...don’t push it.
Marcel turned with a vengeful glare to the police.
“Fire at will.”
There was a split-second pause, during which nobody moved.
Then I threw back my head with the loudest laugh I could possible manage. A second later, the rest of the patrons joined in. Then the press. Laughter gave way to applause, as if the entire debacle was some kind of aquatic performance art. Only Marcel the manager looked supremely disappointed, as the cops holstered their tasers and headed home.
“There’s a car waiting out front,” I muttered under the cover of applause. “Get your ass out of the fountain, Nick. I’m taking you home.”
He waved to his adoring fans, tilting precariously as the water sloshed up around his ankles. “That might be a little difficult, as I’m not entirely sure I can stand.” His eyes flickered guiltily to the four empty bottles of champagne sitting on his abandoned table. “You’re going to have to come in here and get me.”
Go in there?!
“Nick,” I hissed between my teeth, “I’m wearing new shoes.”
“So take off your shoes.”
“And a new dress.”
His eyes sparkled with a devilish wink.
“Well, you know what I’m going to say to that.”
My blood boiled as I gauged my rather limited options. The applause was already starting to die down, and the police were only a stone’s throw away. It also had to be said, that Nick didn’t look very capable of supporting his own weight right now.
He looked handsome. And wet. And very, very drunk.
“You’re serious right now?” I stalled. “You’re really going to make me come in there?”
He didn’t answer. Just blinked at me and stepped further into the fountain.
Of for the love of—
A bitter sigh slipped past my teeth as I kicked off my shoes, hiked up my designer dress, and waded tentatively into the fountain.
“You might be worried about the cops, but you should know that I’m going strangle you myself in the car on the way home,” I warned, stepping carefully over a hundred well-wishers’ coins. “I’m going to do what the nannies couldn’t.”
“Abby—you came!” he exclaimed, delighted that I’d joined him.
I rolled my eyes and draped his arm heavily over my shoulder.
Get a job in public relations, they said. It will be easy, they said.
Remind me to hunt those people down and choke them with a lobster.
“Just don’t get met wet,” I commanded, as we navigated our way slowly to the rim. “If I’m really lucky, I think I can still salvage this—”
&
nbsp; FUCK!
His foot caught on the edge of a statue, and the two of us went down—landing on our backs in the freezing water, drawing yet another round of delighted cheering from the crowd.
I closed my eyes in complete mortification, feeling as the clouds of billowing chiffon filled slowly with water and sank like designer kelp to the bottom of the pool. The miniature crystals sewn into the skirt were soon to follow—loosening themselves one by one and sinking down to a watery grave.
A burst of sparkling laughter brought me back to the present.