Six
T he elevator doors opened onto the suite of the top floor, the gazes of at least a dozen people in the foyer turned toward us, zeroing in on us, inspecting our hair, how well-dressed we were, our manners—were we worth entertaining?—and deeming us acceptable guests, all in the space of a second.
The car ride wouldn’t have been long if not for the traffic—everyone seemed to be out and about. And half of them must have ended up here. When we’d parked, I nearly fell over backward, staring up at the skyscraper lit like a Christmas tree.
Flora squealed in delight and began hugging women as soon as we entered the room, touching cheeks with pursed red-painted lips. Dixon shook the hands of a few men. Their eyes all seemed to mostly skip over me.
It was just as well .
My dress was perhaps a bit superfluous for the evening, but the rest of the guests seemed to get the same memo: they dressed as though attending a club, a high-scale party of sorts, rather than a shindig in someone’s apartments.
Flora grabbed my arm and led me around, bubbly as ever, in her element.
“We need to find you a guy,” she said, her blonde curls brushing my cheek.
“That is always the plan,” I mused.
“Somebody to erase the stench of Brancato off of you.”
I rolled my eyes. “He won’t be here, will he?”
“God, no,” she laughed, pulling me further into the apartment. Dixon had found a group to chat with, though I felt his eyes following us the whole time. His hand had lingered on Flora’s waist before they parted. A reluctance to let us wander out of his sight.
She and I entered the back room, another parlor of sorts, with a few men, all but one smoking, lounging on a few seats. Flora ground to a halt.
“Sorry!” she said, adding a bit of her usual bubbliness to her voice.
No other women were present, and the way the men were all facing each other on the couches made it clear they were discussing something.
The man lounging closest to us waved his hand. “No, come on in,” he said. He wore a black suit that matched his dark hair, combed neatly back and gelled, his bronze face clean-shaven, cheeks sucking in as he pulled on his cigarette. “We need some more personable company in here, anyway. ”
Flora looked to me.
I led her in, feeling all the eyes follow my movements, the rest of the group silent as I sat myself on the arm of the chair of the man who spoke. He raised a dark brow and the hand with the cigarette. I accepted.
I hardly smoked, but the burn brought a lightheadedness I welcomed. A teaser of what was to come once we got our hands on some gin.
He watched me with cool eyes that met mine, then fell to my lips wrapped around the white burning paper. His irises were a bright amber, a golden brown, sparkling with intrigue, which then fell to the column of my throat.
I exhaled, sending the smoke outward. Handed him back the cigarette. “Thanks.”
Our fingers brushed.
“No problem.” Those golden eyes zeroed in on mine again.
“Hope we weren’t interrupting anything,” Flora said, sitting at the only other available spot on one of the cushioned chairs.
“Nothing that can’t be discussed later.” A man with amber-colored hair smiled, his arms braced along the back of the couch. His suit jacket had been discarded somewhere, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off the tight muscle of his forearm.
There were only four of them, all well-dressed, gelled, the smoke creating a haze in the room between all of us.
“How do you know the host?” my companion asked, nodding once at Flora. Like he knew I was the third wheeler, the plus-one.
“Oh, I don’t.” Her hand found her chest, and she beamed at him, teeth pearly. “But my man does.”
“Your man?” He raised an amused brow. “Do I know him? ”
“Do you?” She leaned forward. “Dixon.”
“Lloyd Dixon?” An incredulous laugh.
Lord Lloyd Dixon .
The hand with the cigarette fell to his knee, two fingers angling the burning paper away from his tailored trousers.
I heard a disappointed scoff from one of the other men.
“Yeah,” she said. “We came with him.”
“What are two beautiful ladies like you doing with him ?” He laughed again.
“Careful, he’s just in the other room,” one of the men mumbled over his shoulder.
“Why don’t you stay with us tonight?”
Flora grinned. “Maybe we can be persuaded.”
She couldn’t be, not when Dixon was in town. But they didn’t know that, and I was by myself, looking for a man , after all.
Music wafted through the haze, a jovial little tune from a fancy radio receiver in the corner, crackling and buzzing but unmistakable. Dinky little horns, a piano. We didn’t even have a radio—yet—but I knew Mother wanted one, if just to keep up with the news of the city. She wouldn’t admit it, but her eyes were beginning to fail her and the paper was just too small. Lucas had promised he’d order her one soon.
Flora stood and held a hand out to the amber-haired man. “Dance with me?”
He laughed but obliged, his hand finding the same spot Dixon’s had rested on. She braced her own on his shoulders and they did a slower number, swaying with both feet on the ground.
I looked away from them, to the man I was seated with. “Are you going to introduce yourself?” I asked my companion .
He had been observing them as well. Turning to me, I felt a weight present in the small creases at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t much older than me, it seemed, but there was age in his irises; in the way he looked upon me, the confidence that had settled on his shoulders. There were centuries in those eyes, and I wondered just what he had lived through to make his soul feel so old.
He held out his hand. “Alexander Sinclair.”
“Helena,” I said, placing my fingers in his, which he brought to his lips, never taking his eyes off of me.
He hummed. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise,” I grinned, crossing my legs, causing our knees to brush. I leaned in conspiratorially. “I do hope we weren’t interrupting anything.”
Sinclair sat forward to tap his cigarette against an ashtray before bringing it to his lips again. “Just… investments and those boring ol’ things.” He winked at me, dismissing the topic. “So, she came with Dixon,” he said, glancing at Flora. “Who did you come with?”
Though I suspected he knew the answer. “With them. I’m terribly single.”
He exhaled a laugh. “Yes, how terrible.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you single, Mr. Sinclair?”
He shrugged a shoulder noncommittally, a sparkle to his eye.
He studied me for a second, and not in the way most other men did it, inspecting my looks, deciding what their favorite part was. Cigarette at his lips, but not breathing in the smoke, he came to some conclusion and put it out in the tray. He stood and offered me his hand. “Would you like a drink, Miss Helena? ”
Sliding my fingers into his, I rose. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Across the small room, behind the couches, was a cart with a few decanters of various colors, clean glasses, and a tin of ice. He turned to me with a raised brow after we made our way over. “Absinthe?”
“Oh—sure.” I had only tried the drink once, at a party when I was already five gins deep.
He poured me just a finger of the greenish liquor and handed me the glass. Turning to me, he waited for me to take a sip.
“Nothing for you?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’ve had plenty this evening,” he said, but he looked entirely sober to me.
It was good, and it gave me a warm rush, but it didn’t even begin to compare to the champagne and gin of the other evening. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, about the ornate house, lit up and sparkling along the Sound. It was a beacon of light, probably a nuisance to the neighbors, even if they were a mile or so away. The fresco-like paintings on the walls, on the ceilings, as though once you stepped within, you were indeed in another realm of sorts, one with conniving devils.
A loud cheer erupted from the other room, and I saw Flora falter in her steps. She smiled at her partner before leaving his arms and coming over to me, her lavender perfume following in her wake. She leaned in, whispering in my ear, “I’m gonna go find Dixon.”
Sinclair, though he couldn’t possibly hear her, watched her exit.
“Can I ask you a question?” I turned back to Sinclair, lifting the cool glass to my lips .
He tilted his head in the affirmative.
“Vince Thornton? Have you heard of him?” I don’t know why I was so curious, yet hesitant, for the answer, covering my lips with the glass, hiding myself.
A flicker of recognition in his eyes, but it was gone as quick as it came. “I have.” He drew out the words.
“Well, we were just there last night,” I said. “At his house. He throws these huge parties—Have you been?”
His brow arched, the ghost of a smile dusting his features. “Many times,” he responded.
“I’ve only been there once, but I can’t say it’s like anything I’ve seen before.”
He hummed, amusement curling his lips. He leaned boyishly on the window frame; the panes speckled with the lights from the scraper across the street, little yellow dots sparkling in the late evening darkness. “It is truly spectacular, isn’t it?”
Had he been there last night? There was no way we could’ve run into each other, not with a crowd that large. Would he be so charming in a space like that? Would I have stopped to give him my attention? We hadn’t stayed long, and I didn’t think that would’ve changed—not after I thought I saw—
“Were you planning on returning?” he asked me.
“Oh.” I lifted a shoulder, unsure. “I don’t see why not.”
“Next weekend. You should find me,” he smiled, amber eyes glistening.
“That’s an impossible thing for you to ask me,” I laughed.
“Is it?”
“Maybe you didn’t see the same mob of people I saw. ”
“You’ll find I’m an easy person to track down when I want to be.” He shot me a dazzling grin, his white teeth glinting in the dim electric lights of the room.
“Hmm.” I felt my cheeks warm, though from the absinthe or his charm, I wasn’t sure. I decided I liked him, this maybe-bachelor and his worldliness and old soul. He gave me the impression he knew of everyone, had been everywhere, and the pursuit of pleasure, as he’d put it, was all that moved him.
“Tell me more about him?”
He knew who I meant. “Asking me to talk about another man while I’m trying to win you over?” he teased.
My blush took hold.
He sucked in a breath. “Well, what do you want to know?”
“I don’t know, anything? He’s a bit mysterious, is he not?” Vince Thornton’s name was entirely new to me. I’d never even heard Lucas mention it, when I did see my brother. And Dixon seemed to know something , perhaps something to do with the underground business he was part of, but getting him to crack would be a feat.
Why work so hard when this stranger seemed to be in the know?
Sinclair glanced away from me. “He’s just a new face in this city full of old money.”
“Sure, but where’d he come from? He seems to have just appeared one day and now everyone has to go to his parties.” The more I thought on it, the odder it seemed that Lucas hadn’t mentioned Vince Thornton.
Sinclair shook his head noncommittally. “He makes his money the way your family does. The way I do, I suspect. ”
“And how do you make money, Mr. Alexander Sinclair?” I arched a brow and sipped on my absinthe, the greenish liquor settling deep in my core.
He grinned again, leaning in. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
I smiled right back, the effects of the liquor warming my limbs, my thighs, a relaxation settling deep into the fibers of my muscles, a pleasant tipsiness, only after a few sips. I’d never felt so much like a lightweight.
“His parties last the weekend,” Sinclair continued. “He’s thrown them for the better part of a year, and each one draws more and more in.” More partiers, he meant. And I believed him. I wouldn’t want to miss a chance to get real champagne, either.
“A sort of reprieve from the haughtiness of the city, don’t you think?” he asked me.
My eyes were growing tired. I downed the rest of the absinthe, wrinkling my nose against the burn. In my fuzziness, I could have sworn Sinclair turned wary, eyeing my lips, where the absinthe had disappeared.
“Have you ever wanted to be free, Helena? Well and truly free?”
In this country, we are all free, are we not?
I felt myself nodding. Yes. Yes, I want to be free .
Sinclair leaned in, so he stood right before me, his hand on my arm to steady me. I must have been swaying.
“You saw the people in red, didn’t you? You seem like an observant woman.”
My eyes were closed, and when I opened them, we were alone in the room, the radio still playing its dinky little tune to a missing crowd. We were alone, and Sinclair was so close to me, and my vision was turning fuzzy, green around the edges, my thoughts moving on their own.
I hadn’t stopped nodding.
Yes, the red-robed people. Slinking away amidst the party, hiding in plain sight.
Sinclair was at my ear, his voice mesmerizing in my state. I grinned, holding back a laugh when his breath hit my skin.
“You never made it to the top floor, did you? At Vince’s house?”
I shook my head.
“Meet me there. Next weekend. You’ll know.”
He pulled back enough to look me in the eye, so serious and dark. His gaze flickering again to my neck, a flash of desire, and then it was gone.
He steadied me once more before smiling at me. “Remember, Helena.” And in a moment, he slung his suit jacket over his arm and was gone, returning to the main party without me, but when I followed, I couldn’t find him before Flora was grabbing my arm and bringing me into the hazy room and placing another glass in my hand.
It all happened in a second, the words Remember, remember, remember , replaying in my head like a mantra.