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  We stepped into the ballroom, all eyes landed on us, and quite a few people jumped up to take our picture.

  “It really is like the Academy Awards,” Wilson said.

  I reminded him he’d never been shy and gestured to the Hall of Fame inductees’ table, elevated on a circular platform in the middle of the room. “We’re headed there,” I said and waved to my friends Gavin and Mykal, who were blowing kisses to me.

  “We’re on stage?” Wilson’s voice might have squeaked a little.

  “Don’t be shy.” I tugged on his elbow, and we navigated our way around the other tables and through the crowd. I felt like a politician, shaking hands and smiling here, there, and everywhere as Adelé’s fans snapped pictures.

  Here, there, and everywhere we heard the phrases “the perfect paramour” and “Paramour for a Day.”

  “You owe me,” Wilson whispered a few hundred times.

  “Smile!” I whispered a few hundred more.

  I greeted my young friend and colleague Roslynn Mayweather and made sure to introduce my new husband to my old friend and colleague Maxine Carlisle. I also introduced him to Roberto Santiago, my publisher at Perpetual Pleasures Press, and scanned the room for Geez Louise. But my agent was paying me no attention whatsoever. She was far too busy working the Daydream Desires side of the room.

  “That’s Charm Willowby with Louise,” I said, discreetly tilting my head. “And the buxom woman hovering close by is Mia Madison. Mia owns Daydream Desires Publishers.”

  “Double D—the head honcho enemy.” Wilson asked about the other supposed enemy, but I didn’t see Roaring Tori.

  I told him to count his blessings, and we made it to our destination.

  ***

  “Adelé!” Gavin McClure and Mykal Kerriker stood to greet us, as did Faith Hollingsworth. Her husband Roger made no such effort, however. And Zelda Bell, who is elderly, also remained seated after I suggested she not get up.

  I introduced her to Wilson. “Zelda writes the most fascinating paranormals,” I said, and she demurred that she’d taken up writing romances to stay out of trouble in her old age.

  “I’m like the Grandma Moses of romance fiction,” she said.

  “I’ve heard you’re very talented,” Wilson said before turning to greet Faith Hollingsworth.

  “Faith writes sweet romances,” I told him, and next up was Roger Hollingsworth, who remained seated even as they shook hands.

  Bless his heart, Gavin showed far more enthusiasm. He stepped forward to give me a bear hug. “You look marvelous!” he said and released me to Mykal.

  “More than marvelous.” Mykal held me at arm’s length and murmured some nonsense about how my gold dress set off my blond hair. “Stunning!” He twirled me around. “Perfect!”

  I smiled wanly and fluttered a few fingertips to the fans watching us from below, while the guys shook hands.

  “And look at you!” Mykal turned to Wilson. “Where on earth did you find him, Adelé?”

  “Over a dead body.”

  “Pardon me?” Roger asked, but I ignored him and focused on the positive.

  “Mykal’s looking forward to shooting some golf balls with you,” I told Wilson.

  “Hitting,” they corrected me, and while the golfers decided on a tee time, Gavin guided me to my assigned seat.

  “Lucky me,” he said. “I get to sit next to this divine creature.”

  “Creature is the way to put it,” Roger mumbled, and Wilson stopped midway into his own chair.

  “What did you just say?”

  “He said sit down, Dearheart!” I gave his tuxedo jacket a solid yank, and proof that there is a God in heaven, he sat. More proof—Mykal pulled the champagne bottle from its bucket and filled our glasses.

  ***

  “Oh, Wilson, look!” I pointed to the centerpiece, a ring of the coveted Cupid statuettes encircling a large vase of flowers, courtesy of Hatsy Glee. “It’s my Cupid!”

  “What the—” he asked, and Gavin enlightened him that each new Hall of Famer would be presented with a Cupid at the induction ceremony.

  Roger Hollingsworth snarled. “Indecent.”

  “What is your problem?” Zelda asked impatiently, and Roger said he had no problem with the flowers.

  “Even if they are an odd assortment of weeds.” He wrinkled his nose. “But just look at those trophies.”

  “Yes, let’s,” I said and smiled at my Cupid, engraved with my name—Adelé Nightingale. I reached out to touch the silly thing, but Gavin stopped me just in time, and I yanked back my hand. “Thank you!” I said.

  “Say what?” That was Wilson.

  “Bad luck,” Zelda told him. “Inductees aren’t to touch their Cupids until the official ceremony.”

  Poor Wilson still looked confused.

  “It’s the Cupid curse,” Gavin said and explained the legend, which dates back to the 1960s. Olive Delancey, one of the first inductees to the newly created Hall of Fame, had touched her Cupid the night before the official ceremony.

  “And she died!” Zelda said, wide-eyed.

  “Within a year!” Faith was also a bit breathless.

  “Apparently Olive wanted to see how heavy it was.” I pointed to my Cupid, and Wilson took another look.

  “The little guy seems pretty sturdy,” he said.

  “Of course, we all know it’s a silly superstition. But tomorrow?” I wiggled my eyebrows. “It’s all mine.”

  “And mine,” Gavin said, “And mine,” Faith said, “And mine,” Zelda said.

  Wilson continued staring at my statuette. “It’s nice,” he lied.

  “They’re genuine marble,” Zelda said proudly.

  “They’re genuinely disgusting,” Roger said. “Vulgar, indecent, and crude.”

  Wilson looked up. “Excuse me?”

  “It’s nude!”

  “It’s a baby.”

  Nevertheless, Roger claimed he’d lost his appetite with that “indecent thing” glaring at him. Faith rolled her eyes and promised her husband she’d hide her Cupid in a closet when they got home.

  “That’s too bad,” Wilson said. “The little guy’s starting to grow on me.” He squeezed my knee under the table. “What do you think, Jessie—I mean, Adelé? Where should we display yours?”

  I bit my lip as my husband, never known for his undying passion for home décor, asked Mykal his opinion about the best placement of one’s Cupid in one’s home.

  “Gavin and I are thinking of our bedroom,” he suggested.

  “No.” Wilson shook his head in all-apparent seriousness. “More people will see it in the living room.”

  ***

  “Incoming!” Gavin said.

  I tore my gaze from my Cupid and stood up as Geez Louise climbed onto our stage.

  “Has anyone seen Penelope?” she asked. She jabbed a finger at the empty seat across from me. “Where is she?”

  “You know she’s always late,” Gavin told her.

  “Never mind Penelope,” I said. “Where have you been?”

  “Same old, same old,” Louise waved a hand and helped herself to my champagne. “Busy, busy, busy!”

  “Busy trying to steal Double D authors?” I asked.

  “Oh, Adelé, don’t be ridiculous!” She handed me my empty glass and cast about the usual handshakes, hugs, and air kisses to our gathering. “Everyone looks fantastical!” she said. “Fantastical, fantastical, fantastical!” She gave Wilson his second or third hug and reached for his champagne.

  “Louise!” I blocked her path. “He’s agreed to be Paramour for a Day. Doesn’t the poor man deserve his champagne?”

  “Poor man!?” she cried. “He’s not poor at all! Just look at him. He’s fantastical! Fantastical, fantastical, fantast—”

  “Geez.” Wilson reached for his glass while my insane agent asked him how much he “love, love, loved” her paramour idea.

  “Jessica had some silly notion you’d be angry!” Louise said. “But aren’t you fantasti
cally flattered?” She addressed the rest of the table. “Tickets are selling like hotcakes. It’s only the first night, and the Glee Club has already sold eighty! Isn’t that fantastical?”

  “More than fantastical,” Mykal said.

  “Beyond more than fantastical!” Louise replied, and who knows how long that headache-inducing thread might have continued had not Penelope Shay finally made her entrance.

  Gavin gasped loudly enough to drown out Geez Louise, and everyone turned. Penelope stood at the entrance, hand in hand with Roaring Tori.

  I braced myself and ventured a tentative glimpse toward my agent as Penelope Shay and Tori Fister meandered their way through the crowd, saying hellos, shaking hands, and posing for pictures.

  Louise grabbed my hand. “Has she bothered you yet?”

  “No. But the weekend is still young.”

  “The weekend is way too young for this!” She dropped my hand and hurried away.

  “Too young for what?” Wilson asked. “What’s happening?”

  I watched Louise none too subtly wedge her way between Penelope and Tori. “Roaring Tori,” I told him. “Roaring Tori is happening.”

  Chapter 6

  “Last, but not least,” I said and introduced Wilson to Penelope Shay as she joined us.

  “What do you mean, last?” She gave Wilson’s hand a cursory shake and set her gaze on the empty chair. “You don’t expect me to sit there, do you?”

  Zelda pointed to Penelope’s statuette. “Your Cupid’s been lonely without you.”

  “Why’d you put me in that Godforsaken spot?”

  “Pardon me?” Zelda asked.

  “The john!” Penelope pointed across the room. “My chair is right in front of the toilets.”

  I squinted in the general direction. Dare I say, the restrooms were indeed located behind the chair designated for Penelope? That is, if I got out my binoculars. At least five or six other dinner tables, populated by fans, stood between her seat and the bathroom.

  “Who moved them?” she asked, and I made the mistake of saying the bathrooms had always been on that side of the room.

  “Not the john! My Cupid!” She pointed to Wilson. “You put him up to this, didn’t you?”

  “Pardon me?” he asked.

  “You moved my Cupid.”

  “Lady, I—”

  Gavin interrupted and assured Penelope no one had moved her Cupid. “None of us would dare touch them tonight.”

  “Yeah, right.” She reached down and lifted her statuette a few inches off the table, and ludicrous though it might have been, a few of us flinched in horror. Satisfied, she slammed the thing down. “I am not superstitious,” she bragged.

  Roger curled his lip and mumbled something about needlessly fondling the vulgar thing, and poor Wilson started laughing.

  “Show some respect,” Penelope told him.

  “Why?”

  “Humor never gets any respect.”

  “Huh?”

  “Penelope writes contemporary romance,” I said. “Her books are very funny.”

  “What do you mean, funny?” she snapped.

  I sighed dramatically and explained, to the author herself, that she wrote romantic comedy. Then I sat down and tugged on Wilson to do the same.

  The waiters had arrived with our dinners, but Penelope still refused to sit. And adding to the absurdity of the situation, the Glee Club decided to join us. The waiters gave up, stepped off the platform, and awaited further instructions.

  “Is there a problem?” Patsy Glee asked.

  “Of course there’s a problem! There’s always a problem,” Penelope said.

  “Ain’t that the truth,” Gavin muttered under his breath, but Penelope was too busy abusing the volunteers to notice.

  “Why do I always get the short end of the stick?” She again pointed to her designated seat, and Patsy glanced at the empty chair.

  “Is there a problem?” she repeated.

  “The john!” Penelope spoke loudly, and people at the surrounding tables began to take notice. “Can you not see the bathrooms? Think!”

  Patsy was clearly thinking Penelope was nuts when Wilson stood up.

  “Let’s switch,” he said. He grabbed his champagne and moved around the table.

  Penelope seemed pleased with that idea, but now Hatsy was upset.

  “I tried so hard to seat everyone just so,” she said. “Now everything’s out of order.” She stepped forward to rearrange the Cupids, but Batsy pulled her back.

  “We don’t want to disturb them with the inductees right here,” she said.

  “We don’t want to jinx anyone,” Patsy added. She jiggled the portable microphone she was carrying to distract her cousin. “Time for your announcement.”

  Hatsy grabbed the mike, faked a smile, and gave her usual Welcome-to-Happily-Ever-After speech. Yadda, yadda, yadda, as expected she reminded the crowd this was an all-important Hall of Fame year, and after pointing out the inductees, issued a stern admonition that everyone stay focused.

  “We have a tight schedule to adhere to,” Hatsy concluded. “We want everything just so!” She tapped her watch with the mike, it emitted an ear-piercing ring, and the Glee Club left the stage.

  “I’m hungry.” Roger Hollingsworth banged the table and waved to the poor waiters, who were still standing below. “Serve it up!”

  Mykal leaned toward me. “Evidently dear old Roger has found his appetite,” he whispered.

  ***

  Penelope finally plopped herself into the chair Wilson had vacated, and Gavin immediately refilled my champagne glass.

  “You read my mind,” I said, and noticed Wilson was taking care of refills at his side of the table.

  “You read my mind,” Zelda told him.

  “No one’s reading my mind,” Penelope said. She snapped her fingers at one of waiters. “Gin and tonic,” she demanded. “Pronto. I’m the guest of honor.”

  Ho hum. I ate my dinner, sipped my champagne, and wondered how I’d neglected to slip any Advil into my evening bag.

  Penelope wasn’t eating, and silly me, I asked if she was feeling well.

  “I’d be fine if they’d serve some decent food.”

  “It’s actually pretty good.”

  “I’m on a diet.” She shoved her dinner away. “Don’t these people know what diet means?”

  I surveyed my plate of roasted chicken, green beans, and rice pilaf and made the mistake of saying everything seemed fairly low calorie.

  “How would you know?” She snarled at my cocktail dress. “Like you’ve ever had to watch your weight.”

  Ho hum. I refrained from responding and kept eating. In fact, I made sure to finish my entire dessert while my neighbor went off on a tirade against the candy Batsy Glee had left in her room.

  “Doesn’t she know what a diet is?” She gestured to the table where the Glee Club was sitting. “Obviously not. Batsy’s fatter than ever.”

  “Penelope!” Gavin scolded. “This diet of yours is making you positively witchy.”

  “More than witchy,” Mykal said.

  I fluttered a few fingertips to catch Zelda’s attention. “How are the Wayward witches faring these days?” I asked, referring to her popular romance series.

  I tried to hear Zelda’s answer—something about a vampire stirring up some trouble in Wayward—but Penelope was still in a huff.

  “Tori Fister!” She spoke over Zelda. “Now there’s a witch! She actually had the gall to barge into my room tonight.”

  “That would take guts,” Mykal said, but Penelope didn’t catch the sarcasm.

  “She helped herself to the champagne Patsy left me, and to Batsy’s chocolates—my chocolates!—while I was trying to get myself into this dress. It fit fine last week.”

  I cleared my throat. “Did Tori persuade you to write for Double D?”

  “The two of you seemed pretty chummy.” Gavin tilted his head toward the doorway where they had made their entrance, but Penelope argued ot
herwise.

  “Like I would ever leave 3P and Geez Louise?” she asked.

  At last, something we could agree on. I lowered my voice, considering Faith and Zelda both worked with Tori, and said that I, too, was happy with 3P and Louise.

  “And they’re happy with us.” Gavin reported that he had already survived his dreaded business meeting with Louise and Roberto. “My meeting was over and done with before you two even got here.”

  “Show off,” I muttered.

  Roberto Santiago’s business meetings are legendary for being long and boring. Or as Geez Louise puts it, “Long and boring, boring and long!”

  And at every Happily Ever After, Roberto subjects—I mean, invites—a few of his favorite authors to a strategy session to discuss sales figures, subsidiary rights, royalty quotas, and other mind-numbing topics. Since Gavin, Penelope, and I were 3P’s new Hall of Famers, we were the chosen victims that year. Lucky us.

  “Lucky you,” I told Gavin. “I’ll be dreading my meeting all weekend. Mine’s not until Monday.”

  “No, lucky you, Adelé,” Penelope said. “My meeting’s tomorrow, right after the induction ceremony. Roberto’s determined to ruin any good mood I might be in.”

  Ever the diplomat, I didn’t mention I’d never actually seen Penelope in a good mood.

  ***

  Speaking of bad moods, Roaring Tori was on the move and headed to our table. But then again, so was Hatsy.

  “These people don’t have time to talk right now,” she said as she elbowed Tori out of the way. “Everyone needs to clear out while I get things ready for tomorrow.” Hatsy pointed to the main stage, where the hotel staff was setting up a long rectangular table, and reminded us we shouldn’t be present when our Cupids got rearranged. “Go get your beauty sleep,” she said. “And I’ll expect you back tomorrow morning at nine o’clock sharp. Any questions?”

  “Why do I need to be here so early?” Penelope asked. “The ceremony doesn’t start until ten.”