Chapter 3 #2
We take lots of selfies once we’re dressed up.
When we get downstairs, phones will be forbidden.
We’ve also signed extra NDAs for this event.
But for now, we’re just a gang of mates who are tripping out on the novelty and the excess.
Nobody embraces a good role play like the Alchemy crowd—it’s what we’re known for.
Around seven, a booming voice from the far end of the room gets our attention. I sidle forward from where I’m chatting with my friends near the makeup stations. I imagine the voice must be Benedict’s.
Ah, yes. I recognise him. He’s a frequent visitor to the club.
And no, I haven’t fucked him before, oddly enough.
From memory, he usually goes for brunettes, and I’m most definitely not that.
He’s hot—tall, with hair somewhere in the medium-brown range and a lot of swagger.
He’s dressed like he’s just wandered off the set of Grosvenor, in a loose shirt under a dark waistcoat and velvet breeches. Dude pulls it off well.
‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ His voice is loud and clear, carrying easily. ‘I’m so thrilled you could make it. Thank you for taking the trip up to Oxfordshire—we’re simply delighted to have you.’
This is a posh thing, I reckon—being all gracious and grateful when everyone knows that you’ve dropped a wedge of cash to make it happen. Still, it’s undeniably charming.
‘Everyone knows that a party without the Alchemy gang is a pathetic affair indeed,’ he continues, and a few people cheer.
‘Well, everyone in London knows. But not everyone in Oxfordshire has received that memo yet, even if most of them are randy fuckers behind closed doors, so tonight we’re going to show them how it’s done. What do you say?’
More cheers. I whoop. This is precisely what we’ve come for: to put on a display. Show them how it’s done.
‘Tonight, we are celebrating my older brother Xavier’s thirtieth birthday.
We’re going to pull out all the stops. The champagne will be free-flowing.
No one and nothing is off-limits. The main reception rooms are all fair game, as is any bedroom on the first floor that has a Grosvenor sign hanging on the door.
Just turn it to the Do Not Disturb side if you get lucky.
All the bedrooms are stocked with props and condoms, and there are plenty downstairs, too. It’s going to be amazing!’
He raises his champagne flute—clearly, he’s already started getting in the mood—and winks at my friend Rose, who’s a gorgeous brunette and probably well known to him already. We all clap and cheer. Then he looks straight at me.
‘You. Beth Dutton. Come right here. I want to speak to you.’
I manage not to roll my eyes at the nickname, though I’ve had the Kelly Reilly comparison more times than I can count.
Apparently it’s my hair colour, or my eye colour, or the way my upper lip doesn’t have much of a Cupid’s bow—I dunno.
It gets tired, but she’s gorgeous, so I generally take it as a compliment.
When I reach him, he’s eyeing me up with a smile. He shakes his head. ‘Fucking hell. The birthday boy is going to love you. What’s your name?’
I smile back coquettishly. The birthday boy?
This is getting more interesting. I don’t know anything about his brother, but I can’t say I dislike the idea of being singled out for the man of the hour.
It sounds so self-indulgent, but when you spend most of your free time cooking for your little sisters, or trying and failing spectacularly to help them with their maths homework, or cleaning up when your stepmother doesn’t make it to the loo in time, then being made to feel like you’re special, even in the most objectifying, transactional way, is kind of nice.
‘I’m Ivy,’ I say. ‘And tell me more.’ I am not the kind of woman who murmurs tell me more, but tonight I’m not me, remember?
‘Look.’ He puts his hand gently on my upper arm, just above the top of my elegant evening glove, and steers me off to the side.
‘Xav, that’s my brother, is having a rough year.
He can be a bit of a boring old fart, but he also has a lot going on.
All of which is good reason for him to have some fun tonight.
You’re definitely his type, so try to keep your powder dry for later, huh?
I’ll get the two of you into a room at some point.
You won’t be able to make a move publicly, because his bloody fiancée is here. ’ He rolls his eyes.
‘Whoa.’ I pull away. ‘Hang on—he’s engaged, and you want me to fuck him while his fiancée is here? That’s not cool.’
There’s a code at Alchemy. They don’t admit anyone who’s married, though obviously they can’t keep tabs on more casual relationships. But cheating is a big no-no. And there’s also a female code. That shit is just bad karma, and I want no part of it.
‘It’s not like that. I promise.’ He moves his mouth closer to my ear.
‘They’ve been promised since birth. I know—sounds positively Victorian, and it’s not far off.
It’s a dynastic match. He’s never laid a finger on her.
He has no interest in her sexually, nor her him.
Bit shitty for them both, really. He has plenty of women, according to him.
He’s just very discreet. But he has needs, darling.
And, like the adoring brother I am, I’m keen to see that his birthday doesn’t go off without a bang, if you catch my drift.
And I promise I’ll make it worth your while.
There’s a very hefty bonus in it for you if you show the birthday boy a good time. ’
I pull away enough so I can eye him suspiciously, trying valiantly to ignore the promise of extra money he’s dangling over my head. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing going on between them?’
‘Christ, no. Poor sods. He’ll have to get it up for her when they eventually tie the knot, but there’s nada. If you watch them this evening you’ll see—they have the chemistry of a pair of dried-up old nuns.’
That makes me giggle, and it also makes me feel sorry for the bloke. An arranged marriage in this day and age? These people are so fucking weird.
I shrug. Whatever. ‘Okay. If you’re sure. Just let me know when and where I should bang the birthday boy.’