The driver opened the carriage door and I climbed in after Coen, settling myself into the plush crimson cushions across from him. With the click of the door and the sound of the driver urging the horses forward, we were moving.
“How are you feeling?” Coen asked.
“Absolutely ecstatic.”
“Utterly terrified, aren’t you?”
“The anguish is almost unbearable.”
He gave a small chuckle. “You never come to these things. Are you up for all the schmoozing and brown-nosing that comes along with it?”
Coen didn’t typically come to these things either, citing them as a waste of time. But he was also receiving an award for some fancy plant hybrid he had been working on.
“You know I’m an expert at mingling with the stuck-ups. Have you met my family?” I answered.
“Good point. So what’s your plan?”
“Me? A plan? No clue. I’m just going to wing it. See where the night takes me.”
“Sounds about right.” He gave me a pointed look. “Don’t do anything stupid, Liam.”
I tilted my head at him. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Need I remind you what happened at the last event you attended?”
I waved a hand. “I was young then.”
“That was only two years ago.”
“If you’re asking if I plan on getting drunk and making a scene, the answer is no.”
“It better be. The last thing Cerise needs when her controlling mother is the main guest of honor is you doing something to embarrass her.”
“I’m aware. I won’t,” I assured him.
As much as I was loath to admit it, he was right. I’d attended a mixer a couple of years ago with the intention of connecting with more colleagues professionally. But I had been in my head all dayafter a horrible fight with my father the evening before. I’d had way too much to drink, made a drunken speech about how much I hated rich people, and passed out in the bathroom.
Coen had to practically carry me home and I almost lost my job. I would not make that mistake tonight.
I stared out the window as the carriage pulled up to the large estate. We stopped in a circular drive, waiting in line to exit behind the other carriages bringing more guests. I could barely sit still to save my life, my leg bouncing in anticipation.
“Would you stop that?” Coen hissed. “You’re jostling the entire carriage.”
I rolled my eyes.
At last we stopped and our door was opened by the driver. I handed him a tip, thanked him, and turned to the behemoth before us.
“How ostentatious,” Coen said, staring at the estate.
“Indeed. Beautiful, though,” I said.
It truly was. The black building loomed over us with meticulously carved statues of lions framing wide gray marble stairs. Bright blue glass windows adorned the face of the estate and the sounds of music and visiting flowed out of the space.
I straightened my cravat and took a breath. “Let’s go.”
Gray marble floors led us through the dark halls into an exquisite ballroom. Crystal chandeliers hung from the high glass ceiling, revealing a view of the clear starry night sky.
A string quartet played on a small stage, a crowd of people already mingling in their tailored suits and elegant dresses as waiters carrying trays of cocktails moved through the room. Tables were set up for the dinner—happening after the cocktail hour—with deep navy tablecloths and low floral centerpieces.
