Gabe snickered while Wes gave me a shy look and shrugged. “Who says I don’t have a date waiting for you at the ball?”
“Oh my gosh, Wes Michels! I knew you could do it!” I lunged into his arms and kissed his cheek. “You and your loads of money created an exact replica of Prince Charming?”
He burst out laughing. “Nope.”
“Channing Tatum?”
The girls sighed behind me while Gabe huffed.
“Sorry.”
“Ryan Gosling?”
“Naw.” He winked, clearly enjoying our little game. “But I think you’ll like him. After all, I’ve been told he’s really hot. Besides, I kind of grew up with him — well, at least went to prep school with him until his family moved away.”
“Ah, childhood friend.” My eyes narrowed. “Admit it. You’re setting me up with the friend in high school that got no play.”
“Actually…” Wes’s cheeks went a bit pink. “…pretty sure he got the most play in the entire school.”
The room fell silent.
Gabe walked up to Wes and patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, man. Let it out.”
“How is that possible?” Saylor asked what everyone was thinking.
“Hey!” Gabe crossed his arms and glared.
“Trust me. You’ll see,” was all Wes said as we filed out of the house and into the waiting limo.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to see, especially considering I was defective. The type of girl who couldn’t even kiss a guy without getting traumatic flashbacks. I was both a tease and a prude. How the heck had that happened?
“To the masquerade, Govna!” Gabe shouted in a fake British accent once we were all seated inside the limo.
I gave an exaggerated cringe. “And that’s why you never took any of those UK roles. Your accent sucks, Gabe.”
He rolled his eyes, and everyone fell into easy conversation about the masquerade, about the money it was raising for Gabe's foundation, about the new technology Wes’s family’s company was adding to all the local hospitals. They were like one big happy world-saving family. All doing something to benefit others, while I couldn’t stop thinking about myself, about my failure, about my sadness.
Everyone was excited for the future.
Everyone but me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Tell me a secret,” I whispered in her ear. I was a collector of secrets. I used them as currency and knew if I had all of hers, I could own her like she owned me.
“I don’t like being mean,” she finally said. “But I love you.”
She was eighteen. She didn’t know what love was. If I was love, then she was seriously deranged, maybe even more so than I. Then again, I was a great actor. I was charismatic, good-looking, rich — and the best part? She had no freaking clue who I really was. Didn’t even know my last name. How great is that? I’d like to think that in the end, when this is all over, when I’m gone, I’d done one thing right. I’d at least protected my family from the demons. —The Journal of Taylor B.
Tristan
THE BLACK MASK covered up my entire face, leaving only spots to breathe and two holes for my eyes. My hair fell in waves over my forehead as I hurried through the doors into the main ballroom. Usually at functions like this, I had my hair slicked back, professional-looking, but I’d run out of time to do anything but leave it as was, which meant I probably looked like an untamed hellion.
Everything was transformed. The Hilton hotel downtown may as well have been the setting to some regency-inspired movie.
I was nervous. Not that I had any reason to be. It wasn’t like Lisa was going to be there, or that I’d have to fight that ever-growing attraction to her that pissed me off on a daily basis. Grinding my teeth together, I pulled on my white gloves then adjusted my black tie. My suit was head-to-toe black, custom-made, only something a Westinghouse would wear.
After all, tonight I wasn’t the undercover professor. Damn, just saying it in my head sounded so wrong.
Tonight, I was son to a very important, very wealthy man. And I had to play the part I’d been born to play my whole life. The part of perfection. Perfect straight smile, smooth talker. I wasn’t vain enough to think I was actually all of those things, but I knew damn well how to pull it off so that every single person within my vicinity was eating out of the palm of my hand.
The orchestra played softly in the background as people swayed in rhythm in the middle of the parquet dance floor. The chandelier’s golden glow mixed with the silver moonlight dripping through the windows and gave the room a fairytale ambience. Tall, white-tapered candles stood at intervals across each buffet table, casting flickering reflections off silver chafing dishes.
And the masks. Good God, the masks. They were everywhere, hiding the guests’ faces… and their secrets. The rich liked that — the masks. They made them feel mysterious.
The place looked… nice. Then again, for five hundred a head, the place had better look nice. It was hard not to think about the money being spent, considering that was part of my job, though a small part. Make sure to throw enough money to make the family look good. Make sure that my father looked good.
I made my way across the room, gliding between the bodies of people and sidestepped an elderly woman, only to run directly into someone in the process.
Black lace brushed against my gloves as I lightly laid my hands on her petite shoulders to steady her. I cleared my throat and mumbled, “Apologies.”