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“And where do you come from, Kiranna?”
My stomach squirms as I try to come up with a plausible lie. I don’t know what Dacre is saying about me, if he’s saying anything at all. This whole thread is like a thin gossamer web that could unravel at the slightest pull. "I’m from California,” I say, remembering at least that much. “Alexander thought it would be a treat for me to bring me to this party. I don’t get out much.” The understatement of the year.
It hits me that she doesn’t recognize me. Mercier must have done a good job of making me into someone else. Maybe I should change my name to Kiranna and be done with it. I take another sip of the champagne, and this time it goes down smoothly.
“What a wonderful young fellow. I’m sure he’ll be an asset to the company. Oh, there’s Cecily. I must go and speak with her. Will you be alright here by yourself? Should I find Alexander for you?”
I appreciate her trying to help me, but now I’ve had some champagne, I find that I don’t want to spend the evening with Dacre. Let him spend the evening licking his new boss’s ass. I’m at a party. A real party, with real champagne. Talking with Tina has calmed my nerves, and the alcohol is helping to soften the frayed edges. “He’s probably talking business with your husband,” I say, mustering up a small laugh. “I’ll be fine here.”
“It was lovely to meet you, Kiranna.”
It occurs to me that I should have asked her where the toilet is, but she’s already gone. I’m on my own, surrounded by hundreds of people I don’t know. Not everyone in this world is out to get me. I swallow down the rest of the champagne and polish off the canapé. It tastes divine. I stand and sway to the music, finally enjoying myself. No one else talks to me, so I listen in on nearby conversations. Tina was wrong. Not many people are talking business. Most are gossiping. I’m blind, but with the outrageous things I’m hearing about the super wealthy, it seems that people are blind to me too. I stiffen when I hear Dacre’s name in one of the conversations. I lean slightly toward the two speaking to better hear what’s being said. A woman’s voice with a slight European accent speaks first. “That’s Jonathan Dacre’s son. I thought he’d been disinherited.”
“What makes you say that?” A man’s voice this time. “I saw Jonathan and Mary a couple of weeks ago and they mentioned he was doing well at university.”
“Maybe I’m wrong. There’s been gossip, that’s all. You never see him at parties anymore. There used to be a time when he went to every soiree with them. Now, no one ever sees him.”
I shouldn’t care about what people think or say about Dacre, but listening to the two strangers speaking is more thrilling than listening to my soap operas. Dacre is like the lead man in my own private drama.
“You shouldn’t listen to gossip, Jessica. He’s here now. Of course he hasn’t been to any parties with his parents, he’s a grown man. When was the last time you went to a party with your parents?”
“That’s not fair, Christopher. You know my parents are in ill health. I’d love to go to a party with them.”
“I’m sorry I take that back, but you know what I mean. No self respecting twenty-something-year-old wants to be seen dead with their parents. I know that when I was that age, I would rather chew my own ear off than spend time with mine.”
“You weren’t the heir to a massive fortune, though, were you? I’m sure if you were going to come into billions of dollars, you’d have shown your face at least at a couple of parties. Hence why I heard he’d been disinherited.”
Billions of dollars? I wonder what he did to get disinherited. I lean toward them instinctively, eager to hear more.
“Maybe, but he only inherits when they die and they are relatively young. Late fifties. Cut the guy some slack. He’s learning the ropes. Letterman gave him an internship. That’s why he’s here.”
I lean forward to catch more of the conversation, but my foot gets tangled in my chair leg and I trip, almost falling on my face.
“Hey watch it,” the woman screeches. “That’s Balenciaga.”
I apologize to the woman and stumble away from them. It’s a mistake. In my chair, I was tethered to something, but now I’m adrift. My heart begins to pound once again as I try to latch onto something, but the table and chairs are out of my reach and I’m disoriented by so many people. I know I must stand out a mile as I walk forward with my hands out, my feet feeling for other designer handbag obstacles that could send me sprawling. It’s like walking through a minefield of designer bags and designer perfume. I let out a breath when my hand touches something hard. It’s only when someone asks me what I want to drink that I realize I’m at a bar. “Champagne please.” I don’t have money to pay for it, but the last one was free, so I’m hoping this one is too. If not, I’ll charge it to Alexander. If he is heir to billions, he can afford a glass of champagne or two. I consider it payment for this great lie he’s dragged me into and for playing his cousin for the evening. It occurs to me that if he has billions, why is he holding me captive for a paltry thirty million? Maybe he likes holding girls captive. Mercier certainly seems to get a thrill from it, but so far Alexander has seemed annoyed by my presence. Maybe Jessica was right, and he was disinherited. There’s so much going on here, that I have to kick myself to remind me that I shouldn’t care. I want information about Dacre, but I shouldn’t be so invested in it.
A champagne flute is placed in front of me. I hear the glass touch the top of the bar. No payment is asked for, so I take the champagne and sip it quickly. I've already disobeyed Alexander by moving from my chair, so there’s really nothing stopping me from doing what I want to do. Fear threatens to paralyze me, but the champagne is doing a great job of keeping it at bay. I step away from the bar, this time with one hand on my glass and the other at my side. No more playing the dumb blind girl. I know how to avoid obstacles. If I walk slowly and feel with my feet, I think I can get away with being just like these people. I want to hear the music. It’s being played in the distance at the other side of a large room, but with the noise of the chatter, I can’t hear it well enough. I make it my mission to find somewhere to sit closer to the string quartet and enjoy my evening.
I bump into a few people as I walk, but a few hurried sorry’s and I’m not questioned.
The people here are so up their own asses that I could probably get out a cane and wave it around in front of me and they wouldn’t take notice unless I spill champagne on their handbags.
A hand grabs the fleshy part of my arm and spins me around on the spot, sloshing what little is left of my champagne over the edge of the glass and onto my fingers. “What the fuck are you doing?” Dacre hisses in my ear. His voice drips with venom, low and angry. My initial reaction is to cringe in fear, but the champagne has fueled me with the confidence I usually lack.
“You left me!” I say, pulling my arm from his grip. “You know that I don’t know anyone and I don’t know this place, but you left me on my own while you swanned off with your rich friends. What if there’d been a fire? What if I got hurt? Died? I guess you might give a shit then at the thought of losing your precious thirty million dollars now that mommy and daddy have disinherited you.”
I’m not sure if it is true, but is explains why he’s so weird and why, despite hating everything about me, he was the most vocal to keep me locked up instead of just taking me back to my father right at the start.
He takes my hand and pulls me roughly through the crowd. “Where did you hear that?”
“What?” My brain has started to spin and I’m regretting drinking two glasses of champagne so fast on an empty stomach. I’ve totally lost track of the conversation we were having.
“About me being disinherited?” His voice is lower now. He doesn’t want anyone hearing him.
Oh that. “I don’t know. Some people were talking about it. A man and a woman.”
“Shit,” he lets out a long breath. “Who? Can you describe them?”
