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“Is that a good thing?” he asks, leaning in close to hear my answer, and I can feel his smile against my cheek.
“Depends,” I tease as we walk around the room and attract a few curious stares. My mask doesn’t seem to be hiding as much as I’d hoped, but I doubt they’re looking at my face.
“Depends on what?” he asks.
“What other gossip do you have?” I squeeze his arm, and he points me in the direction of a stately older woman with beautiful silver hair. Her dress is very stylish and elegant, with a white top that looks like a blouse, but the skirt is a royal blue and flared at the waist, and it seems to reflect the lighting in the courtyard.
“That’s Bethany York. She’s retiring from the National Archives Museum, but it seems she’s taken on a new job,” Darren says cryptically, not hiding his excitement in the least.
“Don’t tell me,” I say, tapping my finger to my chin, “she’s a dominatrix at an underground sex club.”
He shrugs and my mouth drops open. “Alistair swears by it,” Darren says, giving me his wolfish grin, and all of the nervous energy from earlier vanishing.
I look at him incredulously. “Well, Alistair is a reliable source.” I roll my eyes.
Darren steers me towards the silent auction when someone collides into him from the small alcove at the back of the table. Even though he’s wearing a mask, I can tell it’s Alistair.
“Dare,” Alistair says in surprise, greeting him with a smack on his arm.
The fly of his trousers is partially down. I cough loudly, getting his attention and lowering my eyes. Alistair follows my gaze and as discreetly as he can, zips.
“You look lovely,” he says, admiring my dress.
I narrow my eyes at him but then widen them when Hillary Crist-Archer appears from the shadows of the alcove, smoothing down her dress. One of the jeweled pins in her hair has come undone. She ignores Alistair, of course, and rushes by, getting swallowed up in the crowd.
Darren coughs, pressing his fist into his mouth, trying to hide his laughter.
“What?” Alistair asks, holding his hands up while Darren shakes his head.
An older woman who looks to be in her fifties, dressed in a beautiful robin's egg blue gown walks in our direction.
“Another dominatrix?” I whisper to Darren jokingly.
“Something like that,” he whispers back, and then plasters on a charming smile. “She’s very good at whipping donations out of people.”
“Darren, I’ve been looking for you,” the woman says with a wide smile.
“These masks aren’t doing their job,” he jokes, and rips it off in order to give her a peck on the cheek.
“Alistair,” she looks in his direction, saying his name tightly as if she’s already aware of his reputation.
“Audrina,” Alistair takes her hand and dramatically makes a show of kissing the top of it.
“Can we count on you for a generous donation?” she asks.
“My parents wrote a check earlier.”
“Just your parents?”
“Does it count if they put my name on it?”
She narrows her eyes at him. “No.”
Pulling her hand back, she turns her attention to Darren. “Some of the other committee members would like to meet you,” she says, and then notices me standing next to him. “My apologies,” she says, then looks at Darren to introduce us.
“Audrina Ellwood, this is my wife, Evangeline,” he says to my surprise, and then rests his palm against the small of my back. “Audrina’s the one that coerced me into making a speech,” he teases.
She laughs. “Coerced is such a strong word,” she replies, raising a teasing eyebrow at Darren.
