“Stop it, they are fine.” I laugh again when she cups them and attempts to push them together.
“Oh, please, they didn’t even bounce; they just sighed in disappointment.”
I hand her my mask as we’re getting nearer to the party. “Oh, shush, you. You’re a smoke show, now let’s put on our masks since we’re close.” I hand her my custom piece, and then she holds out a small mirror so I can check it when she’s done tying it.
I tie Ads’s mask, and she looks like a sultry queen. Her mask is black, shaped like waves, with silver streaks that emulate the moonlit glow of the ocean.
The car stops in front of an Upper East Side brownstone, not far from Rosa and Javier’s place.
Addie takes my hand as we walk up toward the door.
“Did you say this is Harrison’s home?”
“Not yet. They live close by, however, after this party, they break ground and begin renovating the whole thing.” I point toward the attached townhouse next door. “He bought that one as well, and he somehow got approval from the city to combine them. The walls are already down, the party will be between the two places.”
Her mouth gapes in shock. “Jesus. They probably cost forty mil each to buy.”
“Have you forgotten how much money this family is worth?”
She stares between the two townhomes and shakes her head like she can’t believe it. “No, but sometimes it’s hard to believe.”
“Trust me, I know.” I pull her forward. “I overheard Leo talking about it, and I think the idea is to eventually build a separate wing on the ground floor for Rosa and Javier since they’re getting older, and they’ll want to stay close to Claud.”
“Oh, okay,” she swoons. “That makes the ridiculous spending marginally better.”
“Says the girl wearing custom Valentino.”
The doors open as we approach, and when a man twice the size of Mase, dressed in all black, asks for our names, then we’re quickly whisked inside.
“Holy…” Addie says beside me. “I’ve been to some parties, but this is next level.”
“It’s out of this world,” I murmur and whirl around, taking it all in.
We’re enclosed in a dim room with dark plum-velvet drapery hanging from the extra-tall ceilings. The lights are low, with a purple-and-blue glow.
There is candlelight everywhere you look and dark wrought-iron candelabras with wax dripping down as if they’d been burning for years.
A layer of fog along the floor, and a long mirrored wall stretches the north side of the room, with projections of angels flying across the glass.
The guests are wearing mysterious masks and uniquely chosen outfits, each holding a specially crafted cocktail that sparkles in the intimate lighting.
To my side are masked servers who look statuesque enough to be mannequins, dressed all in black with silver-spiked headpieces, holding the hors d’oeuvres.
One of them steps forward with a tray of cocktails, then passes me a black matte card with silver-embossed writing.
Gin or Bourbon
I’d normally go for the gin, but tonight I’m living on the edge. “Bourbon, please.”I am a Southern girl at heart, after all.
Addie asks for the gin.
We’re handing another identical card, still no words exchanged, keeping the mystical allure.
My card reads:
Nyx’s Kiss
Blackberry bourbon with rosemary, honey, and activated charcoal
