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Over the next few days, I bit my tongue more than I liked. Vicious was obstinate and could easily try the patience of a saint. By day five, I washed my hands of him. If he wanted to walk around in pain, then so be it. I was done. I had better things to occupy my time.
Before I knew it, I was standing in front of a mirror in shock.
I hated everything about what I saw, from the perfectly coiffed hair to the pristine applied make-up. More importantly, I hated the over expensive and uncomfortable dress and shoes I was wearing.
It was the night of the Foundation Ball. I had to go. As the regent to the heir and head of Duchene International, I was required to make an appearance.
“I look stupid.”
“You look stunning.”
“I don’t want to go.”
“Neither do I, baby, but it’s Malice’s charity. We can go. Make an appearance, then get the hell out of dodge. If we hurry, we might get home so you can kiss the girls goodnight.”
“I’d like that,” I muttered, unable to take my eyes away from the reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back at me looked unfamiliar. I mean, she was me, but not. We had nothing in common.
Vicious stopped behind me and wrapped his arms around me.
“Just a few hours, baby. I swear.”
“Okay.”
This year’s Foundation Ball was being held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. It had been years since I had last been here and the thought of being in such an amazing building excited me to no end. I remember the last time I was here. I just graduated from college and decided to metaphorically let my hair down and celebrate with a few college friends before heading back home to Denver. Somehow, we ended up at the Met and though I remained fully clothed, two of my friends weren’t. That was the first and only night cops chased me.
I never thought I’d be back in the city, let alone attending one of the city’s biggest social events of the season. Not only was the Foundation Ball helping to raise money for a worthwhile and reputable charity, but also as the new CEO of Duchene International, I was bound to make waves. I knew there was a damn good possibility that the board would be there, along with other high-ranking associates. Tonight wasn’t just about the Foundation’s charity, it was also the opening to New York’s Social Season. Everyone who was anyone was bound to be here.
Dressed in a soft yellow, diamond encrusted 1920’s flapper dress, paying homage to F. Scott Fitzgerald’s, The Great Gatsby’s character Daisy, I was in full regalia, thanks to Virginia Stone and her impeccable taste. Everything was pristine, from the sparkling diamond and topaz comb in my hair to the Valentino shoes on my feet. Virginia gave me a chance for my first night out in society. Even my date, as handsome as he was, stood stiffly wearing a custom-tailored black tuxedo, looking bored before we even entered the main hall.
“How long do we have to stay?” Vicious asked, annoyed.
“I thought you knew?”
“Fuck no,” he growled, looking around for someone. “If those fucks leave me hanging tonight, I will make their lives a living hell. I hate this shit.”
“Then why did you agree to come?”
“Didn’t have a choice. The Foundation is Malice’s baby. Was told to show up.”
“Then he should be here somewhere, right?”
Vicious growled. “He better be.”
Shaking my head, I giggled. “I still can’t get over how different the Golden Skulls are to the Soulless Sinners. They are night and day.”
“I invited Viper and Bayou tonight. Both men just looked at me as if I’d grown another head. This life isn’t for everyone. It takes a different breed of man to deal with these people. I grew up around this shit. Most people don’t. Can you imagine Sandman in this place? He would definitely scare everyone to death.”
I chuckled at that. “That he would, but he would make this night more interesting.” I missed my friend. I missed a lot of the people from the compound and wondered how they were doing. They welcomed me into their home and treated me with kindness. I knew I would see nothing of the sort here.
“Amen,” he said, ushering us forward toward the Herald of the evening, who was none other than my grandfather, Happy. He smiled warmly as we approached. “Thank fuck. Friendly faces. All these fake motherfuckers are pissing me off. Why the fuck Malice asked me to do this shit is beyond me. Where’s your invite?”
“Right here, motherfucker,” Vicious said, pointing at his crotch as the couple behind us gasped. “Now get the fuck out of my way, so we can make a round and get the hell out of here.”
Happy laughed loudly before announcing, “The Foundation welcomes Gregory Van Otto and my granddaughter, Linsey Duchene.”
Walking past, I heard Vicious mumble, “I’m gonna kill Montana.”
Wanting to ease some of his tension and angst, I babbled the first thing that came to my head, “Did you know that the Met, founded in 1870, was the brainchild of a group of Americans who wanted to create a national institution and gallery of art, educating the American public? Under the tutelage of John Jay and the Union League Club, made the Met what it is today.”
