The Masquerade
continued
"Are you sure I look okay?" Dany fiddled with the corset of her gown nervously, tugging at fabric here, matting it down over there. "It's super important that we show them we can handle this sort of wealth."
"Relax, sweetheart. They're watching me, not you. You're not going to manage their portfolios, are you?" Marc kidded, smiling as he caught the scent of her new perfume. He slipped the ornate mask over her golden curls and adjusted the eyepieces. Dany was transformed; there before him stood a beauty in swan's guise, with an elegantly sloping neck to match. De Léon would almost definitely be impressed. Her arm in his, the phoenix guided his swan away from the valet and began the long walk to the front door of what could only be described as a castle.
"That's fine. I, uh... yeah, we'll have time. Don't worry about the Tokyo numbers--they're useless... No, we're going to have to get Janie on that first thing Monday." One sharp elbow to the side, one quick intake of breath, one annoyed look exchanged between bitter spouses. "Yeah... well, hey, Ben, I gotta get going. That's right, we're at the De Léons... The what? I don't know what prize--What prize is he talking about?" The last question mouthed cartoonishly to the owner of the elbow. Only a shake of the head and angry glare replied. "Yeah, well, I dunno buddy but I gotta go. Later." Jonathon Summerfield returned his cell phone to his jacket pocket with a loud sigh and an annoyed scowl. "What's with you tonight, anyway? Not enough Xanax with your usual three bottles of wine?"
Angeline would've had a hard time taking anyone else seriously in a frog mask, but this was the man who had swept her off her feet and managed to ruin her life after only 5 years of marriage. "Nevermind the prize. We're here, we're late, and the chauffeur has been waiting 10 minutes to open my door. Let's. Go." She consciously unclenched her teeth and signaled for Paul to open the door. None of the other arriving guests were misfortunate enough to see the angry side of Angeline, for when she stepped from the hired car, she was all glimmer and princess.
Stan and Tess Moreau were laughing when they eased out of their Bentley. Tossing the keys to a valet, Stan offered his arm to his newlywed bride. They were both smiling, mostly because Tess was still kind enough to laugh at his jokes, of which he'd made many in the last hour. Mostly the jokes were about their crowns and masks--lighthearted stuff--but the truth was that Stan was slightly on edge.
When Tess told him about the mysterious grand prize for best couple, he could hardly contain himself. Her family was wealthy, his only moderately affluent, so naturally the prize captured his attention while the social opportunity captured hers. Old money didn't gift cheaply, and when the money is as old as Count De Léons, it gifted so well it could change your life. Filled with anticipation and the tiniest bit of greed, Stan's mind was preoccupied with winning the secret--whatever it was.
Lora's eyes were wider than Stan's, practically drinking in all the money around her. As Gage escorted her to the front door of the chateau, she had to bite her tongue to keep from gushing about all the new sights and sounds. In the modeling world, you were always exposed to other people's fortune. This was different, somehow. More authentic. It made every lush hotel and lavish party she'd been to morph into a pale imitation.
Gage sported the standard tuxedo and black tie, but from the neck up he was all cat. Magnificent whiskers, orange ears, spots and tufts of fur--it was as if Gage had been born to play the Tom. And Lora at his side, mouse ears slightly less innocent when coupled with her plunging neckline and micro-dress, was an absolutely stunning catch. Gage adjusted his cuffs, waited for the doorman, and dreamily planned tonight's foreplay.
...conclusion tomorrow, at the stroke of midnight.