Chapter 18
Tonight you belong to me.
Lightning fires up my spine, his words lingering. As he tugs on the necklace, he leads me towards the mansion.
Gothic architecture pairs with modern features. Like an upgraded home for the Adams Family. When we reach the bottom of the steps, he holds out a hand again, and I take it. “Don’t let me down, McKinsley.”
“If you go down, I go down,” he says, helping me to the top of the steps.
Two men with white gloves open big glass doors framed by shiny wood. Beyond them reveals a gothic fairytale. Checkered marble greets my new heels, a chandelier dripping in crystal above. A swirling grand staircase frames the space, iron railings as shiny as Mac’s eyes. White-gloved servers hold golden platters raised high on their palms. Champagne and fancy appetizers I don’t recognize. They circle guests who mingle between art on easels, small tables with sheets of paper next to them.
Guests greet Mac as we pass, but no one gives me that evil eye. They smile. Nod. For once, I fit in. Still, my grip on my sketchpad tightens when I think about talking to anyone in the room. How would I relate? What would I say?
“I’ll take that.” Someone in white gloves pulls my sketchpad from my hand. “Enjoy your evening.”
When I turn around to grab it, a familiar face catches my eye, blocking the server with my sketchpad. “Looking good, Ember.” Gray stands in a white suit with black floral embroidery. He looks like a luxurious tablecloth but somehow pulls it off. Even his white hair compliments his choice. “Real good.”
“Whitney,” Mac greets his friend with a nod. “Don’t you have a whore stupid enough to sleep with you to entertain?”
Gray smirks, a dimple in his right cheek. “You still have big feels, huh?”
“I also got big fists.” Mac shrugs, casually threatening his friend.
My eyes move between the two Crowns. “Did I miss something?”
“Yeah,” Gray chuckles. “Mac’s jea?—”
“Just tired of this guy’s shit.”
“Ember, you’re like pee in Paris.” Another familiar voice comes from behind me, this one more high-pitched and annoying. “Everywhere.”
Turning around, Hannah sneers in a long white lace dress like she’s a bride seeking revenge. My eyes scan the room for a glass of red wine, hoping to reenact our introduction. “The feeling is mutual.”
“Hannah, do you mind giving us some space?” Mac asks. “Your perfume is choking me. Like your presence.”
A snort comes from Gray as my head whips to Mac. Did… did he just stand up for me?
Hannah blinks. “Are you really picking her over me?” Her eyes wander my outfit, her mouth opening in awe. They move to my neck before they move to Mac’s wrists. “No way… are you two wearing matching jewelry?”
“Ember.”
Mac can’t answer before yet another familiar voice comes from nearby. Despite the crazy amount of land Paradise Hill spans, it’s still a small world.
“Valentino. Great choice.” Charlotte approaches us in a long teal dress, her ears heavy with diamonds. “I would have loved to see this kind of attention to attire at Sun House.” She glances between Mac and me. “If you two have kissed and made up, you can try doing that job again.”
Hannah scoffs and I blink at Charlotte who smiles. Did I just get my job back? Before I can ask, Charlotte waves to someone nearby, her attention drifting.
“Ember, a word.” Mac puts his hand on my lower back and Hannah’s jaw almost falls off. My head lifts higher as he escorts me away from this little reunion. Mac leans into me, his voice in my ear as I try to settle the butterflies. “I see Miss Laval. And the phone.”Mac brings me back to business as I follow his gaze. It’s on a blonde woman with tits as big as her head. They almost tumble out of her tight-fitting dress, her tan making her look fresh off vacation. Her entire appearance contrasts Charlotte’s despite them looking the same age. “She carries that thing around like an urn.”
She dabs her eyes with a black scarf, talking to a younger man in a pinstriped suit. She gestures to Beau’s phone, still in his pink case. Another phone sits in her other hand. I’m assuming it’s hers. With a flip of her hair, she rests her head on the man’s shoulder. He stills, before he taps her back and walks off.
Leaning closer to Mac, he smells sweeter than usual. Is he wearing a new cologne? “Beau said his mom has a thing for?—”
“Young men,” Mac finishes. “We all know.”
She straightens up, her sobs disappearing before she moves to a group of young men. She begins to sob again, pointing to the phone as she rests her head on another young man’s shoulder.
“Is she using Beau to get laid?” I ask.
“That”s our way in,” Mac replies, grabbing two drinks from a passing tray.
My wide eyes move to him. “Are you about to hit on Beau’s mom?” He downs both glasses of champagne. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“If she gets her hands on his videos…”
“I know.” My muscles tense thinking of the outcome.
“And you?” He turns to me. “You’re gonna steal that phone. You’re used to stealing right?”
“How do you suggest I steal the phone?” My eyes move to Miss Laval. “She’s clutching that thing like a brick of gold.”
Mac turns to me, blocking my view. “Figure it out, Everett.” He pulls on my necklace, tightening it around my neck. “We’re a team. I do my part, you do yours.” He searches my face before he lets it go, straightening his collar. “Don’t let me down.”
He turns around and heads for Beau’s mom before I’m ready. So I follow his lead, grabbing two passing champagnes of my own. It’s sweeter than anything I’ve tasted before. It’s not like the wine or alcohol Jake has. It’s like candy. Fresh. Refined.
I have another glass while Mac approaches Beau’s mom. He grabs two drinks from a nearby waiter and gives her one, his hand landing on her shoulder. She points at the phone as they engage in conversation. Then Mac tilts his head towards a long hall. She nods, following.
I do too.
Passing more tiny easels with large artwork, I move up the stairs, following. My heels click against the marble as I take in more of Mac’s home. Iconic artwork framed in gold sits above intricately carved wood panelling. Historic oil paintings hang between gold sconces. Combined with my dress floating behind me, I”m a total gothic princess.
“That sounds tough.” Following Mac’s voice is easy as it rumbles through the halls beyond the noise of the party. “Beau was a friend. It’s been hard for me too.” Mac sounds sincere. Honest. Not like the Mac I’m used to. But as always, he’s full of shit. “Let’s move somewhere quieter.”
My stomach twists when they disappear into a room. The golden plaque next to it reads ‘Study.’ Following, I make sure she doesn’t notice as I press my back against the wall. The sound of tumbling ice comes from the room followed by the classic sound of pouring liquid. He’s making them drinks.
“I wish men my age were this charming,” Miss Laval says. My hand flies to my stomach, hearing the coo in her voice. “You’re such a gentleman. Thank you for helping me during this trying time.” She’s milking her son’s disappearance for her own gain. No wonder Beau was so mad at her. She only cares when it benefits her.
“We need community in a time of grief,” Mac says, my back still pressed to the wall. Peering around the doorframe, her bare leg presses against his. They sit on an old leather chaise, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves surrounding them. A large window streams in soft light from the setting sun, shining on the ornate rug beneath their feet. They’re lucky this hallway is empty or someone could see a scene from The Graduate. Both phones sit beside her, Mac’s arm almost under her ass.
Why are they so close? Mac’s meant to be distracting her, not seducing her.
“Thank you for being here.” There’s a breathiness to her voice. A neediness. Gross. Mac gets closer and it’s not until my nails dig into my skin that I notice I’m making two tight fists.
“How else can I help you?” Mac asks, moving closer, leaving no space between them “Or, how else can we help each other?”
“I can think of a way,” she says.
Mac puts his drink on the golden bar cart next to them before he takes her glass, placing it next to his.
He leans in. My stomach tightens.
She leans in too. Nausea fills my gut.
When their lips connect, the hallway tilts and my body freezes.
Focus! This is your shot!
With a deep breath, I push that feeling in my stomach aside and take my time entering the room. Their lips stay locked, Miss Laval’s over-the-top moans filling the room as Mac moves on top of her. Mac must sense me in the room as he gestures for me to get lower. I do, dropping to my hands and knees.
It’s best to replace the sounds of their makeout with a song in my head. Anything. But nothing comes. Of course, Mac would use his good looks and charm to get ahead. And I hate that it makes my chest this tight.
I’m behind the chaise when I reach up, tapping around for the phone before something cold hits my hand. Pulling it down, I open my eyes to see Beau’s phone.
Bingo.
Looking up, Mac has one eye on me, and it’s hard not to watch as she pulls him closer. Mac shoos me away with his hand.
“Oh, Mac,” Beau’s mom moans and I have to curl my lips in so I don’t hurl.
Once I’m back at the door, I pull it closed with a slam.
I don’t want to witness any more of that and neither should anyone else.
Moving back to the staircase, I grip the rails overlooking the gala. Either those glasses of champagne went to my head or this mansion spins like a fun house.
“You look like you could use this.” A glass of brown liquid appears in front of my face.
Gray leans against the rail, clinking his glass to mine. “Welcome to the good life.” He laughs when I down my drink before handing me his. Then he snaps his fingers, summoning a waiter for more. One appears in an instant, swapping our empty glasses for new ones. He clinks his glass to mine again. “Cheers, Valley Girl.” Mac and Miss Laval’s rendezvous stay in my head, Gray’s words distant. That’s when I remember the phone in my hand. Putting it under my arm, I keep it out of view. “Did I see Mac disappear with Beau”s mom?”
“No!” I’m quick to respond, my eyes wide.
Gray raises an eyebrow.
Way to play it cool.
“Maybe?” I wince, hoping that telling the truth would less suspicious.
“You jealous?”
“No!” I spit again, very happy I have this drink. I bring it to my lips, taking a big gulp.
Gray chuckles again, his finger reaching for my necklace. “So you guys aren’t a thing?”
“N-no…”
Gray’s chest falls, his back hitting the rail. “He makes it seem like you are.”
“How so?”
“You rile him up. And when I talk to you, he gets more riled up.” Gray shakes his head. “It’s funny. Girls don’t usually bother him, so it’s easy to assume.” He sips his drink, his eyes moving to the side like he’s in thought. “But he’s been pretty stressed lately with his dad, and trying to get back on the team with that fucked up spine.”
My brows furrow. Was that what I hit that night? Angelo’s voice comes to my head. “Emmy, be fuckin’ careful. These things do a lot of damage.” The space tilts more right before the soft jazz in the background pauses, a voice ringing over a speaker. I’m too focused on Gray’s words to listen.
What does he mean Mac gets riled up when he talks to me? Maybe his injury wasn’t the only reason he was angry after the game.
“But maybe I’m reading into things.” Gray’s eyes wander my frame before he smiles. “Hey, do you wanna?—”
“Ember Everett?” My name over the speaker pulls my attention away from Gray. “Is the artist for this piece here? Ember Everett?”
“I think that’s you,” Gray says.
My brows lower. “Why would they call my name?”
“Well, there’s one way to find out.” Gray holds out a hand before escorting me to the middle of the room where someone in a tuxedo stands in front of… my sketchpad.
“Uh, that’s mine,” I mutter, staring in disbelief at my work on display to Paradise Hill’s elite. It’s open to one of my last drawings. A broken human figure surrounded by swirling tendrils of fiery red, orange, and yellow. Blue, green, and purple intermingle within patches of deep black. A therapeutic piece from when I first arrived at The Hill.
“Ember?” The man in the tuxedo asks as he points the mic towards me.
Looking around, my throat closes, everyone’s attention on me.
“It is,” Gray responds for me.
The crowd around us burst into applause with approving smiles and nods. It”s the first time in The Hill that I”m the centre of good attention. No bullying. No secrets.
The man in the tuxedo beckons me forward, Gray pushing me towards him. “Go ahead,” Gray urges. “Have a moment.”
Tuxedo turns to me with a bright toothy smile. “Your artwork has helped raise ten thousand dollars for charity.”
I blink at the man’s words. “My artwork did what?”
He chuckles, and so does everyone around me. “Your piece is currently the highest bid piece tonight. Tell us, how long have you worked on your art?”
“Uh, since I was a kid,” I mutter into the mic.
“And what was your inspiration here?”
“Um, belonging?” I wince, doubting anyone will understand. But the crowd erupts into applause again.
“Wonderful,” Tuxedo says, smiling to the audience around him. “I’d now like to showcase our top bidder tonight. We know her well.” He reaches for a card next to the piece on the easel. “Cara Walsh.”
Wait—
My hand comes to my neck, a butterfly replacing the locket I’m looking for.
A woman in a copper dress that matches her hair clacks towards me, freckles dotting her face. She’s tall and thin, her green eyes dazzling under thick eyelashes. When she stands there, smiling at me, I can’t believe what I’m about to say.
“Mom?”