The Masquerade
"The pleasure of your company is requested..." she read aloud, eyes widening as they danced along the gold leaf invitation. "Darling! We've made it, finally! You'll never guess who this invitation is from!" Dany tore away with a squeal, running into the kitchen with the mysterious paper held high.
"Who? Dany, WHO?" Marc insisted, begrudgingly following his new bride on her victory lap.
"Who's account did you single-handedly triple in size?!" she grinned, fanning herself with the card before veiling the lower half of her face with it. Behind the expensive layers of linen she purred with a horribly fake French accent, "zee Compte et Contess weesh you to join zem for an even-ing of meestery, an-treeg, et fantasee!" She finished by unveiling her glossed lips, presented widely in a smile. Marc's mouth dropped open in equal measure.
Angeline opened the invitation in silence over a half-empty glass of expensive wine. Jonathon wouldn't be home for hours--he was probably out with his whore, anyway--and she couldn't wait all night. Besides that, she reasoned, she already knew what it was; she hadn't spent months at the gym sucking up to the old bat for nothing. All that boring conversation with the Countess was about to pay off. Delicately manicured fingernails glided over the expensive paper, tracing the words. An evening of mystery, intrigue, and fantasy.
They would definitely be going to the masquerade, she decided. Jon may not like stuffy parties, but he'd owe her one after tonight. Oh yes, they'd definitely be going.
"You've got to be kidding me. Who refers to themselves as "Count" or "Countess" these days? What're they gonna do, count puppet bats for us and suck our blood?"
"Ugh, Stan. Could you please just attempt to not sound white trash nouveau riche? PLEASE?"
An expression of mock embarassment clouded Stan's cheeks, already a hearty pink. "Aww, Tess, I'm just kidding. I'll behave." His pout erupted into the wry look she'd fallen in love with. He pinched and tickled her sides. She squirmed and giggled, but only clenched the invitation more tightly. "We'll go," he affirmed. "And we'll be in fah-bulous regalia."
"Promise?" she queried, eyes searching his for the truth. He returned her hopeful gaze with a benevolent smile.
"Promise."
Gage lived the kind of life most men dreamed about: a different, stunningly beautiful woman every night, a veritable smorgasbord of sportscars and toys at his fingertips, an apartment that would make Donald Trump cry. While some trust fund babies complained of boredom and tried the whole philanthropy route, Gage lived up every penny of his family's wealth.
"Wake up, babe. Loooraa..." He lightly caressed the blonde's breast. When she didn't reply a moment later, he tweaked her nipple harshly.
The supermodel yipped and shot upright, instinctively wrapping herself in silk sheets. "God, Gage. You scared the shit out of me," she chided. In an instant the alarm had passed, once again bringing a look of angelic sleep to her face. "Mmm, come back to bed."
"No can do. I've got tennis at 11 and lunch with the boys at 1. Listen, are you free Saturday? I don't usually plan a week ahead, but there's kind of this big deal going on and I need a date. Interested?"
Of course she was. Half the modeling circuit was interested in New York's most eligible--and most notorious--bachelor. Lora, however, was born with the cool reactions and common sense most women aren't. "Hmm, maybe. What kind of big deal?"
"Well, it's pompous old money throwing a masquerade ball. You get to get all dolled up and I'll prance you around in front of everyone, let them see I'm still in the club. Maybe after we'll hit a real party. Would you like that?" The devilish grin that made Gage famous made a cameo as he stroked her lovely cheekbone.
Would she like that? She'd love that. Instead, Lora sighed, reclining on her side. "I guess I can do that. Since you asked so nicely."
"Perfect. Oh, and uh--Lora. You can show yourself out whenever you get dressed."
Lora bit her lip and watched him leave the room, thinking how much she'd like to show him where to go. The thought only lingered for a moment before she realized: she had a party to shop for.
...to be continued