Chapter 6
CHAPTER 6
AZARA
“Do we really have to go to this,” I said from Nakia’s living room. I’d been sitting on her three-seater dark emerald green velvet Chesterfield sofa for the last twenty minutes waiting for her to finish getting ready.
We lived only a few minutes away from each other, so once I’d finished my shift at the hospital, I’d driven home for a quick shower before heading here to get ready.
“You’ve asked me three times already in the span of ten minutes and the answer is still the same,” she shouted from her bedroom’s ensuite bathroom.
Tonight was the event of the season.
There were a dozen high-society events held throughout the year, but the annual masquerade ball at Anzar, the renown private art gallery in London where Nakia worked as the first female chief curator, was the most sought-after invitation.
Anyone who mattered or wanted to matter went to unbelievable lengths to be granted access. It was the perfect place to see, be seen and gather society intel.
I didn’t understand it, but since Amanar General was one of the major donors for the event and my father was the medical director, I’d been invited every year. I’d usually been able to use work as an excuse to get away from it, but this year, my father had personally asked me to attend and cleared my schedule so I wouldn’t use my usual excuse.
“I know,” I replied, letting out a heavy sigh. “I was just checking in case you had a momentary lapse of judgment and agreed to stay home to watch movies and eat our weight in Moroccan takeout.”
Her laughter echoed through the apartment. Guess that was a no.
While I waited, I scanned her living space for something— anything —to do while I waited. My gaze landed on a stack of papers and journals neatly piled on her hand carved coffee table.
I picked up the single-page newspaper that had The Gilded Truth ’s distinctive logo at the top. The mysterious gossip column had arrived on the doorstep and email inbox of every member of high society that was remotely important two months earlier. It had created a wave of outrage at first, but quickly, those who’d critiqued it the most became addicted and were impatiently waiting for the next issue.
The pattern of delivery was still undetermined but whenever a new gossip sheet dropped, everyone halted whatever it was they were doing to read it. Its issues were a mix of commentary of the city’s most influential, social news like tonight’s event, scathing insults and the occasional praise—the last one a rare occurrence.
I didn’t understand the appeal of wanting to read about a complete stranger tearing someone else's reputation apart.
Except when it was warranted.
There were an abundance of trashier gossip columns, but unlike the others, whoever the newly influential gossip writer was, they’d managed to expose, with frightening accuracy, a few influential parties that were committing some quite unsavory deals to heighten their status.
I was holding the latest edition that had come out a few days prior. It was discussing tonight’s events, who hadn’t been invited and?—
“And you say you don’t read The Gilded Truth ,” Nakia said with amusement in her tone, startling me.
I cursed under my breath, my hand clutching my chest from her sudden presence, the column crumpling under the pressure. I looked up to find her standing beneath the door frame that separated her bedroom from the living room.
“I wasn’t reading it, simply holding it safe until you finished getting ready,” I said defensively, blurting out the first excuse that came to mind.
She gave me an incredulous look and I rolled my eyes, placing the sheet back on her coffee table. I sighed and said, “It’s not my fault it takes you forever to get ready. I was bored out of my mind.”
“It takes time to look this good,” she replied, waving her hands from her head to her toes before giving me a little twirl.
I laughed. “You do indeed look hot.”
She wore a stunning olive-green satin gown that flowed to the floor with a long train, the color complementing her brown skin. The halter neckline wrapped around her neck, leaving her shoulders and back bare.
Her long passion twists were secured into a high bun, a few loose tendrils coming out of the large updo. She’d paired her dress with gold jewelry—small hoop earrings, layered necklaces and various sized rings she wore over elbow-length gloves that matched her dress. The delicate black lace masquerade mask that was wrapped around her face made her look like she’d just stepped out of a dark fairytale
The fact she was still single baffled me every day. She was beautiful, talented and extremely intelligent. If I didn’t love men so much, I'd have married her myself.
“Well, thank you my dear,” she said, giving me a small curtsy.
I stood and glanced over to her kitchen to look at the time. I groaned. “We have to leave or we’ll be late,” I said, heading toward the large mirror in the foyer.
“Would you relax? It’ll be fine if we’re a few minutes late,” she replied, coming to stand next to me.
Since my hair was already secured in a low messy bun, a few loose curls framing my face, I tied my lace mask that matched hers before reapplying a coat of clear gloss over my brown lip combo. I’d kept my makeup minimal since most of it would be hidden and had borrowed some of Nakia’s gold jewelry to complement my dress.
I’d opted for an off-the shoulder dark red gown, inspired by the Victorian era, with a plunging V-shaped backline that revealed my shoulders and spine. The material hugged at my waist, before flaring into a dramatic cascade of folds. It cascaded down to the floor in a sweep of rich velvet, catching the light with a subtle sheen.
Nakia had cinched the structured bodice so tightly at my waist, my breasts were pushed up high, threatening to spill over the neckline. I’d tried to get her to loosen it, but she’d refused under the principle that this was how it was supposed to be worn.
It was the complete opposite of what I’d normally wear, but people attending tonight’s festivities to celebrate the New Year didn’t dress to blend into the surroundings, they dressed to stand out.
Knowing she wouldn’t let go, I’d easily relented.
“Ready?” she asked, looking at our reflection in the mirror.
“Unfortunately,” I replied, as I adjusted the pair of sheer black gloves I’d borrowed from her and slipped on my gold strappy heels.
We snapped a quick photo and sent it to Hazel in our group chat who quickly replied with a string of messages, telling us how good we looked, how she missed us and was jealous she couldn’t be there with us. We’d planned to all go together, but she was currently in Ireland with Edward to celebrate his parent’s thirtieth wedding anniversary.
I grabbed my clutch from the entryway table. It was larger than what I’d like to bring for an event like this, but I needed the space to carry all of my essentials—phone, lip products, a few of my favorite go-to low blood sugar snacks and my diabetes pouch. We’d already eaten a few hours earlier, and I wasn’t planning on drinking much, but being unprepared as a diabetic never fared well.
We then swiftly grabbed our coats before stepping out of Nakia’s four-bedroom townhouse she’d bought last year when she’d been promoted to chief curator. A discreet black town car was already waiting outside for us. The gallery provided each guest a private chauffeur, limiting the risk of uninvited guests and straddlers showing up.
The driver slid out of the vehicle to open the door for us. I settled into the backseat, Nakia sliding next to me. The sweet older gentleman shut it behind her before moving back into his seat.
We spent the drive to the art gallery in a comfortable silence while Nakia answered emails and dealt with last minute details for tonight’s event. While she worked, I turned and stared out of the window, watching the city blur as I prepared myself for a long and arduous night of small talk and thought of how long it would be appropriate before I could get away.
We drove down the busy streets of London toward the southbank until Anzar came into view. The elegant neoclassical building that stretched over three floors and multiple acres was an absolute masterpiece on a normal day, but tonight it was even more magnificent.
Its grand white exterior was illuminated by soft floodlights, and a black carpet covered the wide set of steps leading up to the portico entrance supported by large Corinthian columns.
A line of similar luxury cars to our own lined down the drive, dozens of expressionless guards on duty dressed in identical black suits helping guests out of their vehicles. Ours stopped four cars down from the entrance.
“Is it too late to leave?” I mocked, although I was serious.
“Don’t be so dramatic, it’ll be fine,” Nakia said, rolling her eyes and sliding her mobile into her small black purse.
I glanced over at her. “Easy for you to say, you love these things.”
“You’re here with me and your dad is coming as well, isn’t he?” she asked, placing a reassuring hand on my thigh.
She was well aware of how much I hated overcrowded spaces. I worked in one, but the hospital felt different. It was home and I mostly had control over every aspect. I was at ease there and knew how to navigate it.
Unlike here.
The ballroom would be filled with strangers I knew nothing about, alongside high-ranking society members that I didn’t care for. The games they played amongst each other with their veneer of polite niceties weren’t something I was used to or wanted to be a part of.
Just hearing Nakia’s tales about these events was enough.
On top of it all, people who attended these occasions seemed to scrutinize each guest’s every move. I didn’t particularly care about others' opinions, but the last thing I wanted was to find myself caught up in the middle of strangers' conversations—or worse, the focus of The Gilded Truth ’s newest edition.
Because while the identity of the gossiper remained a mystery, I was certain they’d be present tonight.
“Yes, but he’ll want to mingle and speak with anyone who could be a potential donor for the hospital, and I have no desire in doing so,” I replied with a heavy sigh.
My father was likely already there, making his rounds and persuading the wealthy elite of our society to invest in our facility. We were the best and our present donors were more than generous, but hospitals were perpetually in need of funding.
“I promise it’ll be fine. We’ll find a quiet corner at the back of the ballroom and observe the mothers attempting to match their eligible daughters with all the suitable bachelors present tonight.”
I placed my hand over hers, giving her a firm look. “You better not leave me alone.”
She chuckled, her rich laughter filling the car. “I’m technically off-duty. Francesca and Kensington are in charge of tonight,” she explained. Nakia had taken care of planning tonight with Hazel’s help, but her two assistants were responsible for ensuring everything ran smoothly this evening.
Our car finally rolled forward, and once it came to a halt, one of the valets opened the door for us. Nakia stepped out first, brushing a hand over the silk of her dress, and I followed, stepping onto the plush black carpet rolled out for guests.
The night air buzzed with anticipation and excitement. I’d expected photographers to be present, yet none were in sight. Instead, a steady stream of guests dressed in traditional white tie attire ascended the stairs, their chatter mingling in the crisp evening air.
Each guest presented their black and gold chip-embedded invitation to more stoic-faced guards and once cleared, the large, intricately designed, wooden doors of the gallery were opened to them.
Nerves danced against my skin as we were escorted up toward the grand entrance. A worker collected our coats and belongings before Nakia offered her arm and I looped mine through hers as she guided us into the entry hall, our heels clicking against the marble floor.
If the outside looked grand, the inside of Anzar was from another dimension. The ceilings stretched impossibly high, adorned with frescoes that depicted mythological gods through various scenes. The soft golden light chandeliers bathed everything in a warm glow, casting long shadows over the poshly dressed guests as they made their way to the second floor.
We joined the flow of guests as we made our way up one of the winding grand staircases. The muffled sound of elegant laughter and the soft clink of glasses mingled with the strains of a string quartet covering contemporary popular music, growing louder as we approached the closed ballroom ahead.
“Let’s do this shit,” I said in my best American accent, attempting to inject as much enthusiasm into the words as I could.
Nakia stifled a laugh, but she was used to my antics. “Let’s.”
The grand doors of the ballroom swung open, and I felt as though I’d been transported into the nineteenth century.
Various paintings from the era were displayed around the room while chandeliers, heavy with crystals, hung along the ceiling like sparking crowns, bathing the room in an ethereal glow. At the far end, rich velvet curtains draped the tall windows, with musicians seated in gilded chairs forming a semi-circle in front of them.
A long, dark mahogany bar spanned the full length of the eastern wall, embellished with ornate carvings along its edge and gleaming just as brightly as the rows of fine liquors in antique bottles and vintage wines displayed behind it.
Some guests were on the dance floor, while others mingled in intimate circles around the room. Impeccably dressed servers circulated with trays of flutes brimming with champagne. I swiftly grabbed one, downing its entirety in a single gulp hoping it would help steady my nerves.
Nakia and I spent the next hour chatting with guests and patrons from the gallery. Well, I let her do most of the talking, only chiming in when a question was directed my way. In the midst of our countless and monotonous conversations, my father had briefly greeted us before returning to making his own rounds of the floor.
Once the first hour of the evening had drawn to a close, we’d been sitting at the bar, chatting, when Kensington interrupted us in a state of panic. Her words tumbled out in a frantic rush as she whisked Nakia away to remedy whatever situation they’d found themselves in.
This, unfortunately for me, meant I found myself sitting alone at the bar, clutching yet another flute of champagne and scrutinizing it. I wasn’t much of a drinker and the earlier glass had been more than enough for me. But I had nothing better to do to occupy my time, and it helped keep the men at bay from offering to buy me a drink—even though they were all complimentary.
I turned in my seat and scanned the room, spotting a mother hurrying after a fleeing bachelor, her daughter trailing behind. I laughed under my breath at the scene and continued my perusal for something to occupy my mind while waiting for Nakia to return.
I had told her I’d head home when she’d left to solve whatever the issue with her assistant was, but she’d insisted I stay and made me promise to do so until she returned.
My wandering gaze roamed around the room until it caught an unmistakably familiar pair of dark eyes, and the breath stalled in my lungs. Although he wore a mask, I immediately knew who it was by the way the seconds stretched into a tense eternity and tiny sparks of unwelcomed awareness ignited all over my body.
My pulse hammered as he made his way toward me.
I really must be cursed.