Page 113 of The Fiancée Farce
“You look lovely this evening.”
“So do you. Time has certainly been...” Mom’s eyes raked over Brooks, and—ew. What the flying fuck was happening? Had Mom just checkedBrooksout? “...generous. You look nice tonight.”
Generous?Oh Jesus.
“Oh, this old thing?” Brooks fiddled with the middle button of his jacket. “Just something I threw on.”
Gemma scrunched her nose. “Weren’t you going on at dinner about how Etro sent you that jacket from next year’s line?”
Beneath his neatly trimmed beard, Brooks turned red. “I wouldhardly say I wasgoing onabout it.” He cleared his throat. “Lena, you look lovely.”
Mom smiled. “You said that already.”
Tansy stifled a laugh, and Gemma swiftly shot her a glare. This was no laughing matter.
“Did I?” Brooks looked thunderstruck. “Because you do. Look... beautiful.”
“Beautiful, hmm?” Mom smirked. “I thought I looked lovely.”
“That, too.” Brooks coughed into his fist. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Beautiful?” Gemma goggled, eyes darting between her mother and uncle. “Is this what a concussive delusion feels like? Tansy, feel my forehead. Am I feverish?”
Tansy stifled another laugh and played along, pressing her hand against Gemma’s forehead. “Feels fine to me.”
None of this constitutedfine.
Brooks had yet to tear his eyes from Mom. “Is it such a crime to tell the mother of my favorite niece that I think she looks ravishing?”
“Ravishing?” Gemma’s jaw dropped. “Brooks—”
“Not that this discussion isn’t enjoyable, but Lena, could I interest you in a drink?” Brooks smiled. “A glass of champagne, perhaps?”
“You know what? That would be lovely, Brooks. I am feeling rather...parched.”
He offered her his elbow. “Shall we?”
Gemma stepped between them. “You shall certainlynot. Not without an explanation for this—this...” Gemma struggled to find the right word. “Batshit behavior.”
“Gemma,” Mom scolded softly. “Calm your tits, baby, it’s champagne. Not a marriage proposal.”
“Yet.” Brooks smirked.
Mom arched a brow. “You, hold your horses.”
Brooks positively beamed. “Yes, ma’am.”
Gemma’s mouth opened and closed. She was dreaming, or having a small stroke. She had to be. “I—I don’t even know what to say.”
“Speechless.” Brooks grinned. “Thatisa first.”
“I am going to go powder my nose.” Mom turned, addressing Brooks. “Meet you by the punch bowl in five?”
Brooks bowed his head, looking up at her through his lashes. “I will be waiting. With bells on.”
“Oh ho, ho, not so fast.” Gemma hurried after Brooks. “You have some explaining to do, Uncle!” She paused. The idea of leaving Tansy alone in a room full of Van Dalens was no better than that of leaving her mother alone with them. “Tansy—”
“Go.” Tansy waved her off. “I’ll be fine.”
