Always Knew It Was You (Pink Hotel #2)

1. CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER ONE

C ARLY

“Oh my gosh, that is the most darling bracelet I have ever seen in my life!”

I glance over at the grandiose exclamation, eyeing the tennis bracelet encircling the brunette’s wrist. I’m standing with a group of women near the newly installed French windows overlooking the glistening lake in front of the vast forest.

“Thank you,” she responds graciously. “Remy bought it at Boucheron the last time he was in Monaco. Allegedly, it belonged to the Countess of Castiglione herself. Only three of these are in the entire world. It cost Remy a hundred thousand and one of his properties in London, but gosh, isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is,” the three other women coo and I join them. Internally though, I’m reeling.

I’m lucky there’s a mask hiding my expression, and I sip on champagne to cover up my gape. A hundred thousand dollars? Plus a house? For that? Sure it’s a nice bracelet, but I’m pretty sure I could get something similar at Nordstrom out in Bayview for a couple hundred dollars. Maybe half that, if it was on sale.

But then again, the women standing beside me are pretty clearly in a whole different financial stratosphere from me. Everyone in this party is.

It’s a VIP event, a masquerade ball held in the grand hall of the Pink Hotel, meant to remind of the glory days of the historic hotel. Across the rich brown of the exotic hardwood floors, various guests in suits, gowns and elaborate masks gather in groups to enjoy the first exclusive showing of the hotel and the famed Pink Pearl.

The elite guests drift around the newly renovated Victorian ballroom of the Pink Hotel, some admiring the artwork lining the intricate Windsor-paneled walls. A few others coagulate in groups like the one I’m part of, making low conversation with occasional bursts of laughter. Some are reclined in the vintage Restoration-era armchairs fixed in the corners of the room. Others–thanks to the ample champagne–are clearly enjoying a nice buzz, and are now dancing to the softly lilting classical music coming from the quintet on the raised stage. They’re apparently a famous orchestra group, consisting of a piano, saxophone, and a variety of violins. The theme of the evening is Scarlet Night and so the orchestra, like most guests, are masked and dressed in satin and silks of reds and blacks, sparkling and shining under the warm golden light of the crystal chandelier. Set high into a blue ceiling, the light fixture resembles a thousand diamonds dripping from the sky.

I feel like I’ve walked into a scene from The Great Gatsby and I’m trying not to feel out of place.

Trying and failing.

“Remy’s been working hard these days, and he wanted something to make up for his absence,” the brunette bracelet-owner–Cherise she said her name was–continues.

“Aww, how adorable,” the blonde one with her hair in an elaborate coiffe says. She never introduced herself, but the other women call her V.

“Your love is so beautiful it makes me sob,” the third, dark-haired woman says in a quiet voice. She seems to be the quietest of the group and has neither introduced herself nor has she offered up any information about herself.

“I know!” V says. “I’m so jealous because you literally have the perfect husband.”

“The absolute perfect husband,” the final woman, Heather, says. “With the perfect family and the perfect life. I can’t even be jealous, because you deserve it so much, my friend.”

The other two women hum their approval while Cherise beams.

I wonder if I’m the only one who can taste the utter fakery in the atmosphere.

I can’t see any of their expressions, thanks to the lacy asymmetric masks sitting on the upper half of their faces, but I definitely know they’re being less than honest.

And then they turn that look to me, and I realize that I’m the only one who hasn’t said anything yet.

“It’s a beautiful bracelet,” I admit. Not a hundred thousand dollars beautiful but beautiful all the same. It was jeweled squares laced around a simple band. High-carat diamonds probably. It undoubtedly cost a lot to make, thanks to the intricate craftsmanship.

But a hundred thousand…I can imagine a plethora of other things I would do with that money. I wouldn’t have to worry about my scholarship. Maybe get my parents out of that slowly dilapidating house. Get my cousin out of jail…even though he wholly deserves to be in there; I can’t help the tightness in my gut whenever I think about it.

“Thank you,” Cherise says. “And don’t think I haven’t been eyeing your Queen’s Dynasty all night.”

“My….what?”

Her eyes flash in surprise. “Your necklace? Don’t tell me you don’t know what it’s called?”

My hand drifts up to touch the elaborate ruby gems webbed around my neck. “No?”

My best friend Emma called it a statement necklace when it was handed to me, but never mentioned it had a name. Truthfully, I thought the jewelry was a little much, but it matched with my sleek black dress perfectly. And the dress was a simple silk strapless number that even I had to admit made me look wholly like a million bucks.

But neither were mine.

Both the dress and the necklace belonged to Rachel, Emma’s fiance’s ex-wife. Rachel is a fashion designer, a pretty prolific one, who recently had a string of successful shows at Paris Fashion Week. She insisted on dressing both Emma and me for the occasion today after she took one look at the outfits we planned to wear.

“Polyester?” she squeaked, her face twisting in dramatic horror. “You were going to wear polyester to a ball?” Her voice cracked at the end, and her tone made me feel like I committed a grievous sin. I shared a look with Emma.

“Yeah?” Emma answered weakly. She glanced down at one of the dresses we’d bought from the boutique in Bayview, the fancy one that smelled like eucalyptus and leather. “Is that bad?”

I didn’t think it was bad. Like me, Emma grew up in the small town of Laketown where everyone was dressed pretty lowkey even for fancy events. Although Emma was about to marry an honest-to-God billionaire, and had bodyguards following her around now, her down-to-earth nature hasn’t changed. And I loved her for it.

But Rachel’s face reddened and she shuddered nearly catatonically.

“Are you kidding?” She looked between the two of us and then shook her head. “Absolutely not. Come.” And then she’d spun on her heel walking away, giving us no choice but to follow.

In the end, Rachel drove us from Emma’s house back to the boutique in Bayview. We tried on outfit after outfit, and then when she wasn’t satisfied with any of them, she had some dresses flown in from her own collection. Eventually, she decided on my dress and Emma’s red flare dress that made her look like an actual princess, especially standing across the hall next to her prince of a fiancé.

Declan is the new owner of the Pink Hotel and is the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. His face is usually set in a straight scowl until he looks down at Emma. Then he would smile and softness would fill his eyes.

Like now.

He’s staring down at Emma while she speaks passionately, gesturing with her hands. A few paces away from them, two suited men stand, trying to blend in with the wallpaper. And they do succeed partially, because I barely notice Emma’s bodyguards half the time. It’s so interesting how inconspicuous two large, threatening men can be.

Almost reluctantly, my gaze is drawn to another man standing next to Declan, a man who I very much should not be looking at but who has held my attention all night. Even in a room full of polished diamonds, he shines the brightest.

I tear my attention away from them and back to my companions.

“Sorry,” I say. “I had no clue. It was a gift from a friend.”

“Oh…” they all chorus.

“What friend?” V asks. Then she follows my staring path to Emma and one finger delicately unwraps from her champagne glass to point. “Any of the people over there?”

“Both of them actually,” I respond. While I wouldn’t say Declan and I are friends exactly–it’s hard to be friends with a man as intimidating as he is–we’re on friendly terms. My cousin had been partially involved in the kidnapping of Declan’s daughter a few months ago, but Declan actually reassured me that he didn’t hold it against me.

“I know how important you are to Emma,” he told me during the fall fair after he’d just proposed to her. “And I want you to know that I value and respect your friendship. Whatever Nate did, doesn’t change that.”

I was both stunned and relieved to hear it. Maybe that was why he didn’t press charges on my cousin, although Nate was still facing state charges. And so was Rick, my former boss and a man who was like a father to Emma. He’d been one of the masterminds behind the whole kidnapping, and that very fact broke Emma’s heart.

Regardless, while I wouldn’t call Declan my friend, he still ranks pretty high in my book. And Emma…well, she’s been my best and only friend since I was ten and she was twelve.

It started when she found me crying behind the church parking lot after my mother made a scene at church. Emma convinced me to come home with her and though I knew my mother would be mad, I went anyway. Emma had always seemed nice and I wanted to be around her and her sweet, funny grandpa, who were such a contrast to my tumultuous family.

Her home was as warm and welcoming as I imagined, and her grandpa made us hot chocolate and then took us fishing later that evening before driving me home. My mom yelled at me some more when I got home, but it was worth it for the brief reprieve at Emma’s place.

And it wasn’t the last time family drama drove me to seek refuge in her home. Emma always let me stay, no questions asked, and for that I’m forever grateful.

V nods at my response. “Ah. Well, I know the dress can’t be from Declan Tudor since we recently discovered his engagement to the cute country girl.” I frown at her description as she continues, “So it would have to be Micah.”

“You’re friends with Micah Landing?” Cherise asks.

“How do you know it’s Micah standing next to them? He’s wearing a mask,” the quiet brunette says.

“Oh, please.” V is still staring at Micah, her lips twisting. “I would know that frame anywhere.”

I glance back to where Micah stands engaged in a discussion with Declan’s father. I’ve been trying all night not to look at the man because looking at him makes me vaguely breathless. No man has a right to be that good-looking even with a black mask covering half their face. But Micah is.

He’s about the same height as Declan, if an inch shorter, and instead of dark hair, he has red hair, combed into curls falling around his face. He’s dressed in an all-black suit, with navy-blue trimming on the jacket and an expensive-looking watch casually dancing on his wrist. His hands are in his pocket, his broad shoulders completely at ease, even though I know I’m not the only one staring at him.

Every time I look at him, I notice at least one other person doing the same, usually someone of the female variety. But Micah doesn’t seem to notice or care.

He’s probably used to being the center of attention.

I’ve never actually had a conversation with him, but I’ve overheard him talking to Declan and flirting with Emma’s other best friend, Tate, so I figure I have a pretty good read on his personality. Wealthy handsome playboy who is accustomed to having beautiful women throw themselves at him. A man who flirted as easily as he breathed. The kind of man who treated women like used panties and never even thought about them after the night was over.

But, just for the night, he probably makes it worth their while.

“I wouldn’t say we’re friends,” I say as the women finally look back at me. “I’ve never even had a conversation with the man. I’m more so friends with Declan and Emma.”

“Good,” V says. “Stay away from Micah if you know what’s good for you. I’ve never met a more arrogant, selfish bastard in my life.”

“That’s not the tune you were singing last summer in Cabo,” Cherise quips with a teasing smile and V’s complexion reddens.

“Yeah, and I learned my lesson then,” she says.

“Was he that bad?” I ask.

“No, dear,” Heather winks. “He was that good.”

The women giggle again and V rolls her eyes. To me, she says, “Micah has more charm than the devil himself and has this way of making you feel like you’re the most beautiful woman in the world. He’ll show you an amazing time and then completely toss you away at the end. He won’t so much as return your calls.”

“And he’ll ruin you for every other man,” the quiet dark-haired one says, and then she catches the blonde’s frown. “What? We’ve all heard the rumors. I’m jealous of you, you know. At least, you got to enjoy the ride. I wish I’d gotten that close.”

“Me too,” Heather sighs.

“Me three,” Cherise says and her companions stare at her in surprise.

“You’re married,” V says.

“So? I’m married, not blind. And what Remington doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

For some reason, the statement has the women breaking into raucous peals of laughter, which I also join.

I quickly grow weary of the conversation after that, and hold up my empty glass as an excuse to melt away. Emma’s still with Declan and I don’t want to interrupt their romantic ambiance. It’s a night for lovers, a beautiful cool spring evening with red maple trees in full bloom outside and the mingling scent of cologne and perfume surrounding me. As I walk away, my eyes wander around the room, wondering if I should intercept another conversation group or simply observe how the rich and powerful interact with each other.

It’s why I agreed to accompany Emma to this party in the first place.

I felt like playing dress up and pretending to be someone else for the night. Tonight, I’m not Carly whose cousin is in jail, whose father is a drunk, and whose mother is a thief. I’m not the girl struggling to retain her scholarship and claw her way out of poverty.

Tonight, I’m the girl in the golden mask, beautiful dress, and the necklace that has an expensive-sounding name. Tonight, I can walk with my spine straight because no one knows who I am. I can pretend I’m one of them, that I take trips to Cabo too. I can pretend that I’m the kind of woman Micah Landing would look at.

I find myself staring at him again and, then, in a startling twist, his eyes meet mine.

As the brilliant green flashes, my body blazes to life. My breath lodges in my throat, heat and desire slamming into me. A smirk curves the side of his lips as though he knows the exact effect he has on me.

Damn it.

Nevertheless, I refuse to give him that satisfaction. I school my features underneath the mask into indifference and deliberately roll my gaze down his body. When I meet his eyes again, I shake my head and turn away.

My stomach still flip-flops once it’s done, excited at the challenge I’ve just given him. I feel like I just laid down a gauntlet.

And now his gaze is burning a hole in my back.