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It’s the largest mansion I’ve seen here.
“This home used to be owned by the Vanderbilts,” Barrett tells me as he opens his door and hands off his keys to a waiting valet.
Of course the Vanderbilts lived here. Why wouldn’t they?
I step out of the car and take in the marble porte cochère stretched above us. It has to be three stories high, at least. A tiled mosaic covers the ceiling, and I’m spinning in a circle, trying to take in the mythological scene depicted there when Barrett comes around to lead me toward the front door. There’s a sign on either side of the entryway, announcing tonight’s cause. All of the money raised will fund scholarships and grants for students at the School of American Ballet. I’m sure it might seem frivolous to some, but as a child who used music as an escape from a life riddled with difficult situations, I’m happy that tonight will help aspiring dancers who need it the most.
I stroll in on Barrett’s arm, through the massive doors manned by suited attendants holding trays of champagne. Barrett takes a glass and hands it to me before retrieving one for himself as well.
We’re ushered through the beautiful house (if you can call it a house) toward a rectangular ballroom, and I’m struck by how similar it looks to the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. Along one of the long walls, large floor-to-ceiling French doors open out to a lush garden. Across the room, mirrored panels reflect a stage where young dancers twirl while nearby onlookers watch entranced. Against the back wall, a silent auction is underway, and that’s where Barrett leads me.
“What should we bid on? A weekend getaway to the Caymans? A trip to the Italian Alps?”
I laugh and shake my head. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Of course. What guy wouldn’t want to whisk you away for a weekend? Especially after seeing you in that bikini on the beach. Forget the Alps—let’s go to the Caymans.”
My hand tightens on his arm, trying to slow him down.
“Barrett, you know I only think of you as a friend, right? I like you, I do. It’s just…”
He groans. “Oh, c’mon. You don’t have to do that. I can tell, you know? I mean you haven’t exactly seemed overly enthusiastic about my advances. I’ve been taking it slow, trying to get you to warm up to me, but I can see there’s no use.”
“Please don’t be mad.”
“I’m not. I’m…surprised.” He releases a dejected laugh. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve felt this feeling.”
“Sadness?”
He laughs and shakes his head. “Rejection.”
I roll my eyes teasingly. “Good. It’ll probably do wonders for all the women who come after me. Maybe it’ll knock your ego down a peg or two.”
He winks. “Not likely.” I can’t help but chuckle, and he tugs me toward the auction tables. “Well, still, come help me pick what to bid on. I trust your opinion.”
There are a lot to choose from: private dining experiences at the best restaurants, one-on-one sessions with celebrity trainers, dozens of vacation rentals spanning every inch of the globe from Dubai to South Africa. We’ve only just started browsing the various auction packages when Ariana finds us in a huff.
“Jesus, I hate that guy.”
“Who?”
“Nicholas. Who does he fucking think he is? The entire ride over here he grilled me. He’s such a rich snob, you can tell. No offense,” she says, aware that Barrett is listening to her.
“None taken.” He smirks, continuing to browse through the items up for bid.
I reach out for Ariana’s arm, trying to calm her down. “It’s not like that. He’s just protective of his family.”
“So why was he so preoccupied with my relationship with you then? Whatever.” She looks around, in search of something. “I’m getting a drink. This place better have an open bar. Are you coming?”
I don’t really want to, but I also don’t want to leave her alone. I tell Barrett I’ll be back and then I accompany Ariana over to one of the bars nearest to us. The line moves quickly, and when we get to the front, Ariana’s quick with her order.
“Can I get a shot?”
The bartender laughs, clearly surprised by her question. “Sure thing.”
“Tequila? With lime?”
He prepares it for her and she downs it immediately before asking for another one.
“Ariana,” I hiss under my breath.
“What?”
“Pace yourself. We just got here.”
She rolls her eyes and asks for a Seven and Seven after taking the second shot.
“You expect me to deal with all these stuffy people stone-cold sober? Yeah right.”
The “stuffy people” can hear her loud and clear considering she’s not trying to muffle her voice at all.
I look around the room in search of Nicholas as if he’ll somehow be able to help the situation, but a commotion near the door catches my attention first.
