And just like that, her mother had done it. She’d completed, on some level, exactly what she had set out to do. Even Liza could see that this David boy was falling all over himself to speak to her sister. Biology would win out when a pretty girl was put in the path of a rich young man.

“Excuse me, may we pass?” A woman failing miserably to suppress her annoyance smiled tightly at Beverly. Same light hair. Same light eyes. While the features were warm on David, they looked glacial on her. At that moment, the DJ let out the first riff to “Electric Slide,” and Beverly pretended not to hear the woman.

“We live next door to Netherfield,” Bev said to David, cupping her hand over her mouth to amplify her voice. “You’ll be seeing a lot of us! Do y’all know how to do the Electric Slide?” When the blond man’s face turned up in a question, Beverly pounced. “Oh, you have got to let my Janae teach you. She can really cut it up!” Bev gently pushed them toward the dance floor.

“Will you teach me?” the man-boy asked. The color on his cheeks was high, and Janae bobbed her head in reply, hiding a giggle behind her hand.

Liza knew that giggle. That was the same nervous chortle Beverly had attempted to break Janae of before answering any serious pageant question. Yes, Janae, who do you most admire? Every time Janae would giggle and bring her hand to her face, Beverly would smack her knuckles with a ruler. As a result, Janae had the poise, composure, and delivery of a career politician. They all thought they would never see that hideous giggle again. Wonder of wonders, Janae was nervous. But men didn’t make Janae nervous. It was always the other way around. Was it because he was so rich? In her pageant days, Janae would get inquiries from three to four such men a night, but none of them had made her giggle stupidly behind her hand. Liza’s own little cynical heart warmed a bit. My big sister is nervous.

“Excuse me, can we get by?” It was a man’s voice.

Liza whirled around. Smoky black eyes met hers.

Has it been an hour already?

“And you are?” Beverly was a little put out at the tone of the busboy.

“Dorsey. Dorsey Fitzgerald.”

Liza looked up and froze.

Shit.

Was that a half smile she saw flit across his face?

That tricky asshole.

Her mouth flew open, and a kind of croaking sound escaped her throat. His eyes kept hers as if he wanted to bore this memory into her brain, then finally, mercifully, his eyes bounced away.