A live band was playing, and couples, smooth and elegant, were moving across the dance floor.
Fifty tables, each seating ten, were set with platters of cheese and crackers, Steuben crystal presentoirs filled with caviar, bowls piled high with fruits that were in and out of season.
“I love pineapple sprinkled with coconut,” Wills murmured. “Too bad I have an allergic reaction to pineapple.”
“Oh?”
“My throat gets all tight.” He saw my expression. “It’s not a big deal, babe.”
“Yes, it is! I want you around for a very long time.” No wonder why he’d removed the pineapple from his pizza. I’d make sure I never brought pineapple into the house again.
Waiters wove in and out of the tables, making sure champagne flutes remained filled, as well as the platters and bowls, and whisking away used
