Chapter 6 Elizabeth
ELIZABETH
I don’t want to be here.
The thought circles my mind as the sleek town car turns off the main road and onto the long, private drive leading to Carrow’s mansion.
Atlanta’s wealthiest have carved what used to be quiet horse country into sprawling estates.
They crave the privacy and large properties, but still want proximity to a major city.
Carrow’s house comes into view like a giant, white eyesore in the natural setting.
It is modern, and obviously designed as a statement rather than for taste.
White stone, clean lines, and manicured lawns seem to roll on forever.
But it’s the garish jet-black accents that appear so jarring against the verdant pine forest bordering the property.
However, by far, the most unsettling thing in sight is the many, openly-armed guards.
They seem to be everywhere I look. Some stand just inside the tree line, a few are stationed along the long drive, and another handful in dark suits with earpieces stand in the motor court.
What the fuck, Natalya?
Not for the first time, a knot of worry pulls low in my stomach about my client’s relationship.
The supermodel might be very young, but she’s no fool.
Natalya Sokolov has spent the better part of her life modelling around the world, fending off plenty of men wanting to take advantage of her.
Normally, I’d never doubt her ability to handle herself, but there is something different about her relationship with Jonathan Carrow.
After the last few years and my divorce, I know I’m mistrustful of men—can you blame me? However, her new fiancé gives me the chills.
He behaved perfectly the one time I met him in my office. Natalya had come in to sign an extension to a contract. Her agent and publicist usually attended these meetings with her, but they were noticeably absent this time.
Carrow barely spoke to me during our meeting, and never interfered with our conversation about the contracts. At first, I couldn’t figure out why he put me on edge. Did he not trust me? Was he just looking to be involved in Natalya’s career? But then it hit me.
His interest wasn’t in the paperwork or Natalya’s career.
He was there to watch Natalya.
She delivered every answer and every polite smile with a tiny flick of her eyes in his direction, a silent check-in for approval.
The encounter had made my skin crawl.
The car pulls to a stop by the front steps of the house. It’s too late to tell the driver to take me home.
I smooth my hands down the front of my black cocktail dress and remind myself that I’m here for Natalya. She stood by me, remaining a client after so many dropped me when Keith and I split the firm.
Two men flank the door, each holding a polished wooden box. The man on the left opens his without a smile, revealing a tangle of masks. Some are satin in bright jewel tones decorated with feathers and filigree, while others are simpler leather and lace.
I blink, genuinely confused.
Carrow has obviously seen one too many Bond films, and by the look of his ‘helpers,’ he clearly identifies with the villains.
Fantastic.
I vaguely remember Natalya mentioning something about masks when she extended the invitation. “Bring your best mask,” she’d told me with a half-laugh. I hadn’t realized she’d meant it literally.
I raise an eyebrow, trying for casual. “This isn’t an Eyes Wide Shut kind of situation, is it?” I joke, even though my internal red flags are waving.
The men stare blankly back at me.
“Not movie buffs, huh?”
“You must wear a mask to enter.”
Okaaaay.
My fingers brush over the different textures before settling on a gold, satin-covered half-mask with delicate black filigree curling across the surface.
I can’t exactly tell my client I refused to come into her house because I didn’t want to wear a mask at her party—even if I do think it is completely absurd.
Tying the ribbons tight, I step over the threshold.
The air inside is cool, and lightly perfumed with the scent of fresh flowers arranged in extravagant displays along every wall and table. Somewhere in the house, a string quartet plays. Their music drifts through the murmurs of laughter and the clink of champagne flutes.
No overt debauchery in sight.
The crowd of guests is thick in the main room, and the masks on every face are more disconcerting than I’d expected. Easing into the flow of the crowd, I’m careful not to let my discomfort show.
So far, everything seems perfectly normal.
The masks are a bit melodramatic, but the rest of the event looks like every other fancy cocktail party I’ve attended.
Taking a flute from a passing server, I scan the room hoping for a glimpse of Natalya.
The cold bubbles burn a little as I finish my glass and swap out my empty for a fresh one.
I hate coming to these parties alone. It’s even worse now that I can’t even try to spot a familiar face.
I feel a slight pang when I think of the days Keith and I used to look forward to these kinds of events.
We thought it meant we’d finally made it, that all our hard work was finally paying off.
I didn’t realize until too late that being surrounded by the wealthy and fabulous only pushed the bar further out for him.
Compared to our clients, what we had would never be enough for him. I would never be enough…
Thankfully, I finally spy Natalya across the room, tearing me from my depressing thoughts.
Even masked, she stands out. She’s radiant in a silver dress that clings to her curves, with her blonde hair piled high and a soft, silver mask covering only to the bridge of her nose.
My jaw drops when I see the diamond necklace looped around her neck and falling between her breasts.
Holy shit, is that real?
Natalya’s low-throated laugh sounds throughout the room, making her instantly recognizable. She is laughing at something a woman beside her is saying, but it’s the way Natalya keeps glancing toward the grand staircase that pulls at me.
You’re making a mistake, I internally scream at her, then immediately remind myself it’s her decision to make. She isn’t my friend. I’m just her lawyer.
Perhaps attending an engagement party the same week my divorce is finalized, isn’t the greatest idea. My nerves are knit far too tight for small talk, and the thought of breaching the circle of people around my client makes my head hurt.
But… I can’t leave until I say hello.
The second she is almost alone, with only a pair of older women in masks edged with gold leaf next to her, I make my way over. Weaving through the crowd, champagne still in hand, is more difficult than I expect. There must be a few hundred people here if this massive space feels cramped.
Natalya’s smile brightens when I reach her. “Elizabeth.” She reaches for my free hand and gives it a squeeze. “I’m so glad you could come.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I lie smoothly.
Carrow suddenly appears at her side, his silence and expression oddly heavy for the festive atmosphere.
His hand slides around Natalya’s arm in a possessive move, his fingers digging just a little too tightly into her bare skin. Natalya’s face remains the perfect portrait of calm, but I can see the divots he’s making in her skin.
Carrow follows my scowl, and strangely… He smiles.
“Admiring my jewel?”
Natalya laughs, her free hand coming up to skim over the necklace. “Isn’t it magnificent? Jonathan gave it to me for our engagement.”
“It’s stunning. Though not as stunning as you.” I give her as warm a smile as I can fake. My gaze meets Carrow’s, and the smug satisfaction I see there confirms what I already know.
The bastard wasn’t talking about the necklace, and Natalya knows it.
It’s a small thing, I try to tell myself. The white lies we all tell ourselves to get us through the vagaries of life. I won’t burst her bubble tonight, but I make a mental note to discuss this marriage the next time I see her.
Her personal life may not technically be my business, but I’m not about to stand silently by and watch another woman destroyed by a controlling man.
Where did that come from?
Keith didn’t destroy you.
Though he certainly gave it his best try.
I shift my champagne glass to my left hand so I can offer Natalya my right, and squeeze her fingers lightly one more time.
“Congratulations again.” I have nothing else to say, and I want to get out of here.
“Thank you, Elizabeth.” Her voice is notably more subdued than it had been before her fiancé arrived.
I excuse myself, citing a need to mingle, but my actual plan is to make a quick lap, and get the hell out of this house.
Drifting toward the far side of the room, I snag a delicate pastry off a passing tray and another glass of champagne. I’m not driving, and after dealing with Carrow, I deserve the free bubbles. At least, the man has excellent taste in champagne.
From the corner of my eye, I glimpse Natalya furtively glancing over her shoulder before slipping through a door at the back of the room.
None of your business, I remind myself. Yet, I set down my glass and trail after the woman who clearly doesn’t want to be followed.
Beyond the door, I find a hallway lit significantly dimmer than the house.
The music and laughter from the party are muted once the heavy door closes behind me.
The lack of other guests and low lighting makes it obvious that this area of the house is not intended for guests.
I hesitate in the shadowed entry, an odd feeling of anticipation mixed with foreboding swirling through me.
Go back, Elizabeth. You don’t belong here.
Through the glass doors at the far end of the hall, I can see the night sky, and the distant glimmer of a swimming pool reflecting the moonlight.