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Music plays softly through the entire house, pumped from where the musicians play outside. It makes the gym seem even morehigh school prom. Momma let the Troublemakers pick the band, and I’m kind of surprised they like the acoustic stuff.
The overall effect as I enter is theatrical, bright and warm and full of opulent promise. Sort of perfect—if you’re into that kind of thing. Tonight, I am. But only because of who I’m waiting for.
I’m tantalizingly aware of every movement of my blue silk gown sweeping my legs, plunging down my back, hugging my breasts and ass. Long slits up both sides make it easy for me to move. Never know when I might need to run or leave myself open for groping.
The latter I’m kind of hoping for. Speaking of Sandesh…
I peek out one of the long windows as guests arrive in sleek, black limos. It’s like watching the Academy Awards as drivers escort ladies and gentlemen from the cars. People have gathered out front to chat, remark on the home, laugh, flirt, look hot and wealthy and successful for the hired photographers.
Many of the guests mill about in small groups before making their way through the house. Leland and Momma stand outside the large front doors at the top of the stone stairs, welcoming everyone. Leland looks sharp and handsome and confident in his tuxedo with the turquoise tie. Momma looks elegant in her silver-and-turquoise gown with matching niqab.
Bella wears a simple, unadorned yellow dress. She has a fistful of Momma’s ten-thousand-dollar gown in her little hands and is clinging to it like a lifeline. Momma doesn’t protest or try to have care staff take her; she merely directs her guests around the little girl as she greets them.
That’s unusual.
“Looking good, J.”
I turn from the window as Tony strides up to me. His dark hair is brushed back, hazel eyes playful and amused. He looks great in his tux.
“Right back at you.” I run a hand along his tux. “Look out, ladies.”
He grunts, flicks his chin toward the windows. “He here yet?”
We turn as one to the windows. “Nope.”
We watch the parade of guests in silence and my eyes fall on Bella again.
“You see that?” I point to the child hiding behind Momma’s dress. “She’s not engaging with anyone, and Momma is just letting it happen.” Momma has a thing for making sure each of her daughters interacts with the outside world in a forthright and open manner.
“Yeah. Whatever happened to her,” Tony says, “it must’ve been something.”
True. The fact that Bella gets special treatment means that her story prompts a great deal of sympathy from Momma more than any other she’s ever heard. I wonder about that kid. Sometimes, new adoptees are quick to tell their stories, sometimes not. It’s done in a therapy session, recorded, and then played for the family, but it’s still a suck fest.
“I want to be there when Bella decides to tell her story.”
“Maybe she never will.”
I look at him; he can’t be serious. “Of course she will. It’s part of our culture. We might not share blood, but we can share each other’s pain. Everyone tells their story.”
“Not me. No one has ever asked me.”
“But…” The argument dies in my throat. He’s right. I know details of his story because we talked as kids, but he never formally shared his story with the family. “How come you got away with not sharing?”
An annoyed grimace crosses his face before he takes a step back. He shuffles his shoes against the wood floor, averting his eyes before gesturing out the window, around the room, and toward the front corridor. “You see them?”
He doesn’t sayFeds, but I know that’s who he’s referencing. Though most of the people in here are kids—both family and the children of guests—I spot the outsiders easily. Stiff. Capable looking. Dressed nice but not too nice. Muscular and thin, like they eat nothing but knowledge, and work out as a matter of survival. “It’s to be expected. Lot of VIPs here tonight.”
Set up that way to keep the Feds busy so Sandesh and I will be able to have plenty of eyes witnessing our grind fest. Though I know Sandesh is nervous, I’m not worried about it. If there’s one thing I can do well with that man, it’s let the sparks fly.
My insides flutter at the plan details. When I’m introduced to thank the guests, I’m to take the microphone, give a slurred speech, say something embarrassing about how hot Sandesh looks, then drag him out to the dance floor.
Yeehaw.I kind of like the idea of being the center of attention in that way, but since Sandy won’t be here for a while, I’ll have to entertain myself with my weird brother.
I grab his hand. “Okay, sis, let’s show our siblings how it’s done.”
He rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, J.”
We exit through French doors held open by well-dressed servers, past a bartender bent over stacking crates, and the event coordinator aggressively speaking into a headset.
