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I tried notto cry so I didn’t mess up my makeup. It was pretty hard to do, though, while looking in the mirror at the perfect dress Mom picked out because she knew I wouldn’t think to bring one. It wasn’t just the elegant black gown that hugged my curves in all the right places, the split up the side and neckline stopping just before it was too much. It was also the strappy black heels she’d packed that were making me tear up. We had picked them out together for my college graduation when we thought her cancer was in remission.
A knock on the door provided a welcome distraction. Smoothing out the material, I strode toward the entrance and opened it to find my father and Alyssa waiting. Dad looked handsome in a tux and scarlet cummerbund, and I had to admit, Alyssa’s little red number with matching heels looked beautiful. They were a matching set, always glowing in each other’s presence. It wasn’t that I didn’t want my father to be happy. It was that part of me wondered why he couldn’t have stayed happy with us. Sure, maybe it was juvenile, but I couldn’t help it.
I cleared my throat.
“You look amazing, Sam,” Dad said, holding out his arms to give me a quick squeeze and a kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks, Dad. You too.”
Thankfully, Jackson popped out of his room at the right moment, so I didn’t have to dwell on things for long. He wore a tux as well, looking quite handsome.
“You clean up good,” I teased him.
“Ditto. But now I’ll be worried about beating the wolves off you instead of—”
“Hunting your own prey?” I filled in with a laugh. “No worries, bro. As I keep mentioning, I am a big girl and can take care of myself.”
“Shall we?” Dad asked, offering his elbow to Alyssa.
“Oh, wait,” she said, “I forgot my bag.”
“I’m going to head down before you then,” I said, seizing the opportunity. “I promised Mason I’d sit with him and his family, so I don’t want to be late.”
I had to admit it was fun watching all their mouths fall open in unison when I dropped the name so casually.
“Ground floor,” I told the elevator once inside.
When the lift stopped almost immediately, my nerves wrenched, and I vowed to climb six sets of stairs in heels to my room later. But it wasn’t a wrong floor, just a stop on the way to pick up more party-goers. Unfortunately, those party-goers happened to include Travis. He had no claim on me. I shouldn’t feel guilty that I was going to the party with Mason. And yet, somehow I did.
He had the gall to look both incredibly hot and rude at the same time with his not-so-black-tie outfit. I tried not to stare at his tight black jeans or the cream shirt beneath his corduroy jacket with the top two buttons undone. Though I was somewhat pleased that he couldn’t take his big chocolate eyes off me.
I wavered between wanting to back him into the elevator wall and kiss him, and wanting to tie him to a chair and interrogate him, since he was a self-proclaimed Bennet hater. What if he somehow had framed me for the vandalism?
“You look amazing,” he said as the doors opened and we all stepped off the elevator.
“Thank you,” I said, chastising myself for jumping to conclusions. “I’m surprised you’re here.”
He shrugged and stroked his beard. “Promised my mother and father. Family is everything.”
Indeed, everyone here seemed to think so, and I was beginning to wonder if that was true or dysfunctional.
“But your outfit is a spit in the face of the Bennets?” I guessed.
He grinned. “Glad you understand. I don’t think yours would be an affront to anyone though,” he said.
“Good, because I’m not trying to offend anyone,” I said, glancing around at the Oyster Ballroom as we entered.
The ceiling arched at least fifty feet high, with woodwork framing long panels of glass that showed views of the grounds and ocean beyond. I swallowed, lowering my eyes to the crimson carpet, marble dance floor, and round tables crafted of thick, dark wood with matching high-back chairs fit for royalty. A stage was set up in the corner near the dance floor, with several robot staff arranged around instruments they didn’t play so much as hold in a frozen sort of stasis. The programmed music that flooded the space was pitch-perfect jazz at just the right volume for ambience without drowning the buzz of conversations. Hundreds of candles sat on each table, along with water lilies floating in bowls as centerpieces. A matching chandelier hung low over the center of the space, filled with more candles that couldn’t possibly be real, yet looked like they were.
“Sam,” Travis said, and I dragged my eyes back to him.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“I said, it looks great because my dad designed it. But the head table over there ruins the view.”
I followed his finger to a long rectangular table set up in the center, facing outward like a head table at a wedding. Seated behind its center were Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and Mason.
