I tuck my phone into my purse and swing by to my fridge to pull out an old handle of Fireball. Too lazy to grab a shot glass, I take a swig right from the bottle. The spicy liquor goes down easily, instantly warming my insides and leaving a deep cinnamon taste behind. A little liquid courage is needed before I spend the rest of my night around my insufferable ex and hawkish mother.
Throwing the bottle back into the fridge, I grab my purse and make sure my invitation is inside along with my lipstick, ID, and credit card. A glance at my phone confirms that my driver is downstairs, so I open my door to leave and stop.
There’s a bouquet of pink roses.
Of course.
Lifting them, a note falls to the ground. I pick it up, opening it to read the message within.
Until tonight xo
Lovely.
I turn back into my apartment, throwing them in the trash.
I give myself a smile in the mirror next to my door.
It looks fake.
I try again, imagining my heel digging into Chase’s back.
That’s it. Perfection.
***
The car rolls to a stop in the oval driveway outside the Taylors’ residence. Well, one of their many residences. They decided to host their party at their Orange County mansion this year. The location is more convenient than their Napa or Palm Springs house, meaning I can actually go home after the event instead of staying at a nearby hotel or with my parents in the Hills.
Rolling my shoulders, I take the driver’s hand and step out of the car and into the snake pit.
A camera flashes.
There are a handful of photographers stationed around the entrance, capturing everyone as they arrive and head into the party. They’ll probably move inside once the event starts, documenting everything for the Taylors to brag about later.
I make my way up the steps and am greeted by one of the security guards at the double-door. I pull my invitation from my clutch, flashing it. He crosses my name off the list before gesturing inside.
“Enjoy your evening, Miss Andwell.”
Unlikely.
I enter the foyer, stepping onto the white marble floor. A server offers me a flute of champagne, which I graciously accept but refrain from taking a sip of, knowing I can’t begin drinking until the toast is called.
I take in the foyer. There are two large marble pillars on either side, framing the double staircase leading to the second floor. A large raindrop crystal chandelier makes its statement in the middle of the room. The Orange County mansion is one of the Taylors’ newer constructions; they purchased it only a few years back for a good sixty million, if I remember correctly. Felicity bragged about it because it isn’t too far from one of the Broadshires’ homes.
Instantly, I feel eyes on me. I make sure to straighten my spine and keep my expression one of neutral content. Scanning the crowd, I clock a large number of familiar faces. A few smile my way as our eyes make contact, and I make sure to smile and dip my head back.
There are probably fifty people already here, the foyer seeming a little crowded. The Taylors must be waiting for everyone to arrive before giving the toast and allowing guests to mill about the house.
The chattering of conversation rises over a live string quartet, maybe a piano as well. Where the musicians are set up, I have no clue. Probably farther into the house. Knowing the Taylors, the event will spill into their immaculately manicured backyard as the evening progresses.
I spot my mother, father, brother, and Vittoria by the left side set of stairs, near one of the main pillars. A glance up confirms Mr. and Mrs. Taylor positioned on the second-story balcony. I accidentally make eye contact with Annabelle, and she leans in to whisper something to her husband.
He immediately raises his champagne flute, giving it a clink.
Ah, so they weren’t waiting for everyone to arrive.
They were waiting for me.
Aren’t I special.
“Thank you all for gathering here today for our annual ball. We are excited to kick off the summer with the celebration of the year,” Henry Taylor drawls.
Celebration of the year is big talk. Especially considering a lot of the people in this room also hold annual parties and celebrations. People of higher status than the Taylors. It’s an interesting angle for them to pull.
“We hope you will enjoy the champagne throughout the party, and please feel free to stop by the outdoor bar for cocktails—including a custom event cocktail created by my lovely daughter, Felicity, and her new beau, Chauncy Broadshire.”
My eyes twitch as I try to prevent them from rolling at the obvious display.
I had a feeling they would try to peacock this event, I just didn’t realize how blatantly. I mean, Chase and I have only been broken up a few weeks; Felicity is playing a dangerous game. I don’t plan to get back with Chase, but she doesn’t know that, and a three-week “break” for us is nothing new in the grand scheme of things. What is interesting is that Chase would go along with this all while still trying to win me back. Quite stupid, if you ask me.
Felicity and Chase appear at the foot of the right side staircase. Felicity’s auburn hair is slicked into a high ponytail, a diamond cuff around the base. She is wearing the new Danielle Frankel Nina gown; the basque waist accentuates her slim build, and the white satin highlights her snowy skin. The pleated gown trails behind her as she holds Chase’s arm up the stairs.
I’m not a bitch, I’ll admit that she looks pretty. The issue, however, is she also looks like a freaking bride. I’m ninety percent sure it was designed as a wedding dress, which, in turn, makes it tacky and cringey.
They reach the top of the stairs, and even from down here I can see the way her manicured claws are digging into Chase’s suit jacket. He looks good. His blond hair has been trimmed slightly, and his black suit hugs his body in all the right ways. I’m not ashamed to say that. I didn’t date him for five years because I thought he was unattractive. It’s just that the attraction isn’t the same anymore. I can admire that he is good looking, but my body doesn’t react to him like it used to. I don’t feel that rush of lust. He just looks like every other rich country club kid. Boring.
“Thank you, everyone, for joining us tonight! We hope you love the fun drink Chasey and I came up with,” she leans into him and locks eyes with me. I have to tamper back a laugh. She should just pee on him and stake her territory while she’s at it.
“Please allow the party to commence,” Henry’s voice rings out. “Tonight’s feast is brought to you by Chef Gauthier and his team at House Charles. Hors d’oeuvres are being passed around by waitstaff, and our meal shall commence in the great room at twenty-one hundred hours.”
He could’ve just said nine o’clock.
Henry lifts his champagne and takes a sip. Everyone else follows suit, including myself. I make the conscious decision not to down the first flute all at once. I’ve apparently got two hours until the meal is even served. What a pain.