The crowd starts thinning out as people begin to make their way through the foyer into the rest of the mansion. I can see a patio leading outdoors, where it seems a majority of guests are moving toward. A handful of people are making their way up the staircases, probably to kiss ass with the Taylors. Not something I need to do.
Knowing I need to let my parents know I’ve shown up, I make my way toward the pillar they are still mingling near.
“Having fun yet?”
I twist to my right. Tristan Taylor leans against the wall, foot propped behind him, empty champagne flute dangling from his grip.
“I’m surprised to see you here, seeing as you didn’t make a grand entrance with the rest of your family.”
I file this tidbit of information in my back pocket. There must be some tension between the Taylors and their youngest child.
“Oh, you know me. Thought I would do my family a favor and make my appearance. I just finished my finals, figured I could spare the time to come down from Stanford.”
“How gracious of you.” I go to walk off when he pushes off the wall and comes to stand by me, boyish glint in his eyes.
“What do you think of the happy couple?”
I narrow my eyes. I’m not sure what Tristan’s game is. I never interacted with him much. With him being several years younger, he ran in a different circle than his older sister and myself.
“I wish them the best.”
“Looks more like you hope they choke on the froufrou drink they’re calling a cocktail.”
“Tristan, darling,” I touch his shoulder, giving him a tight smile, “I couldn’t care less about them. They could streak naked around the foyer or announce this is their surprise engagement party. Either way, I’d have no interest.”
“Then let me give you a piece of advice: be careful. You are still a livewire in their relationship, and you don’t want to get electrocuted.” He pointedly looks me up and down. “Have fun, Stephanie. You look amazing.”
He walks away, and I watch him with narrowed eyes.
Another warning.
I’m so sick of warnings.
A glance around the room confirms that my family has moved on. Great. Now I’m going to have to track them down somewhere on this twenty thousand-square-foot property.
I walk through the foyer between the two staircases, heels clacking beneath me, into the open kitchen and living room—well, one of their living rooms, I guess. I make small talk with a few people I cross paths with, asking how they are, if their children are well, what they’ve been up to. Everyone compliments my dress, and each time it feels like a win in my corner. No one has said a word about Chase and me being broken up, so it’s off to a good start at least.
I keep my smile plastered on my face but finish off the rest of my champagne. This is why I stopped coming to these events. They’re no fun when you have no one to hang out with. The few society friends—which is a loose term—that I have are already busy jet-setting across Europe for the summer.
My mind flickers to Tristan for a second, but I dismiss it. I am not spending my evening with an eighteen-year-old boy to survive—that’s just sad.
I shield my eyes as I make my way onto the crowded patio. The setting sun coats everything in a soft light, and I let the rays warm up my skin. It’s a gorgeous backyard, I’ll give the Taylors that. A fire pit sits to my right with two circular couches surrounding it. To my left is an enormous bar area, where I’m guessing the signature cocktail is being served. Stairs in front of me lead down to a large garden surrounding a swimming pool, hot tub, and volleyball court, perfectly tapered bushes lining the way.
“Stephanie! There you are.”
My mother loops her arm in mine, dragging me in the direction of the stairs before veering right. My father is standing on the edge of the patio by the firepit. He stares out over the garden, nursing what is probably an old fashioned.
“Hello, dear.” She plops a kiss on my cheek before releasing me to stand next to my father.
“Hello, pumpkin.” My father gives me a quick hug, careful not to spill his drink. “You look beautiful. The most gorgeous woman here, after your mother, of course.”
“Jameson,” my mother taps my father’s arm lightly.
“Thank you, Dad.”
“It is a lovely dress, a classy cut, Stephanie. But it is a little,” my mother’s lips purse as she tries to find the right word, “loud.”
“Yes, well, at least it’s not a wedding dress.”
My mother whips her head around, staring at the people around us. “Stephanie, lower your voice. Theo mou,” she scolds.
“Stevie! You look bellissima! Like a celebrity.” Vittoria sidles up with Michail on her arm, her black locks contrasting beautifully against her red dress and tan skin.
“As do you, that color is gorgeous on you.”
My brother disentangles himself from his fiancée, enveloping me in a large, crushing hug.
“Good to see you, little one.”
“And you.”
My mother begins chatting with Michail and Vittoria about their upcoming wedding plans, and I tune out. I go to sip my champagne only to realize it’s still empty. A loss, truly.
A waitress slips past with a tray of oysters and horseradish. I slip one off, swallowing it down, appreciating the saltiness, before placing the empty shell back on the tray. Another waiter follows close behind her with more champagne, and I smile, replacing my flute. Oysters and champagne, the best combination. This I miss.
My mother gasps, and I switch my ears back to the conversation.
“The Covingtons are here.”
“The Covingtons?” Vittoria questions.
I stare at the beautiful blond family that just walked in. I know of the Covingtons, but I’ve never crossed paths with them. They’re old English wealth but are making modern waves. I’m pretty sure the mother comes from some royal lineage, a marquess maybe. They’re part of the upper echelon, so I’m surprised to see them here of all places. They outrank the Taylors, hell, they outrank ninety-nine percent of the families here. I’m not sure what their reasoning is for being here, but it is going to be something that Felicity lords over the rest of us now.
“The older man is Patrick Covington, head of the Covington Hotel conglomerate. Jameson and I stay in their hotel whenever we travel to Paris. Children, you remember their flagship hotel in London; we stayed there when you were in middle school.”
“I remember the fountain in the lobby.” It was a gorgeous fountain with an angel in the center and cherubs lining the sides—the sort of thing a young girl coos over. We traveled so much as children that the odds of me remembering one hotel versus another are very slim, but that fountain I remember.
“The mother is Pricilla. Her grandfather was knighted by the Queen and then granted barony; God rest her soul.”
Ah, a baron. Close enough.
“Then there’s the elder daughters, Paige and Phoebe, and the son, Parker. He is the heir to everything, but rumors say he is dabbling in his own ventures. He’s the same age as you, Stephanie, handsome as well.” My mother raises her eyebrow at me, like I wouldn’t have picked up on her point without it. “You know, I always thought you could do better than Chauncy.”
I can’t stop the soft scoff that releases from me.