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The Lancaster fortune is vast. Dad could totally get Taylor to make a special appearance at my party. He could pay her millions and it wouldn’t make a dent in the family bank account.
“I tried, but she couldn’t make it,” Dad says with a mock pout.
I push aside the trickle of disappointment and move on to my next favorite. “Harry Styles then?”
“Close.” His grin is huge as he loops his arm through mine. Mom does the same with my right one, all three of us linked as we head for the marble stairs that lead down into the ballroom. “Take one more guess.”
“Someone else from One Direction?” My brain scrambles, my footsteps faltering as we draw closer. The music grows louder, the roar of many conversations happening at once becoming more distinct. “Maybe Liam?”
Ugh, Liam. He’s my least favorite.
“You’ll see.” The mysterious smile on my dad’s face tells me he’s loving this.
“Stop making her guess,” Mom says, sounding vaguely irritated. “She’ll find out soon enough.”
We stop at the top of the stairs, my dad waving at the man with a microphone in his hand standing nearby. The heady scent of thousands of flowers hits my nostrils, rich and sweet, and I stare down at the ballroom, taking it all in. The walls are bathed in pink light just for the night, the giant chandeliers that hang from the ceiling glittering in varying shades of pink.
There’s a woman on stilts moving through the crowd, wearing a white dress with a massive skirt, the bodice dripping with strings of pearls. A violin is tucked beneath her chin as she plays a delicate tune. Servers clad in pink velvet jackets move about the room, carrying trays laden with champagne glasses full of pale-pink bubbly.
I suddenly, desperately want a drink, despite my being underage. Eighteen is the legal age to drink in Europe, right?
“Attention, everyone! The birthday girl has finally arrived! Please put your hands together in welcoming our guest of honor of the evening, Miss Scarlett Lancaster!” the man with the microphone announces.
A spotlight hits us, illuminating the three of us in shimmering pink, and I blink against the brightness, unable to make out any friendly faces. The applause is polite as we walk down the stairs, a few shouts of “happy birthday” coming from deep within the crowd. All I can do is smile and nod, pretending I know who is saying what to me as we finally come off the stairs and walk past the crowds, moving deeper into the room.
I’m trembling. God, I even stumble, and thankfully my parents keep me upright so I don’t fall and make a complete fool of myself. Mom murmurs words of encouragement, telling me to keep my chin up and make eye contact, and while I try, the spotlight is making it impossible.
Worse, all I can do is wonder where Ian is. Is he here? What is he wearing? He said he would be in a suit, and I’m sure he looks crushingly handsome. I don’t know if my heart will be able to take it when I finally see him.
I spot a man in the near distance, tall and lean. Much like Ian. Golden-brown hair. Is that him?
The spotlight drops and I blink, my vision back to normal, and I realize the man isn’t Ian. Disappointment swamps me and I push it aside.
This evening is a happy occasion. Everything is going to come together and work in my favor.
I just know it.
“We have another exciting announcement,” says the man, who I’m assuming my parents must’ve hired to be the MC for the night. “There will be a special performance taking place in honor of Scarlett’s eighteenth birthday tonight. A member of one of her all-time favorite bands will be taking the stage in just a few minutes, performing some of their biggest hits!”
I glance over at my dad, who’s watching me with fondness shining in his eyes. He looks ready to burst apart with his secret.
“Who is it? Just tell me,” I insist, already over the surprise factor.
I’ve never really been one who likes surprises anyway.
He grins, his excitement palpable as he rests his hand on top of mine, my arm still curved around his. “Tate Ramsey!”
I frown as my father’s answer sinks in, glancing about the room, my gaze snagging on the dessert table, which is covered with eighteen cakes in various shapes and sizes. This party is making me feel like Marie Antoinette, I swear. And I don’t know if that’s necessarily a good thing.
“Tate Ramsey?” My voice is weak, my mind swirling.
Oh God. Wait a minute...
The has-been lead singer from that one boy band that was huge when I was, what, thirteen?
“You mean from Five Car Pileup?”
Dad nods, seemingly pleased. “One and the same. I remember how much you adored them. Him specifically.”
