It should scare me how much of Hayden's mother's things I own, wear, and embrace. But instead of a gnawing feeling, there’s a comfort in her luxuries. I’ll never meet her, but somehow she’s offering me bravery from the grave. I wouldn’t know what support she would truly lend me; Hayden doesn’t speak of her. He only showers me with her things.
Across the room, Saxton Morgan is holding court by the raw bar, surrounded by girls too hungry.Dale floats past me in a silver mini dress with feathered cuffs, whispering something wicked into her cousin Hudson Taft’s ear that makes him laugh before looking terrified.
There’s a haunted pain behind Dale’s eyes I’m yet to figure out. Behind her glamour and kind comments is a woman with a pained secret.
The estate has been transformed. Lighting has been installed beneath the hedges. The fountain is filled with crushed ice and bottles of Cristal. A jazz trio plays in the ballroom, while a DJ remixes Bauhaus in the library, and the quartet plays in the entryway. As if you’re being greeted at an old-world party, rather than the true evening of debauchery it is. Upstairs, every bedroom has been locked and guarded, as no partygoer has access to the second or third floors.
I walk through the center hall, nodding, smiling, letting people tell me how gorgeous I look while pretending not to be terrified. The truth is, most of them came because they thought they would leave with gossip. They want a sick window into our very private lives. Whether they’re looking for secrets or our destruction, I’m unsure.
A woman in a white fur shrug leans in. “Darling, you look divine. Where is your husband hiding?”
I smile, cold and perfect. “Where he always is. Exactly where he wants to be.”
I keep moving, I don’t know her, and I don’t care to.
Because I have no idea where Hayden is, and I can barely breathe because of it. I want his hand at the small of my back, or my throat. Holding me in place and ushering me into my next task. I never realized the desire I had to be controlled until I stood alone in this scene and felt a sense of abandonment like no other.
A butler finds me near the east corridor, where I was making my way to the bar for a martini to dull the ache in my chest.
Can he see me lost without him? Am I in his mind? Does he think of me with the same ache?
The butler approaches quietly, standing next to me as though I’m art displayed at a museum for him to dust. Just an object for him to stare at, forgetting momentarily that he reports to me. He clears his throat.
“Mrs. Herron. There is someone at the front door asking for you.”
I blink. “Me?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Who is it?”
He hesitates. “He wouldn’t say. But he said it was important.”
My skin pricks. There’s something in his tone that sends worry up my spine. I have no reason to fear; there are enough armed guards here to protect a dignitary, but still, chills cover my arms.
“And you didn’t think to ask who it may be?
I scan the room, trying to place who we’re still waiting on. I know most of these people by face, if not by name, from Eulogia. But I didn’t build the list.
Dale did.
I turn on my heel.
She’s not hard to find—laughing with Hudson near the champagne tower, a cigarette tucked behind one ear and a martini dangling from her hand. I cut through the crowd and grab her hand without warning, pulling her away from her familial engagement.
“I need you,” I say, grinning as I pull her toward the bar.
“Obviously,” she replies. “But can it wait until after I coerce Hudson into giving me his Jaguar? I nearly had him agree to lend it to me for the weekend.”
“No. Front door. Someone’s asking for me.”
She arches a brow. “Who?”
“You made the list. You tell me.”
We reach the bar, and I gesture for champagne. Two flutes appear instantly to calm the nerves from the martini I was never able to get. Dale snatches hers and clinks it against mine.
“To uninvited guests,” she says.
