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On cue, a smile broke across her face and Diana cooed in delight at the sight of Ali’s dimples. A soft laugh so similar to Charlotte’s filled the space between them.

“Those are what gotcha weren’t they?”

“Indeed, they were,” Charlotte replied, eyes fixed on Ali’s wide smile.

Ali held out her hand. “My dimples and I are pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“Your manners are appreciated, my dear,” Diana said, patting Ali’s cheek. “But please call me Diana or Di, even Ana. Ma’am is far too formal and makes me feel ancient. With these joints I already feel old enough.” Diana bypassed Ali’s hand altogether, sliding an arm around her waist. “Let’s get you introduced, shall we?”

Plastering on her brightest smile Ali met a kaleidoscope of people, their faces blending together. She was out of breath by the time she met James, Charlotte’s step-father, who was perhaps the nicest man to ever walk the earth. A thick head of hair, all white, with hazel eyes enlarged by the lenses of thick-rimmed glasses.

“Cricket, you didn’t say she was an artist!” Diana exclaimed the moment Ali answered James’ questions about her profession. “What medium?”

An onslaught of questions came next, everything from concepts to favorite techniques which she was more than happy to answer.

After thirty minutes, Charlotte made her apologies, pulling Ali away, pressing a cup of water into her hand. The liquid was downed, leaving her smacking her lips, sighing in gratitude.

“I thought you might need this before the final hurdles of the evening.”

Charlotte offered her a flute of champagne next and held out her arm.

“How am I doing?”

“Perfectly. I told you they would all fall victim to that smile of yours.”

Ali sighed in relief, looking ahead to where Charlotte was taking them. A near carbon copy of Charlotte stood tall, presumably hand in hand with Sasha Pryce, nothing welcoming in the steep arch of her brow as she tracked their approach.

“Good god, everyone here won the genetic lottery,” Ali whispered.

Refusing to let the appraising stare fill her with fear, Ali bounded forward, holding her hand out to Lizzie.

“I feel safe assuming you must be Elizabeth Davenport.” Ali greeted. Lizzie took Ali’s hand, her grip verging on viselike. “Charlotte has told me so much about you. It’s good to meet you. I’m Ali.”

Ali continued shaking Lizzie’s hand with far too much enthusiasm. Arresting eyes that shifted toward green instead of Charlotte’s blue considered her. Ali held her gaze, keeping dimples on full display. Elizabeth smiled back.

“Thank you for coming and keeping my sister out of trouble this evening.”

“Of course, thank you for having me.”

At last, she dropped Lizzie’s hand, thrusting her own out to another stunning woman with curves for days, flawless warm chestnut skin, eyes the color of burnt sienna, and black hair that fell just past her shoulders in an impressive array of curls.

“Hi, I’m Ali.”

“Sasha Pryce.”

It was disorienting how she managed to sound both warm and welcoming, yet cool and aloof all at once. Everything from her clothing to the softness of her features was inviting. Only for the rigidity in her spine to contradict what was observed at a glance.

“Congratulations on the engagement and may I just say, this place is amazing.” Ali gestured to the mansion and surrounding grounds.

“Thank you,” Sasha replied. “We are rather proud of it.”

Ali caught the purse in Lizzie’s lips and wondered if perhaps the rather in Sasha’s statement was an exaggeration.

Fascinating.

But Ali thought back to the opulence she walked through and wondered if perhaps it was a gilded cage, not a home.

A pretty petite blonde with hazel eyes appeared, throwing her arms around Charlotte. Dressed in a chartreuse suit, with high-waisted slacks, jacket hung open revealing the matching crop top and exposed skin. A bold color she pulled off well.