“I know,” I lie, and she laughs.Chapter FourteenDelilahA single, lonely clink sounds across the vast space of the ballroom, like the tolling of the bell on a ship lost at sea.
I pick up my wine and pretend I didn’t hear it, even though the sound makes my shoulders tense a fraction of an inch.
“That’s a common misconception, actually,” my brother-in law Michael is saying as he wipes his fingers on a napkin, then leans back in his chair. “You can find video of people on any kind of vehicle hitting a ball around a field and calling it polo, but real polo is only played on horses.”
Next to him, my sister Olivia is nodding, her wine untouched. I have suspicions about the untouched wine, but now is neither the time nor the place.
“What about water polo?” asks Chris, my other brother-in-law, Winona’s husband. “That’s polo, isn’t it?”
The background clinking has intensified from a single, forlorn sound in the wilderness to… many sounds, I guess. It’s getting louder, is what I’m saying.
“That’s completely different,” Michael says, waving his hand and speaking a little louder. “I’m talking about proper polo, where you’ve got to maneuver —" he holds his hands up in front of himself, like he’s grasping reins, “ — a form of conveyance that’s not yourself, WHILE ALSO MANIPULATING THE BALL.”
He shouts the end of the sentence, because now the clinking is a cacophony, as hundreds of people hit their silverware against their glasses. We all pause, turn toward the small table at the front of the room where Ava and Thad are sitting together.
They kiss. A cheer goes up. I clap, a little half-heartedly, because this has to be the fourth time in ten minutes that this has happened, and it’s starting to get old.
That, or I’m just a jerk who hates romance. One of those two things.
“Where do you practice?” Seth asks, his own wine glass in his hand.
I swear, every woman at the table leans toward him, like they’re flowers and he’s the sun. It’s microscopic, sure, but impossible not to notice.
“My buddy Edward has some land up by Blythe, so we go up there every so often and shoot some goals on his back forty,” he says, waving his hand in the air. “Though truth be told, we don’t get in as much practice as we should.”
Some land is several hundred acres of beautiful, hilly property that includes several ponds, barns, a mansion, and at least one horse stable. It’s not some land, it’s an estate, but of course Michael thinks of it as just his friend’s back yard, because all his friends are loaded.
Everyone knows rich people only hang out with other rich people. How else would you concentrate wealth in the hands of the few?
“Do you have to take the horses to the practice grounds every time you —”
Seth is cut short by a loud thump, thump coming through the speakers.
“Sorry,” says the voice that follows. “This thing on? Haha.”
Vera sighs. At least, I’m pretty sure it’s Vera. I haven’t dared look at the section of our table that contains her, because I’m a little bit afraid I’ll suddenly develop laser-sight superpowers and set her on fire.
Mark my words, Vera and I are going to have a reckoning. It just won’t be tonight, because I’m not going to ruin my little sister’s wedding.
“Yeah, that’s why we don’t practice that often,” Michael tells Seth, sotto voce. “Really takes the whole day.”
“Hey, y’all,” the man at the microphone says, unfurling a few sheets of paper from his pocket. “In case you don’t know me, either in person or by reputation, I’m Brad, this guy’s Best Man.”
There’s another smattering of polite laughter. I smile and take another sip of my wine, which is still full, thanks to the wine fairies who keep coming around and topping me off without even asking.
“Anyway, when he first asked me to do the honors, I tried to talk him out of it. I really did. I told him that I’m completely unfit for the job, obviously, but for some reason he really had his heart set on me standing up here…”
There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I turn my head to see Seth leaning toward me, crooking one finger. Wine glass in hand, I cross my legs and lean toward him, hoping that I don’t overestimate my current leaning capabilities and wind up sprawled in his lap.
Or maybe I do hope that. As a location, Seth’s lap has been pretty damn good to me.
“What do they know?” he asks, his voice low, rich, quiet.
I just look at him and raise one eyebrow, then lean back in.
“Your family. About us.”
“…like that time he thought he could outrun a State Trooper in our dad’s Z3…”
I settle back against my chair, head still turned toward Seth.