As soon as the guests started arriving (and some male ones started staring at my cleavage, too), Marty changed his opinion on my dress and insisted I covered myself with a shawl.
I only agreed because the staring was making me uncomfortable, too.
The guests kept coming, one after another, the closest friends first, then everybody else, fashionably late.
Canapes were already circulating, and I stared at them, too busy meeting and greeting to eat.
Marty, who caught me, called a server, and just took the entire tray, holding it for me.
"It's your party, too," he whispered into my ear. "You should enjoy it."
I thanked him, feeling in a much better mood.
Once the stream of guests stopped (not everybody had arrived, but those who arrive late can pay their respects later, or not at all) I
