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It’s not like there’s someone out there I want to impress tonight.
My stomach drops at the thought, and I don't know why, nor have I the time to keep on prodding myself for answers.
I have to go.
I comb my fingers through my waves, bringing them more over my shoulders, and clip the shorter strands at the sides of my head with thin, bejeweled silver clips.
I shimmy inside my midnight blue strapless dress and smooth the silk and gauze mesh fabric over my wide hips, stretching it until it reaches my knees, the dark, gossamer overlay flopping a few inches lower. Next, I put on a pair of silvery, high-heeled strappy sandals, hoping not to break my neck while trying to walk in them.
One would think I should have gotten used to wearing vertiginous heels by now, what with being a corporate lawyer and always having to dress the part and all, but I never did.
To tell the truth, I usually get away with wearing more comfy, if elegant, shoes. High heels are definitely not the reason I got into the profession.
Unbridled, a pair of aqua-green eyes pop up from nowhere in the middle of my brain, and I clench my jaw in irritation, searching for a reason why I should be thinking of him, of all people.
I conclude that Sookie and Jane's teasing has me more on edge than I thought. Plus, I was thinking of uncomfortable shoes. So, maybe it's not too much of a stretch that my mind went to the next most uncomfortable thing I know, namely being in the presence of those brilliant, inscrutable eyes.
I pick up my silver pochette and drop my phone inside it as I head for the door with a sigh, readying myself for one hell of an uncomfortable long night in the mansion of His Royal Smugness.
Yep. The party is going to be heldChez Welton.
Not at a fancy hotel.
Not at Carl’s beautiful, ginormous flat.
No. Because, of course, that's my luck.
Mr. Moneybags could have thought of a less flashy, all-attention-on-me-I-am-such-a-good-guy kind of present for the happy couple, but alas, he did not.
Not only did he offer both his family's huge estate and sprawling lawns to celebrate the engagement, but he covered the entire expenses of it, from catering to music and to decorations —Jane has been gushing about the whole shebang for days now— and to top it all off, he booked them a suite at one of the most lavishly pretentious spas in all of Boston for the weekend.
Yes, yes, I know! How very generous of him, blah, blah, blah…
I still don’t have to like it, though. Right?
* * *
I stepout of the huge portico decked up with tiny, white, twinkling lights, and I have to smile.
The prick really outdid himself. The impressive-even-when-bare, enormous back garden looks like a veritable fairyland.
He even remembered Jane's favorite color for the decorations. She must be over the moon. The whole thing was kept very hush-hush from her, and while she was consulted on the menu and such, she had no idea of what exactly was being prepared for her and Carl.
A majestic, white tent has been erected on the lawn for the party; candlelit, round tables with lavender coverings, spread with all kinds of hors d'oeuvres known to mankind, are visible through the almost-floating opening. Light purple and white flower compositions of lilies and orchids line the entrance, and hundreds of little white and purple tealights are positioned on either side of the path leading to it.
At least ten waiters are busying themselves around, carrying silver trays with appetizers, drinks, and chilled glasses of champagne, while two smiling, winsome bartenders are manning the bar.
A delicate aroma fills the balmy air, along with romantic jazzy music played live by what looks more like an orchestra with a singer than a simple band.
I spot Jane, positively stunning in a cerulean-blue gown so soft in both material and color that it looks like it's made of clouds. She is not wearing any jewelry besides a huge sparkly grin and a single princess-cut diamond on her finger that could be seen from the space with the right lens. Carl is beside her, one arm around her waist, dapper in his dark blue suit and smiling as big as her.
It does my heart all kinds of good seeing them this happy and in love, but I can’t help the little bit of melancholy that I feel, wondering for the umpteenth time in their presence if I’m ever going to be that happy with someone. Not that I have time for a relationship. My life is all work, work, work, and looming payments of student loans at present. No need to mess it up even more.
I scan the throngs of people—all of Boston high society must be gathered here. My guess is there are roughly two-hundred guests around, but that’s what happens when your fiancé is the Chief financial officer of a company worth billions. Any occurrence needing celebration also becomes an occasion to shake hands with other big shots.
I see Sookie and Tony twirling together and bantering like brother and sister in the middle of the large portable dance floor.
I keep looking around, and then I finally see him. I frown. Was I looking for him?
