gilded mirror spanning the wall. We’d been so rushed leaving my house for the party—so as to avoid Mom’s wobbly camera-wielding hand—that this was my first full-length view of our ensemble.
My tastefully sequined soft-pink flapper dress was capped off by long white gloves and strappy silver kitten heels. Mom had spent an hour curling my dark hair into ringlets that fell a few inches below my shoulders. Every girl here would be likely sporting an over-sprayed updo, but Mike liked to be able to run his fingers through my long hair. Plus, I always felt more elegant with it down. The thick brown waves framed my minimally made-up face and the one gaudy indulgence I’d allowed myself for the party—fake eyelashes. I batted them demurely at Mike in his black top hat, tailored tux, and ruffled French-cut chemise, and in the mirror, he gave me a sexy wink.
Hand in hand, we looked like royalty. The perfect couple.
I still hadn’t figured out how to respond to—or sufficiently avoid—my dad’s disturbing text from the night before, but this glimpse of Mike and myself on the stairs was the first thing that had made me feel any better about the black cloud of problems past now hanging over my head.
Look at me. Look at us. I had come too far to get pulled back down.
“I’m so glad it was my idea to go classy this year,” Mike joked.
He took the opalescent feather mask out of my hand and twirled it around on its stick before holding it up to my face.
“Yes, you’re a real mastermind.” I smirked, mounting the top stair and pushing open the curved wooden door to the library.
Inside the plush-carpeted room was your basic made-to-order rich folks’ library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves showcased all the big classics of the western canon with their gold-embossed titles on thick, faded spines. Two maroon leather shrink’s couches faced each other in the center, and a rolling ladder gave the whole place that extra touch of class. You got the feeling that the actual books were more of a backdrop to the library’s main event, which was, of course, the crystal liquor cabinet near the windows.
It was a pleasant surprise to find that Mike and I were alone. Maybe Rex had been more discerning than I gave him credit for about who comprised the need-to-know set. While Mike uncorked a bottle of champagne, I stepped out onto the balcony for some air.
“What should we drink to this time?” he asked, coming up behind me with two brimming glasses.
I looked down at the yard below us where the party was in full swing. Rex had set up the same beaded canopy he used every year. And the same drunken silhouettes were clustering around the pool. There might have been something comforting in such familiarity, but tonight I just found it boring.
I looked at Mike and raised my glass. “To shaking things up.”
“I have always wanted to shake things up with you on a balcony,” he whispered. We kicked back our flutes of the primo champagne, and Mike swooped me up in his arms. He dipped me low, and his hand moved up my dress. I tipped my head back and moaned. The air was crisp and cool out on the balcony, but the heat emanating off of Mike made me feel lightheaded—or maybe that was the champagne’s contribution. His hands felt so warm, so firm, so familiar, so—
“Lights, camera, action, ” a thick southern twang interrupted us. We looked up into the bright-white bulb of a video camera.
“Don’t you know how to knock?” I asked, yanking my dress back down.
Baxter Quinn, dressed all in black, loomed over us with a camera perched on his shoulder. To add to my annoyance at being interrupted, I couldn’t help frowning at the fact that Baxter was noticeably Kate-less. His light hair contrasted starkly with the creepy bags under his eyes. He was heroin-hot, and I could see why Kate would go for him, though he was miles from my taste. He looked like a vampire with that long coat of his flapping lightly in the breeze.
“Now how am
My tastefully sequined soft-pink flapper dress was capped off by long white gloves and strappy silver kitten heels. Mom had spent an hour curling my dark hair into ringlets that fell a few inches below my shoulders. Every girl here would be likely sporting an over-sprayed updo, but Mike liked to be able to run his fingers through my long hair. Plus, I always felt more elegant with it down. The thick brown waves framed my minimally made-up face and the one gaudy indulgence I’d allowed myself for the party—fake eyelashes. I batted them demurely at Mike in his black top hat, tailored tux, and ruffled French-cut chemise, and in the mirror, he gave me a sexy wink.
Hand in hand, we looked like royalty. The perfect couple.
I still hadn’t figured out how to respond to—or sufficiently avoid—my dad’s disturbing text from the night before, but this glimpse of Mike and myself on the stairs was the first thing that had made me feel any better about the black cloud of problems past now hanging over my head.
Look at me. Look at us. I had come too far to get pulled back down.
“I’m so glad it was my idea to go classy this year,” Mike joked.
He took the opalescent feather mask out of my hand and twirled it around on its stick before holding it up to my face.
“Yes, you’re a real mastermind.” I smirked, mounting the top stair and pushing open the curved wooden door to the library.
Inside the plush-carpeted room was your basic made-to-order rich folks’ library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves showcased all the big classics of the western canon with their gold-embossed titles on thick, faded spines. Two maroon leather shrink’s couches faced each other in the center, and a rolling ladder gave the whole place that extra touch of class. You got the feeling that the actual books were more of a backdrop to the library’s main event, which was, of course, the crystal liquor cabinet near the windows.
It was a pleasant surprise to find that Mike and I were alone. Maybe Rex had been more discerning than I gave him credit for about who comprised the need-to-know set. While Mike uncorked a bottle of champagne, I stepped out onto the balcony for some air.
“What should we drink to this time?” he asked, coming up behind me with two brimming glasses.
I looked down at the yard below us where the party was in full swing. Rex had set up the same beaded canopy he used every year. And the same drunken silhouettes were clustering around the pool. There might have been something comforting in such familiarity, but tonight I just found it boring.
I looked at Mike and raised my glass. “To shaking things up.”
“I have always wanted to shake things up with you on a balcony,” he whispered. We kicked back our flutes of the primo champagne, and Mike swooped me up in his arms. He dipped me low, and his hand moved up my dress. I tipped my head back and moaned. The air was crisp and cool out on the balcony, but the heat emanating off of Mike made me feel lightheaded—or maybe that was the champagne’s contribution. His hands felt so warm, so firm, so familiar, so—
“Lights, camera, action, ” a thick southern twang interrupted us. We looked up into the bright-white bulb of a video camera.
“Don’t you know how to knock?” I asked, yanking my dress back down.
Baxter Quinn, dressed all in black, loomed over us with a camera perched on his shoulder. To add to my annoyance at being interrupted, I couldn’t help frowning at the fact that Baxter was noticeably Kate-less. His light hair contrasted starkly with the creepy bags under his eyes. He was heroin-hot, and I could see why Kate would go for him, though he was miles from my taste. He looked like a vampire with that long coat of his flapping lightly in the breeze.
“Now how am
Similar Books
