Page 75 of The Treasure House

“Okay, well, I guess we just keep an eye on her and talk to Dad again.” He checked his watch. “We’ve got the bachelor party soon. I’ll talk to him when we get back.”

Marly flopped back onto the bed, feeling all messed up. The door to the balcony was open and the woodsy seaside air floated over her.

“Isn’t there a girls’ thing this afternoon?” Bobby asked. “Don’t you have to get ready?”

“No.” Marly pulled a face at the ceiling. “I wasn’t invited. They said I was too young.”

Bobby guffawed. “Too young for what? Getting giggly on one drink and playing parlor games and all that garbage?”

Marly nodded. “I even made the stupid deviled eggs and chicken salad, and now I’m not allowed to go eat any of it.” She propped herself up on her elbows.

“Still, you’d probably rather be here anyway. You can laze about by the water.”

True. Marly considered her nails, trying to seem casual. “Is Freddie going along on this bachelor thing?” She hadn’t seen him yet, but she knew he’d been invited to the wedding as Priscilla’s date, and she assumed he’d be staying at Saint-Cyr, as he always did.

“I assume so. Elton said it was a big party. And Fred might be his brother-in-law soon, if Cilla has anything to do with it, so he’s bound to be there.”

Marly scowled.

“Hey, can you chase up Virgil for me? Uncle Don told us not to be late.”

Marly took the hint. She headed downstairs to rustle up Virge, wondering if she might bump into Freddie de Marche. She was wearing her new pencil skirt and her most fitted blouse, just in case.

Virgil was still at the desk, leaning on his elbow, smooth-talking the girl behind it. There was a tall vase of white lilies bursting over their heads, filling the foyer with perfume. Virge had a buzz cut and looked like a typical football-playing meathead. Which he was.

“Hey Virge, you’ll miss your bachelor party,” Marly called as she crossed the black and white tiles.

Virge winced. “It’s not my bachelor party,” he assured the pretty girl. “It’s for my cousin’s fiancé.”

“They say they’re going fishing, but I don’t believe them,” Marly told the girl cheerfully, also leaning against the counter. Virge glared at her, and she gave him an innocent look.

“You little squirt!” Virge griped when the girl had excused herself to serve another customer.

“You’ll be late for your boat,” Marly told him, sticking her tongue out and backing out of his reach.

She loitered around the foyer, waiting for her first sight of Freddie de Marche for the summer. The last time she’d seen him had been at the engagement party at Aunt Betty and Uncle Don’s place. Priscilla had been in a sour mood, probably because, as the eldest, she’d always assumed she’d get engaged first. Cilla had been sour with Freddie too, because it was his fault she had to stand there, faking a smile, as her peppy little sister received all the congratulations.

“I don’t see how getting married is an achievement,” Marly had said to Freddie, as they watched the families posing for photographs. “When I grow up, I might not even tell anyone when I get married.”

“I could almost believe it,” Freddie had said with a grin, “except you’ve got such a big mouth.”

He’d been wearing a blue plaid sports coat that made his eyes look a darker blue. They were still clear as water, though, with a sparkle. That sparkle did distracting things to Marly’s pulse. Freddie had hung back with her most of the evening, avoiding Cilla’s bad mood and the endless ribbing from her family about popping the question. Thinking of the sparkle in his eye that night had sustained Marly these past months, but now she was hungry for more.

“Well, hey, short stuff.”

Marly’s heart leapt to her throat as she turned to find Freddie jogging down the Gone with the Wind stairs of Saint-Cyr’s foyer. He was in navy shorts, with a sweater tied around his shoulders and a pair of sunglasses tucked into the neck of his shirt. His dark hair was longer than she’d seen it before, at least on top, and it bounced as he jogged.

Freddie whistled as he took her in. “Look at you. Bet you’re breaking the boys’ hearts at school.”

Marly hated that she blushed. She wanted to seem cool and poised and, well, grown up, and here she was turning red as a strawberry.

“And look at you,” she responded, “all dressed up just to hook some fish. What are you planning to do, wink at them and hope they’ll jump in the boat?”

He laughed. “My plan is to drink beer and watch other people hook the fish. How about you? Ready to shower the bride?”

Marly didn’t tell him she wasn’t invited—it would only remind him that she was too young. For parties, and for him. “What time does your boat come back?” she asked.

“I assume before dark—then there’s a fish fry.” He turned at the sound of hooting and grinned. “Here comes the lamb to the slaughter.”