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Grabbing the rest of my costume from the back seat, I secure the large black wings to the back of my dress, taking a second to admire them through the dark windows of my car.
Dad helped to make the large wire frame and then covered it with black feathers, dipping each one in glitter. The wings are large, dark, sparkly, and beautiful. Paired with my black dress, knee-high boots, and lipstick—I look dark and deadly.
“Mikaela!” Vaughn coos as I enter through the grand foyer, clicking my heels against the marble floor. A beer is wrapped in his fist, dripping condensation from his fingers while he opens both arms wide, pulling me in for a hug.
Of the four boys, Vaughn is probably the most responsible. He’s in his last year of law school and already has a job lined up in D.C. for when he’s done. But law school must take its toll because he’s also the first of us to get wasted. Though the stress doesn’t help, I’m sure, the constant pressure of his family's expectations looming over his head.
When you’re rich, connections start to mean almost as much as money and the best ones are familiar connections. What better way to join a family than marry into it?
Everyone in their social circle does it, all of that one percent. They pawn off their kids, trade them away for status and power.
It’s like a game.
I shoot Vaughn a pitiful look, the same one I always give. The dissatisfaction hangs on him, he’s a shell of himself under that burden of responsibility. I can’t imagine what that feels like, what it’s like to live this life. People think money buys happiness, but when I look at Noah and these boys, I think that’s a lie. Money can buy things you enjoy, sure, but that only covers up the pain like a blanket. Just hiding it from view, but it’s still there, deep in the darkness.
He pulls back, pressing a kiss to each of my cheeks dramatically. “Noah! Mikaela’s here,” he calls, his words slur and I can tell he’s already had too many drinks. Someone will be around to chastise him soon, scolding him for getting too loose. You can’t let you guard down, ever.
The house is filled, probably fifty to seventy people are here. I see Mariam flutter by in an elegant gown with a chic mask. Mariam isn’t one to miss an opportunity to look amazing, drenched in a rich red color with an extravagant mask made of feathers, glitter and gems.
The house is decorated extravagantly with dark fabrics and crystal balls. Skulls dipped in gold litter the surfaces along with vases of black roses. I soak in the dark vibes, the witchy elegance. I love the theme of it all.
“Hey beautiful.” Strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me against a hard body. I feel Noah move his lips from my ears down to the crook of my neck, his grip still tight around me. He smells like black coffee and cedarwood and I inhale the scent, letting it wash over me.
I tilt my head, smiling up at him. His black hair is curling slightly at the edges and it falls in his face when he looks down at me. His lips press against the tip of my nose as we hold that position. “I missed you,” he whispers.
“You saw me yesterday,” I laugh, spinning out of his grip and turning to face him.
“So long ago,” he pouts, pushing out his bottom lip at me.
I feel special in his arms. His words, his voice, everything about him pulls me in, wrapping me in warmth and happiness. It’s not lost on me that I don’t fit into his world easily. We’re puzzle pieces that have been warped. We should fit together, the picture is absolutely perfect, but we don’t slide into place next to each other. It takes work to fit the two pieces together.
The thought has passed through my mind that I’m just a phase for him, the poor girl he’ll date for a moment and then toss to the curb once the thrill has worn off. At first, I expected the other shoe to drop. I guarded myself, waiting for that inevitable break up, but it never came.
Slowly he broke down all my walls, chipping away at them until I was laid bare before him. I feel safe in his arms, happy with him. I let myself lean into his warm embrace, seek comfort in him.
“What are you?” Noah asks, pulling back from me and letting his eyes wander over my outfit.
“An angel,” I grin. “But a dark one.”
Noah drives us today. I spare a glance at his ankle monitor as we head to the car. The thick black plastic cuff around his ankle is clearly visible underneath the bottom of his black dress pants.
“It’s fine, Mik.” He chuckles, reading my mind. “I’m allowed to leave the house as long as I get it approved.” He tells me as he walks around to the passenger side of his matte black Mercedes S-Class. A grin is etched on his face as he swings t
he door open for me, ever the gentleman.
I hum softly under my breath, mulling over this new piece of information. So this is an approved venture. I wonder if anyone else gets to leave their house while fighting murder charges, or is this something that just applies to the rich. Hell, most people wouldn’t even get bail or an ankle monitor, they would probably be tossed in a cell with the key thrown away.
Not Noah, though.
Never Noah.
His family has too much money and a far reach for him to be locked away.
“You look good,” he tells me, his eyes scanning my body as I sit down in the passenger seat, feeling the soft leather beneath my bare thighs. I picked a navy blue dress from the closet full of clothes, I’m assuming all supplied by Mariam or her personal shopper. The dress hits slightly above my knees with buttons down the front and ties at my waist. It’s modest and pretty and felt appropriate for what he wanted.
His dark eyes linger on me for an extra moment and approval coats his features. His family is all about appearances. Aesthetics. They like to look good, always on trend, never a hair out of place.
The Bancrofts put on a show, an act. Everything that can be seen of them is fake, a conceived lie to make them look perfect.
