The Fortunate Ones
Page 16

I know most women don’t want to be referred to as a friend while they’re supposedly on a date with a man, but for some reason, the word strikes me. In this setting, where we’re surrounded by every form of debauchery known to man, I’d rather be James’ friend than his date. It holds more weight, and I think Michael realizes it for a split second before his smile twists into something more sinister.
“If you’re only James’ friend, I’d love to get to know you better. Care for a drink?”
I hold up my cocktail. “I’ll let you know when I’m dry.”
“Smart girl,” Celeste says in French. My gaze whips to her and she shrugs and looks away. “He’s a controlling prick.”
“Then why are you here with him? As his date?”
Her eyes slice back to me. “There’s a little more to it than that.” She inclines her head to James. “You of all people should realize that. Friends, eh? Does that word mean something different in English? Because this man can’t take his eyes off you.”
Michael nudges James jocularly. “Why do I get the feeling they’re talking about us?”
Celeste offers him a sugary smile and then leans over to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Because we were, mon amour, but don’t worry, it’s all sweet things.”
That’s enough to placate Michael, but I can feel James studying me. It’s like the heat of a thousand suns burning into the side of my face, but I refuse to glance over. He brought me here, stuck me in this room with these people for one purpose, and she’s standing right in front of me.
“Come freshen up with me?” I ask Celeste.
She steps away from Michael.
He reaches out for her hand, holding her back for a moment. “Don’t be gone too long. It drives me crazy when you disappear at these parties.”
There’s an edge to his tone, and I suspect that’s the controlling side Celeste was talking about.
…
The bathroom is as exquisitely decorated as the rest of the club and includes a powder room as big as my bedroom back at the co-op. That’s where I find Celeste after I wash my hands. She’s in front of the mirror, applying another layer of dark red lipstick. It’s intoxicating, the color of spilled blood.
“There’s a drink for you there,” she says, pointing to a small side table beside a love seat in the center of the room.
I stroll over to pick up the pink cocktail. “How’d you get these?”
She inclines her head toward the antechamber, where an attendant is standing with her arms by her sides and her gaze laser-focused on the wall in front of her. Clearly, she’s been trained to blend into the landscape.
“Thank you,” I say in English, just in case she is listening.
Like the first drink I had, this one tastes like it has enough alcohol in it to strip the varnish off a boat.
“Jeez. How is everyone still standing out there?” I ask, setting it back down. “If I drink all of this, I’ll hit the floor in five minutes.”
She meets my eyes in the mirror and laughs. “You get used to them. Trust me.”
I don’t think I believe her.
“Here. Come put some of this on.”
She’s holding out the dark red lipstick for me to take.
Yeah right.
“It would look too dark on me. Garish.”
She smirks. “It’ll look completely different on you. Besides, it’s Chanel. It wouldn’t look ‘garish’ on a clown.”
Earlier at the spa, my makeup artist applied a pale pink lipstick, but it’s long gone now. Besides, this isn’t a night for pale pink. She hands over the tube and I step closer to the mirror, taking my time as I meticulously swipe it across my lips. With a color like this, it has to be perfect. She hands me a tissue for blotting and when I step back and take in the look, I realize she was right. On me, the color looks more like deep pomegranate.
“See?” she asks, retrieving the tube out of my hand, capping it and dropping it back in her small black clutch. “I’ve been wearing this color for years, since back when I was still modeling.”
“You don’t anymore?”
“No. I used to travel all over the world, but then I met Michael.”
Interesting.
“Do you love him?”
She thinks over the question for a moment before replying. “I love him more than I hate him,” she says, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Does that make sense?”
It sounds very French. Still…
“It would give me a headache.”
She laughs. “Oh, it does. But the sex?” She waggles her brows. “I’ve never had anything like it, you know?”
I don’t know, not really, but I nod anyway.
She steps back and takes a seat on the tufted velvet love seat in the center of the powder room.
“You don’t want any more of your drink?” she asks as she picks hers up. “I don’t want it to go to waste.”
I should say no. I already feel a little lightheaded, but I don’t want to offend her. She went to the trouble to order it, so I pick it back up and vow to take tiny baby sips in hopes that it’ll last me the rest of the night.
That seems to appease her, because she leans back and assesses me coolly.
“How long have you been with James?”
I take a sip.
“Not long.” Her eyes narrow, and I feel like a sitting duck. “Shouldn’t we be getting back? Michael said he doesn’t like it when you disappear.”
She laughs and then leans back even more, making herself at home. “He doesn’t like it, he loves it. It drives him wild to think I’m out there talking to another man. Later, when we get home, he’ll show me just how much it bothered him.”
Her admission stuns me into silence long enough for her to lean forward and smirk. “Now, how long have you known James?”
I look away. “A few weeks, though I hardly know him. We’ve only spoken a few times.”
“Then why did he invite you here tonight?”
For a moment I’m not sure I should admit the truth, but something tells me Celeste can smell bullshit from a mile away. “Let’s just say it isn’t a coincidence that I’m fluent in French.”
“Ha!” She flings her head back in laughter. “Brilliant. I always knew I liked James.”
That surprises me. “You know him well?”
“Oh, not really. He doesn’t come here often, hardly at all in fact, which is how I know I like him.”
Interesting. “But he has been here before?”
She nods and sets her drink down on the side table. I watch as she pulls out a little bottle of perfume so she can dab a few drops behind each ear. The scent is flowery and delicate, a complete contrast to the confident vixen before me.
“A few times,” she says, narrowing her eyes and thinking back. “I think I saw him last at the Halloween party.”
“Did he bring a date?”
She grins, seeing my question for what it is. “A man like that does not arrive alone. But, I recall her as a generic-looking brunette. Nothing like you.”
Nothing like me.
“We’re friends,” I reiterate.
“Friends, lovers…we do not make such harsh distinctions where I come from.”
I glance away and pretend to take in the room around me. “I hardly know him. He’s a lot older than me, and I’m not looking for a relationship right now. I might be relocating for a job soon.”
“Wow,” she says with raised brows. “What is that, four reasons? You’ve put a lot of thought into why you shouldn’t be with him.” I shoot her a warning glare, but she continues, “When I don’t want a man, I don’t think of him at all.”
She stands, drops her perfume back into her clutch, and grabs her drink.
“We should get back. They’ll be wondering where we are.”
I’m exhausted as I follow Celeste out of the bathroom. It’s been months since I’ve really stretched my French muscles, but I don’t think that’s the reason my head is pounding. I take another small sip of my drink and then instantly regret it. I’m supposed to be nursing it, but I’ve already downed half thanks to Celeste’s interrogation. I hand it off to a passing waiter when she isn’t looking and decide water will be the only thing passing my lips the rest of the night.