follows that 'ah.'"

As if summoned by the word ’matchmaking,’ Flora bursts back through the doors, garment bag in hand.

She unzips it with a flourish to reveal a black dress that looks it could make a woman’s skin sing.

“Holy shit!” Dani steps closer. “That’s some dress.”

“It is,” Flora answers. “I keep emergency dress in kitchen since 1983. When Giovanni's second wife show up at my Angelo's funeral with that blonde hair and red dress? I have black dress ready. Always be prepared!"

"That's... not really what emergency preparedness means," I start, but Dani's already snatching the bag.

"This is Valentino," she breathes. "Vintage Valentino."

"From back when they make dress for curves, not stick figures," Nonna Flora announces. "Will fit you perfect, cara."

Sarah stands up, her own wine glass forgotten. "I have an emergency makeup kit in my car."

"I've got shoes that would match in my office," Olivia adds.

"I've still got that diamond tennis bracelet that Joel gave you,” Dani offers. "You know, the one you threw at his head the day you got divorced?”

"Ladies." I hold up my hands, trying to regain control of what's rapidly becoming a makeover montage. "This is insane. We can't crash an engagement party. I’m forty-one-years-old…”

“And hotter than ever,” Dani interrupts. “Seriously.”

“And we're professionals. We?—"

“Are fighting for real-life love here,” Olivia declares. “Aren’t we? I mean, what the dating world needs more than ever is in-person chemistry, not compatibility algorithms.”

“Olivia right. Algorithms don't make wedding miracles," Nonna Flora scoffs. "They don't know that Luigi only proposed to Sofia because I hide special grappa in his espresso."

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