She shifted in her heels, and wondered if she’d made the right decision. And then she saw an Academy Award–winning actress breeze past her, and she followed discreetly behind. In the entrance foyer, she added her shoes to the carefully arranged footwear left by each of the guests. She could estimate at a glance that she was looking at twenty grand worth of shoes. Up ahead, the girl in the fishbowl had evolved from coed chic to polished vamp. And just below her, Justin Baxter looked even better than she remembered—and Martha, even worse. Poppy shuddered. A glass table was covered with folded seating cards. The only time she had seen that before was at her cousin’s wedding. She hoped she wasn’t seated at the Baxters’ table, but was sure that was filled by the remarkable number of boldfaced names circulating in the foyer, sipping champagne served by handsome young men in tailcoats. She took a glass, knowing it would be phenomenal. As she brought the flute to her lips, Justin caught her eye and smiled.
