I finish my champagne and running out of ideas, I decide to go to the bathroom to make sure my makeup looks good. The ladies’ restroom is just as fancy as the ballroom itself. There are vanity lights set up surrounding gilt mirrors, and the washbasins look to be made of solid marble. Wow.
I apply another layer of lipstick just to have something to do, and then play around with my hair, pushing it up to the top of my head. Should I have worn it in an updo? Well, it’s too late now. Besides, I can’t hang out on the bathroom forever because it’s just too seventh grade. I’m supposed to be having fun. Just then, my phone blips. I glance down, and of course, it’s a text from Ava.
“Met any handsome princes yet?” She follows the text with lots of smoochie lips.
I giggle and send over a sad face emoticon before snapping my purse shut with a click. I want to meet someone, but the question is how? And whom?
Now back in the ballroom, the live band has struck up some light jazz, and a few people have started dancing. I watch the couples glide across the floor, marveling at their elegance. What would it be like to be whisked across the dance floor in the arms of a handsome man? Unfortunately, with the way things are going so far, I may never know.
Instead, like a wallflower, I head over to the food tables. Ugh, this is so immature but the spread looks wonderful and I’ve always loved eating. There are delicious rolls of salami in addition to fancy cheeses in bright oranges and yellows. Plus, there are olives galore, and I almost squeal with ecstasy. I fill my plate and grab a glass bubbling with pretty pink champagne. Perfect. I decide to head to a nearby private terrace because I’d like to enjoy the evening sky while I eat, even if there are other guests.
The notes of the jazz quartet waft into the night air, and I sigh while taking a bite of salami. This is pure Heaven. The meat is tangy and salty, and I wash it down with a sip of champagne while dabbing delicately at my lips. The Manhattan skyline sparkles, and I take a deep breath of the crisp air, filling my lungs with oxygen. Ahh, life is so beautiful.
My thoughts turn to my roomie. I wish Ava was here with me because it’d be nice to have someone to enjoy this with. Plus, with her quick wit, she’d probably find something funny about each of the guests and make jokes until I couldn’t stop laughing. We’d get tipsy, and even if gross old guys hit on us, it would still be a hoot with Ava as my wingman.
But instead, I’m here all alone, savoring a romantic night by myself. Well, I better enjoy it because early tomorrow morning I have a new cleaning job. Supposedly, it’s for some eccentric bachelor who’s very peculiar. Ugh, rich people. I wish I didn’t come across so many of them, but because of my job, it’s inevitable. Suddenly, a deep voice startles me from my ruminations.
“So, this is where you ran off to.”
I gasp and turn. Besides me stands a gorgeous man who looks like the prince from a fairy tale. He’s got hair as black as night as well as blue eyes so clear that shivers run down my spine. He’s dressed in a dark tux, the perfectly-cut jacket highlighting his broad shoulders and wide chest. My knees go weak and suddenly I realize that this evening just took a turn for the better.
3
Channing
* * *
Twenty minutes earlier.
I’m bored as fuck. There’s a reason why I don’t attend society events, and the Black and White Ball brings it all back to me. No offense to my sister, but these guests are so goddamn stuck on themselves. I’ve already listened to one woman drone on the names of her twelve dogs (who keeps twelve dogs in a New York apartment?) and another broad complain endlessly about the food. Of course, she wasn’t eating it. The woman looked like an X-ray, she was so thin, and I swear I could see right through her bones.
At least my sister looks like she’s having a good time. Across the ballroom, Laurelin laughs and smiles like the hostess she was born to be. Her blonde hair trails behind her, and she smiles kindly at Mr. and Mrs. DuContin of the Masterpoint fortune. Mr. DuContin has a habit of talking to anyone who will listen, and fortunately Mrs. DuContin is hard of hearing, so she doesn’t mind. The elderly lady merely hangs on to her husband’s elbow while smiling brightly.
A voice startles me from the left.
“Channing, tell us the one about your old treehouse,” Evelyn Lightner trills. Evelyn is petite with a pretty enough face and bouncy blonde tresses. She’s tried to get my attention all night, but I’m not interested in taking her home with me, despite her efforts.