12. Stella
12
STELLA
SEVEN YEARS LATER
“ I ’m hating this.”
My roommate, Valerie, pins the final piece of my hair up and snorts. “You hate every work function.”
“Not true. I had a good time at the Jeans for Genes walkathon last month.” Leaning forward, I curl the mascara wand upward against my lashes, coating them in nighttime black. When I blink at myself in the vanity mirror, I hardly recognize the reflection staring back at me.
The dress I borrowed from Val for the occasion is a skintight, one-sleeved lavender mermaid gown that I can’t help feeling naked in. It’s a far cry from the usual lab coat and personal protective equipment I’m in during the week, but as I stand and do a little twirl, I have to admit I don’t look half bad.
In fact, I look every bit the socialite that my older sisters have perfected being over the years. Maybe tonight won’t be so terrible after all.
Two tendrils of hair frame my face, while the rest is twisted into a bun and pinned with matching diamond barrettes. Val spritzes me with perfume from a pink glass bottle and gives me a thorough once-over.
“Well, what do you think?” I ask, folding my fingers together in front of me. “Will I pass as the great Valerie Van der Vorm at this party tonight?”
She groans, dragging her hands through her warm-brown hair. “We may look alike, but you’re not passing as me, and it’s not a party. It’s an auction. You’re expected to spend money and network, Stelz.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “I can do that.”
“Are you sure? Because I can barely get you to buy basic groceries every week. The stuff lined up at the Black Rose Auction is gonna be expensive.”
“Then why don’t you just go with me?”
“Because if I miss another grand opening at one of my father’s hotels, my mother said he’s writing me out of the will.” She waves a manicured hand dismissively. “Besides, it’s one invite per attendee, and you have a reason to go.”
I roll my eyes and walk over to the small living room in our apartment before flopping down on the red suede love seat. The entire unit is less than twelve hundred square feet and on the ground floor of a building that we’re pretty certain doubles as a money-laundering site, but it’s cozy and close to both our offices, so we stay.
We met during the onboarding process for a molecular biology fellowship two years ago and instantly bonded over the fact that we came from wealthy families, but had set off on our own paths in life.
I don’t know if her family consists mainly of criminals like mine, but I suppose it doesn’t necessarily matter.
Not now that I’m an orphan anyway.
“Just because I don’t enjoy spending the money I work sixty hours a week, hunched over a microscope or filling out paperwork, to earn doesn’t mean I don’t know how to spend it.” Bending slightly, I tighten the straps on the Versace stiletto sandals Ariana sent me for my birthday last year. “Besides, it’s Rampion Core’s escrow account I’m using, not mine. And I can definitely spend someone else’s money.”
Moreover, you get used to spending someone else’s money when you’re too busy with school to earn your own. My admittance to Stanford had already been manufactured, so I didn’t want my attendance to be something someone else could claim either. Which meant throwing myself into the biomedicine program and any extracurriculars to beef up my résumé, so there was no time for a paying job.
Elena and her husband have been sending weekly stipends, and I’ve always pretended it isn’t hush money meant to keep me away from the East Coast. Since the deaths of both our parents a few years back, it’s felt as if neither of my sisters wants me to return—they’d probably have a fit if they knew I’ve been in New York for so long without telling them.
But I’ve tried to keep my trail small and untraceable. Not to keep them out, but to keep them safe.
In seven years, I haven’t had any trouble from my past life or the man waiting in it. I’d like to believe that if he hasn’t come at this point, he probably isn’t going to, but there’s a smidge of doubt that sits perpetually in the back of my mind.
Leopoldo De Tore wouldn’t give up easily.
Perhaps the problem is that he’s no longer interested, so there’s nothing to chase. Even dead, my mother’s critical voice pricks at the inside of my brain, though I usually try to stuff her down where I can’t hear. Old habits die hard, I guess.
“Whatever you say.” Val shrugs, tossing me an embossed white envelope. “That’s your key in. Literally. Guard it with your life.”
“What are your rules again? Be seen and not heard?”
“No.” She gives me an exasperated look and flops down on the couch beside me, stretching her long legs up on the glass coffee table. “Be seen and heard. Network with the other attendees. It makes the evening go much faster, and by the time the actual auction rolls around tomorrow, you’ll know what kind of competition you’re up against. Plus, that way, you can tell me all about it since I have to miss out.”
“Don’t you think they’ll be expecting you? Since you got the invitation, I mean.”
“There are no names on the invite, so I doubt it’ll be a problem as long as you fit in. It’s all about how you speak and what you can offer. That’s how these people operate. If you say you come from money and show up in designer digs, they won’t question it.”
She seems confident in the plan, and I really want to go for Rampion Core, so I don’t refute her claims. Fifteen minutes later, I’m being escorted by Val’s personal driver to the massive estate where this elite auction is being held.
As the vehicle approaches the property, I try to concentrate on the why behind my attendance—a damn flower . It’s genetically engineered, and only two of its kind exist. Scientists and pharmaceutical companies across the world have been trying to get their hands on it; one group wants it for supposedly altruistic reasons, while the other wants to extort it.
Someone purchased the clone at auction a year ago for half a billion dollars. Rampion Core—the genetic research lab I work at—doesn’t have the funds to compete with that , so I’m hoping this crowd is less interested in this particular item, and that I’ll have a chance to get it for us. Especially since there are royal jewels and socialites rumored to be up for bid as well.
My options for getting promoted at the lab are either securing this ultrarare orchid or sleeping with my boss, Barry, and hoping he makes me a tech someday.
A couple of the other assistants are already trying their hand at the latter and have been unsuccessful so far. And I’m not interested in him anyway. In fact, I haven’t really been interested in anyone these past seven years, and it’s taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that a forced marriage broke my libido.
Well, sort of. I’ve explored by myself, of course.
But unfortunately, there’s only ever been one image I can get off to, no matter the porn I watch or the nights spent listening to Val get railed by various individuals in the room beside mine.
Only the memories of one man’s tongue, fingers, and dirty mouth really do the trick.
The car approaches the mansion slowly, and my nerves fire on all cylinders. I stuff my hands into my lap, trying to keep the anticipation from boiling over.
I don’t want to seem too eager.
Eventually, the driver rolls to a stop behind a long string of vehicles lining the curved, paved entrance.
The main house itself is ostentatious, its looming stone walls composed of expansive windows and multiple floors, and complete with balconies and warm, inviting lighting. People spill out like fish spit from the sea at every conceivable doorway, and I tighten my grip on my overnight bag.
Anxiety lances my gut the longer I stare up at the mansion. Every atom of my being is frazzled, screaming at me to lean forward and ask the driver to turn around.
But I can’t . I’m not willing to give up on my chance to climb Rampion Core ranks so easily. Not when I’ve worked this hard.
Plus, Val might kill me if I waste her invitation.
The car door flies open, and a gust of wind rushes into the back seat with the motion, rustling my hair.
I didn’t even realize we stopped.
Outside the vehicle, a valet attendant—wearing a red silk vest with a black rose corsage pinned to the left lapel—stands with his hand outstretched.
“Ms. Ricci,” he says cordially, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. They’re almost soft enough to disarm me, but that fact only puts me more on edge—along with his immediate knowledge of my identity. “Welcome to the Black Rose Auction.”