One hour later
The art show was set up in sections where you could browse based on the price range, and there was an area with an open bar and some snacks I would have never purchased on my own, for those who were just there to socialize. Like most gatherings in Carson Cove, it was more important for people to know they were getting something expensive than to just enjoy it, so there was a card explaining why everything you could have was special. The liquor they were serving was a step above top shelf, the wine was older than anyone in the room, and the snacks were ridiculously expensive.
I learned that it was possible to spend five-hundred dollars for a pound of cheese and while it wasn’t bad, it didn’t taste that good. Even the crackers were from a premium bakery that boasted about using water you could only get a certain time of day from a special spring that was supposedly prehistoric with rich deposits of Tanzanite at the bottom. The crackers didn’t taste any different than th
e generic ones my mom bought at the grocery store, but the people around me acted like they were sampling manna from heaven.
I guess I’ll get a glass of wine—it’s not like I’ll ever get to drink anything this expensive again.
The only good thing about the exotic food and drink selection was that nobody seemed to notice an unprivileged in their ranks. I was completely ignored for the most part. I started walking through the gallery and immediately wished it was socially acceptable to take pictures because some of the paintings that were being auctioned were exquisite.
I might not have had the means to hang one of them in my home, but I loved art. I got that from my parents—they were both artists when they were younger, and several of our family vacations were conveniently scheduled around art shows at the destination they chose. That part of our family dynamic never rubbed off on my sister, and she normally complained when our vacation took a detour towards a museum, but I couldn’t have been happier.
My parents would love to be here right now—they might even be civil to each other while they were looking at all of these pieces of art.
I spent some time looking through the gallery while I sipped my wine, and by the time I got to the end of the first section, I decided that I wanted a refill. I hated to admit that it was the best wine I had ever tasted, although my palate was inexperienced. There were more people near the open bar than there were when I got my first glass of wine, so I had to wait my turn to get served. I tried to pretend that I was a statue that only got to take a step when the person in front of me did. I was nothing more than an image against the backdrop—a nameless face in the crowd. I hoped to stay that way for the rest of the night.
The glamorous, beautiful, and drop-dead gorgeous Carson Cove privileged were all around me, and I was extremely uncomfortable. As soon as my glass was refilled, I scooted over to the side to look for an opening, so I could disappear into the gallery. I must have blended in so well that the privileged thought I was literally part of the scenery because two women walked over and stood directly in front of me to sip their wine while they gossiped about the other guests. I wasn’t sure if they cared that someone was behind them or were just so caught up in their own conversation that they didn’t notice—I couldn’t help but eavesdrop.
“Did you hear that Jon and Mary Alcott are getting a divorce?” The woman on the left, a blonde in a Versace dress, leaned close to the brunette beside her. “They’re here together, but this may be the last event in Carson Cove that they attend as a couple.”
“Then I guess they won’t be buying anything.” The brunette hid her laugh behind her wine glass. “Unless they plan to take a pair of scissors to it when they split everything.”
“She’ll probably get custody of the kids and take him to the cleaners.” The blonde shrugged. “He won’t have much of anything after she’s done with him.
“I’ll mark him off my list of future ex-husbands.” The brunette grinned and sipped her wine.
“Speaking of—do you have any leads?” The blonde gave her friend a side-eyed glance. “I never thought I’d see the day Alexis Devereaux was celebrating the anniversary of her last divorce without an engagement ring on her finger.”
Oh my god! That’s Alexis Devereaux? I need to get the hell away from here—asap! She is not someone I want to be associated with by accident.
“I’ve got my eye on someone.” Alexis winked at the blonde. “I might even have our first date lined up before the end of the show—which means the countdown to taking him for half of everything he owns can officially begin.”
“Cheers to that.” The blonde tapped her wine glass against the one that Alexis was holding.
Alexis Devereaux was a Carson Cove legend. There were a lot of rumors about her, and most of them probably weren’t true, but one of them appeared to be—if she was single, she was on the prowl. She had two ex-husbands before she was thirty and had recently divorced the third—people said it was messy. I had no idea how men kept falling into her trap—okay, scratch that—I knew exactly why men kept falling into her trap. She was privileged and gorgeous. That was the perfect combination in Carson Cove, but it helped if you had a side of wicked, and Alexis Devereaux definitely had that.
Oh, thank god. They’re going to get more wine.
I watched as Alexis Devereaux and her blonde friend walked towards the bar—then darted into the gallery. I had already looked at the first section, so I started walking through the second one. I went slow and savored all of the artwork I would never see again. Once the auction was complete, it would be in the home of a privileged family from Carson Cove, and it was rare for them to part with anything—except spouses. I drained my glass of wine fairly quick once I started walking around, but I decided that two was more than enough. I still had to drive home after the show was over. I finished with the second section, moved on to the third, and when I was done with that, it was time to see some of the most expensive pieces that would be auctioned off.
Monet. Rembrandt. Picasso. Van Gogh. Oh my god—is that a real Michelangelo!?
I was literally walking through history. It was breathtaking. I wanted to run up to each masterpiece and stare at it until I memorized every brushstroke—but that would have drawn attention to the fact that I didn’t belong there—so I pretended that I wasn’t impressed. It was one of the most difficult things that I had ever done, but somehow—I made it. I passed the other two students from Carson Cove University that had won tickets, and they weren’t being very subtle, which got them a few disapproving stares from the privileged. I had successfully managed to blend in, and there was enough time to take another tour if I wanted, so I decided that another glass of wine wouldn’t hurt if I was going to be staying for a while.
Oh wow—that’s Mr. Benson. I wonder if I should say hello…
Mr. Benson preferred to be called Bryant—he had told me that at least a dozen times. He was one of the privileged, but he was very down to earth. I knew that because his youngest daughter, Victoria, has been my best friend since elementary school. I never felt like I was just middle class when I hung out at the Benson Estate—they treated me like a member of the family. They even let me go on vacation with them one year when their oldest daughter decided to spend the summer with her grandparents. That seemed like a lifetime ago—when there was a Mrs. Benson—before she decided to leave her husband.
I still don’t know how she could leave someone as amazing as him…
I had a bit of a crush on Bryant when I was younger. He was incredibly attractive—and the touch of gray in his beard had made him even hotter—if that was possible. Just looking at him made my temperature rise and my throat dry out, so I decided to get another glass of wine before I said hello. There was a line, just like the last time, so I waited my turn. It took several minutes to get to the bar, and when I turned back towards Bryant, he wasn’t alone. Alexis Devereaux was standing next to him—no, she was flirting with him. Her hand was on his wrist—she was giggling like a schoolgirl—and I finally understood what it meant when someone said that a woman had fuck me eyes.
Alex Devereaux’s target—is Victoria’s father? Oh my god…
Chapter Two
Bryant