Page 12 of Fall into Place

“Sorry you have to deal with that until three a.m.,” Tess said to Patrick, the hotel’s dapper bartender.

“Oh pish, it’s no problem—the rave I’m going to later doesn’t start until four. You want to join?”

“My shift isn’t over till seven.” Tess laughed.

“Perfect! The party will just be getting good.” Patrick sighed wistfully. “Aren’t you grateful we’re not as boring as the so-and-sos waking up at dawn, getting ready for another day? We’re unbound by time!”

Tess told him she’d think about it, then continued making her rounds. As she scanned the room to make sure everyone seemed happy, her eyes fell on one guest who seemed woefully out of place. She was staggeringly beautiful, leaning against a wall, sipping a glass of champagne: at least six feet tall in heels, possibly of Eurasian descent, with wide eyes, apple cheeks, and glossy black hair that framed her face in chic layers of fringe, stopping bluntly just above her shoulders. She wore a strapless black cocktail dress that hugged her body with elegant drapes, accentuated by an oversized fabric flower at her hip made of shimmering white velvet, and barely-there strappy silver sandals that would have caused Tess to break an ankle in approximately seventeen seconds. Her makeup was minimal, just a cat eye and flushed cheek.

In New York, it wasn’t uncommon to see stunning women at any given restaurant or party; hell, in Soho, runway models roamed the streets in vaguely unsettling packs, looking like sculptures constructed with wire hangers. But there was something different about this woman. Even in the relative darkness of the room, her skin was so pale it almost glowed.

Tess flushed with embarrassment when the woman looked over and caught her staring. Tess looked away quickly, but to her surprise, when she glanced back again, the woman was still gazing right at her. The woman gave a little wave, and in an exquisitely cringey moment, Tess actually glanced over her shoulder to see if she might be waving at someone else. The woman snickered and walked over to Tess, standing beside her at a little high-top bar table made of wrought iron and glass.

“I know the wedding started late, but arriving at eleven-thirty? Exceptionally New York of you.” She spoke in a crisp British accent, her voice rich and clear and dripping with money.

“I’m not a guest,” Tess clarified. “I work here at the hotel.”

“Do you?” the woman eyed her with interest.

“I’m the manager,” Tess stammered, unsure why she felt the need to explain herself. “Just here to make sure everything’s going smoothly.”

“Ah, a woman in charge.” Her lips curled deliciously, like she was savoring a secret. “In that case, I don’t suppose you could give yourself permission to join me for a dance? Since you are the boss and all?”

Tess opened her mouth and shut it, neither wanting to look like a vacant goldfish nor having the faintest idea what to say—she wasn’t exactly accustomed to being hit on at all, let alone by arguably the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen.

“I, um, sorry, I’m not even sure if you’re asking me to dance, in like, a romantic way, but I’m actually straight?” she sputtered, wondering if any person had ever embarrassed themselves more than she was in this moment.

“How completely dull.” The woman’s dark eyes glittered with amusement. “No matter. Let’s dance anyway so you can reassess.”

Without waiting for a response, she circled her fingers around Tess’s wrists and pulled her onto the dance floor. Her hands were shockingly cold, and Tess had to shut her mouth not to gasp in surprise. Sade’s “Smooth Operator” flowed through the room, and between the music, the liquor, and the throng of swaying bodies, the mood on the dance floor oozed sex.

The woman moved her body in time with the music, close to Tess but not touching her. Tess couldn’t remember the last time she’d been dancing—maybe Joni’s last birthday before she’d moved out, the one at a kitschy disco bar in the West Village? Back before Joni hated her, back when she used to light up at the sight of Tess instead of glaring at her with anger and hurt.

“What’s wrong?” the woman asked, peering at Tess.

“Oh, sorry, nothing. Um, I love your dress.”

“This? Miss Sohee, her work is divine. I’ve been gone so long, I have so much fashion to catch up on.”

“Gone?” Tess furrowed her brow. “Gone where?”

“The place you’ll be going. The place you’ve dreamed of,” she murmured. She moved closer to Tess, resting her arms on Tess’s shoulders. Tess felt confused, and claustrophobic—what was happening here?

“What does that mean?”

She leaned close enough to Tess to whisper in her ear. “The Isle.”

“What?” Tess tried to jerk back, but the woman pulled her closer. “What are you talking about? Who are you?”

“Come on, Tess.” She grinned. “You know who I am.”

“Wait—how do you know my name?” Tess was breathing harder now, but all around her, people just kept dancing, too caught up in their own moments to notice hers.

“Because I came here to find you.” The woman looked more serious now, her gaze intensely focused on Tess. “Because I need your help, Tess Rosenbloom. And because you’ve been dying to meet me.”

“I don’t even know who you are,” Tess protested, but her voice was weak as the pieces started to click together.

“Tess, look at me,” the woman ordered.