“Iknow. That’s why I want to goin.”
I glance at the roped-off entrance. One of the black-suited bouncers is blocking a girl in a red dress.
My stomach hits the floor. It’s Mr. Parker’s fiancée.
“I’m a princess,” she says, her voice getting louder and louder. “I was told by my fiancé, Zachery Parker, that I wasmore than welcome here. Are you saying I’m not?”
The bouncer looks around in a panic. “I… uh…”
“Are you really going to make me go back to my table and have my fiancéaccompany meinto the room?”
Other guests are looking at the red-dress lady now and I can see from the bouncer’s mortified expression that he’s going to let her in just to get her to stop yelling. I tuck myself even further behind the ice statue. It won’t hide me, but it should distort the way I look to anyone who sees me through it.
“Go on in, miss,” the bouncer says and Mr. Parker’s fiancée swirls into the room like a red hurricane. I watch her grab a champagne from a passing tray and cast a dismissive eye over the actress and the vaping dudes. When she sees Chloe Fantana, she actually snorts then she pulls out her phone and starts examining herself in her camera.
I’ve met girls like her before, people so rich and privileged they’re like aliens from another planet. They’re also the meanest humans I knew before Mr. Parker showed his true colors.
One thing is for sure, this girl really does look like me. Up close, it’s kind of uncanny. We’re exactly the same height and our eyes and lips are the same shape. Did Mr. Parker pay the FBI to find her? Or was she his backup plan all along? Did he only not choose her because he couldn’t control this girl the way he controlled me—having Corinne force me into ballet and keeping me untouched by everyone but him?
I find myself stroking my tattoo. The mark tying me to the men who love me. I’m no longer trapped. No longer alone. Mr. Parker might be close, but he’ll never have me again.
The fiancée’s phone rings. “Ola!” she says. “No, ofcourse,I can talk. I’m so fuckingbored.”
She’s very loud and the person on the other end of the line is too. “I miss you, Marisella! Tell me why this wedding is so boring.”
Other blue room guests glare at Marisella, and she gives them a level five stink-eye back.
One of the waiters approaches her. “Miss, there are no phones in here.”
Marisella simply walks away from him, continuing her conversation. “No, I wore the red dress. No, Iknow. I wanted the sparkly pink onetoo.”
The waiter looks on helplessly as I press myself against the wall behind the ice statue. She’s coming right toward me, and I pray we don’t lock eyes.
“Urgh, you’re soright, I shouldn’t have worn red,” she says. “But Zachy was like, ‘you look so elegant,’ and well… He’s the one who counts, you know?”
If I didn’t hate Mr. Parker with every molecule in my body, I’d almost be happy for him, it seems like he’s found the perfect person.
“No, I can’t leave yet,” Marisella lowers her voice a little. “Zach has some work thing to do. No, yes,atthe wedding. It’ssostupid. Some grudge with another company or something.”
My heart stops. I feel it congealing in my chest, turning to New York street sludge.
Marisella laughs. “No, it’s in their food or something. It’s not, like, a big deal. I just have to be here to watch and after, Zachy and I are going to the Four Seasons. He’s booked the presidential suite. It shouldn’t be too long after the first dance, maybe I can come meet you…?”
She keeps yammering about her plans as my body reels. She can’t be talking about my men. Whatever problem Mr. Parker has with someone here, it can’t be Velvet House. He isn’t silly enough to mess with a contract, especially not at Mr. Bianchi’s wedding.
And yet…I know Mr. Parker. He hates restrictions. Hates being reminded there is anyone on earth more powerful than he is. It would appeal to him like nothing else, undermine my men and Mr. Bianchi and the contract at the same time.
In their food or something, Marisella said. But the food here is being checked, Doc said so. And I’ve seen enough cooking shows to know chefs work shoulder to shoulder at events like this, practically on top of each other, with runners and waiters moving in and out at the same time. It would be incredibly hard to mess with someone’s food and not be seen—
“January?”
I jump right into the ice sculpture, burning my skin on the ice but it’s just Miss Williams, the silver clipboard lady. “Time to go,” she says, not asking why I’m hiding behind a statue.
I emerge sheepishly, my mind still turning like a hamster on a wheel. Marisella and I come face to face. Her eyes are liquid brown, but she looks more like me than Margot does. She smiles, a mean little snake smile. “Ohhello, there.”
“Hi,” I say automatically as Miss Williams jabs me in the back. “Move please, January. Right away.”
Relieved, I hustle past the bouncers.
