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With a slight smile, I swipe my purse from the passenger seat and head up the wide stone stairs to the front porch. I can’t help but hesitate under the arched portico before pushing open the massive mahogany door and peering cautiously inside. Even though this has been my home for six and a half years, most of the time, I feel like a guest.
Mom refused to bring any of our old furniture when we moved. Everything was packed up and dumped at the Salvation Army. When she attempted to donate my old bedroom set, I put my foot down, unwilling to part with the last piece of my childhood. Not that it was expensive or an antique like everything carefully curated to fill this house, but it’s mine. It’s the only thing that made me feel like it was sort of my home, too. Now the bedroom set is at the apartment and guest furniture fills my bedroom here.
“Good evening, Miss Brooke,” an older woman greets, hustling into the grand double story foyer. Her voice echoes off the cavernous walls and gleaming marble floors. “Your mother was just wondering when you’d arrive.”
I paste a smile on my face.
Mrs. Folly is the house manager slash housekeeper. Her ability lies in making sure everything on the vast estate runs like clockwork. It didn’t take long for her to become my mother’s right-hand woman. I don’t know how she does it, but she manages to be a cross between cheery grandmother and five-star general. Luckily, she took an instant liking to me and made living in this mausoleum bearable, which I know sounds crazy.
Who wouldn’t enjoy living in a mansion with every conceivable luxury at their fingertips?
I guess the answer would be me.
“Sorry, I’m running a little late.” More like I was hoping to slip inside the house unnoticed right before the party began without having to deal with Elaine. She’ll be fluttering around like a manic butterfly, making sure everything is carefully arranged to her meticulous specifications.
“Your gown has been pressed and is waiting upstairs in the bedroom.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Folly. I appreciate it.”
She nods before bustling off down the long stretch of marble corridor where the bar is located. A few guys decked out in black and white formalwear are busy checking the liquor and polishing stemware.
I hurry up the sweeping staircase to the second floor and swing a left on the landing before reaching my bedroom. Once inside, I find the gown Mrs. Folly was talking about hanging in a clear plastic bag on the closet door. I drop my purse on the bed before gravitating to the garment.
I’m almost afraid of what my mother picked out. If I know her—and I do—it’ll be something tight and clinging, which is exactly what she enjoys wearing. The only problem is that we don’t have the same body type. Elaine is petite, barely reaching five foot three. She’s more china doll-like with big blue eyes and thick, ash-colored blonde hair. She’s been a size six her entire life. Even though I’m only a couple inches taller, our bodies couldn’t be more different. I’m curvier with big boobs and an ass.
I’m also someone who enjoys consuming food.
When I’m not in her presence, that is.
I pull off the plastic wrapper to inspect the gown. It’s a beautiful V-neck A-line champagne colored dress that glitters under the lights. There’s a long slit on the left side. Matching heels have been set out along with jewelry. It goes without saying that I will be all but poured into this garment. It’s doubtful I’ll be able to breathe for the next few hours.
With a huff, I strip off everything except my thong. There’s no way the bra I wore will fit under the dress. Upon closer inspection, it appears the bodice has a built-in shelf. I suppose that’s better than nothing.
Although not by much.
It takes several attempts to zip up the back. I have to suck everything in and hold my breath. Then I slip my feet into the heels, add the sparkling diamond necklace and matching earrings, and head into the en suite to touch up my makeup and give my hair a few more waves. With one final adjustment to my boobs, I leave the safety of my bedroom behind.
Reaching the open gallery on the second floor that overlooks the foyer, I pause and survey the already thick crowd. A babble of voices greets my ears as the front door opens and a handful of couples stroll inside. They’re immediately greeted by a waiter holding a silver tray of crystal champagne flutes. The women help themselves as the men head for the bar where the stronger stuff is being served.
With my hand wrapped around the iron banister, I carefully descend to the first floor. Elaine and Garret stand sentinel in the entryway, greeting their guests with welcoming smiles. I hear mention of the silent auction taking place in one of the other rooms.
