An hour later, I look down at what I am wearing as I stand in the bathroom cubicle and brush my hands over my thighs nervously. I’m wearing a long-sleeved, ice grey dress with a fitted top and a little flared skirt that hangs just above my knee. I’ve complimented the outfit with nude high heels. and my hair is down and full. I knew there was a chance we would be hanging around for James to take the photos, so I had to find something that was a bit dressier than I would normally wear to work. I thought I looked okay, but now that I’m here, I’m not so sure. I feel underdressed, but then Tabatha seemed quite casual, too? It is an afternoon garden party. I’m unsure of the dress code for these things.
“Hurry up,” James whispers though the door.
“Okay,” I reply. “What’s the damn rush?”
I reapply my lipstick and fluff my hair up in the mirror before I open the door.
“I can’t believe we are at this party?” James whispers excitedly as he grips both my biceps.
I frown. “Why?”
“This is the clique?”
“The clique?”
“Anybody who is anybody will be here tonight. These fundraising parties are epic.”
“Oh, epic. Cool. You probably should shag someone, then.” I widen my eyes in disgust.
He smirks and nods as his eyes scan ahead of us. “I could not agree with you more.”
“You can pay for my cab, though, if you do,” I mutter as he grabs my elbow and leads me toward the music.
“Deal.”
We walk out to the back garden and I stop dead in my tracks. Oh shit. This is a bit more than I expected. There are around one hundred and fifty beautiful people all gathered around. The sound of laughter and chatter can be heard everywhere, and a violin player is down below on the grassed area. A huge pool sits in the center, and the back yard is terraced into different levels with a large stone staircase down the center to each level. It’s about 4pm and the sun is just starting to disappear behind the trees. The bottom level has a marquee set with the tables and chairs for the soon-to-be-served dinner. Huge trees line the large entertaining area, and I have to stop my mouth from dropping open.
“What shall we do?” James smiles excitedly.
I frown as I look around at all the people. “To be honest, I kind of want to go home.”
“No.” He drags me toward the stairs. “Let’s go find our seat at the table and have a drink. You are not wrecking this night for me. We are going to have fun.” He smiles excitedly.
“I guess.” I sigh.
We walk down to the marquee to find waiters circling the room with glasses of champagne, and a doorman with a seating schedule at the entry. We walk over to him.
“Hello.” He smiles.
“James Williams and Emerson Mathews.”
He goes through his list and James glances at me. We are so not going to be on this list. This could be embarrassing.
“Ah, yes, table twenty-one.”
“Thank you.” I smile gratefully and we make our way to the back.
“Oh, man. We are on the shit table,” James whispers, annoyed.
I smirk. “What did you expect? We don’t know a soul here. We are the losers, here by default.”
“Speak for yourself. One of these society girls will be my bitch tonight,” he murmurs as he takes two champagnes from a passing tray.
I smirk as I take mine from him. “I kind of think you will be the bitch in the equation, to be honest.”
He raises his eyebrows and smiles cheekily as he looks around. “That will work, too.”
We sit at the table and people watch for a while as the sun continues to set. Large fire lanterns are now being lit around the perimeter.
“This is ridiculous wealth, right?”
“I know,” James mutters. “Come on, let’s go check it out. We are being unsocial.”
We stand and make our way back out of the marquee and head up the stairs to level two. A cocktail bar is situated front and center, and waitresses are walking around with trays of appetizers. I take a lobster ball. “Even the snacks are flash.” I smile as I eat it in one go.
We stand for a few moments when two guys walk over. One is tall with dark hair. The other is blonde and really short. “Hello.” They smile.
“Hi,” we reply.
“This is a great turn out, isn’t it?” The blonde man says.
“Yes, fantastic,” James replies, excited that someone wants to talk to us.