Chapter Seven
Lila
The driver arrived at Adam’s property and dropped us off at the top of the circular drive, and the first thing I noticed was the opulence.
It was reminiscent of the extravagant—ostentatious—parties my parents held so many years ago.
The elite of the elite. A beautiful woman greeted us, and her teal sequined dress shimmered in the lights of the foyer chandeliers.
Complimentary masks and welcome cocktails, a hurricane-style affair with more sugar than I wanted and a rum I hadn’t heard of before, were soon in hand, and we were led through Adam’s stunning home.
Amberly had been right. Adam did have an impressive Warhol collection.
I saw the first piece hanging above the living room fireplace.
Over one hundred people were already on the back lawn.
Each of them wore masks, so I pulled the purple feathered one in my hand over my face.
The dress I’d chosen didn’t stand up to the designer caliber of many of the women here, but the mask helped me not feel embarrassingly underdressed.
Even though my heart still beat at the same pace as if I had run ten miles, wearing this mask gave me more control over the situation.
I wasn’t ready to see Adam, so I dearly hoped the mask did its trick. Kept me hidden.
Amberly and Kennedy spotted a few men who looked younger than most of those on the island and made their way over to them. Soon, they were laughing and talking together, their voices tittering. Julie remained at my side, wearing a blue mask herself.
“Just look at all this,” she murmured.
“You were right.” I knocked back my cocktail, praying it would dull the queasy electricity racing through my blood.
I’d been on the property for less than ten minutes, and I already had confirmation their words at the bar were correct.
Adam was more than “generally” successful.
He’d become a tech god in his own right, and that party told everyone there he had a fortune to burn, along with little care how he did it.
“I didn’t realize Adam co-founded InstaPost.”
“You didn’t? Wired did a whole spread on them three months ago.”
“Must have missed that.”
When InstaPost launched, I’d been at college battling to keep my GPA at Montague level.
But after Dad’s death, I’d started fighting a very different battle, one of loss, anger, and desperation.
One I still fought daily. I’d believed that my father had continued his forefather’s legacy, that being a Montague ensured my comfort and security.
My family had been in America since the 1730s, when my ancestor helped James Oglethorpe set up the Georgia colony.
My great-grandfather had been secretary of commerce for President Harding.
And my grandfather, well, he’d made the second of the family’s two big fortunes by cashing in on the mid-20th Century gold rush in Florida real estate.
Now, all that family success was but a memory due to my father’s inability to be a man of his word.
A man who properly cared for his family.
“This is the best one—the best party,” Julie said. “I can tell.”
“I bet people say that every week, and about every party he throws.”
“Still, this is like being in a Mardi Gras fantasy.”
Julie probably couldn’t have described it better.
Thousands of tiny white lights twinkled overhead, twisting together and illuminating the sky high above them.
A band with a distinctly New Orleans jazz sound played alongside the water’s edge.
Champagne flowed over an enormous tower of crystal saucers in the middle of the yard.
Floating lights illuminated the pool. Performers dressed in elaborate costumes of purple, gold, and green moved through the crowd, dancing with people they didn’t know and hyping up the energy.
Women had bodies to die for, and every man wore bespoke suits.
As an extra, flamboyant touch, the catering staff had donned masks—animal ones of different stripes, leopard, tiger, zebra, and more, even one that resembled what New Orleans would look like if it mixed with Palm Beach. Outlandish and bizarre.
We might have been in South Florida physically, but it seemed as if we weren’t. We were somewhere else, something that felt a little bit like the stratosphere. Impressive.
So, how had the seventeen-year-old boy I’d once known been able to pull off a life like this?
“Too bad everyone is wearing disguises.” Julie took a skewered shrimp from the tray of a passing server. “Ruins our chances of seeing Adam up close. Or Preston.”
“Yep, too bad,” I agreed. A different staffer offered me a bite-sized serving of gumbo, but I declined. If I ate something, the nerves knitting a quilt inside my stomach might make me throw up, and that was the last thing I wanted to do. “I’m getting another drink from the bar.”
“Okay,” Julie replied. “I’m going to join Amberly and Kennedy.” She nodded in their direction, who were now substantially closer to the champagne tower centerpiece. “If you can’t find us, just text me, okay?”
“I will.”
I sauntered away through the soft grass, still scanning the party and taking in the sheer sensory overload of the evening.
No matter who threw this party, I had to take a moment to appreciate it all.
Given the current state of my life, my days at events like these were numbered.
I simply didn’t deserve this anymore, and I knew it.
Better make the most of this night, and its welcome reprieve from the shame and discomfort I’d been carrying around.
“Chardonnay,” I told the bartender a few moments later, remembering the adage about drinking I’d learned my freshman year at Vanderbilt University.
Liquor before wine, feeling fine. Too bad I hadn’t taken my advisor’s advice that year about switching majors.
A degree in the history of art didn’t exactly lend itself to a clear career path, but at the time I’d been more focused on making my debut in Vienna and honing my Italian language skills so I could study abroad as part of a cultural exchange.
How far away that all seemed now. That bachelor’s degree was supposed to be something extra in my life if I failed to find a suitable husband, not the roadmap for my family’s redemption.
Graduate school was probably a necessity if I wanted to find a meaningful job, but I couldn’t afford that given the debts my father had left us and the time in which I needed to repay them.
So, I’d have to hustle. And hustle some more.
Don’t think about that right now, Lila. Just try to enjoy yourself…
I drink my first sip of wine and moved away from the bar, closer to the band.
From there, I had a panoramic view of most of the party, as well as the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that showcased the interior of Adam’s mansion.
He had refined, contemporary taste, and that reflected the boy I remembered.
Straight lines, hard edges, bright colors, and utilitarian - yet an artistic design, all coated with a sheen of decorator-influenced trendy taste.
Sure, Adam was new money—shiny, flashy, in-your-face-making-sure-you-see-it new money, but I figured he’d climbed more than one mountain to get here.
Good for him. I wouldn’t be able to pay myself the same compliment.
So far, I hadn’t earned much of anything in my life.
The party filled with more guests, and I watched the crowd swell until it threatened to fall off the edge of the backyard, straight into the Intracoastal.
This would be a night to remember for a lot of people, myself included.
I wondered if Adam realized what he’d done for Palm Beach’s social scene, which had always skewed older and slower than Miami’s.
He’d given it an appeal that simply couldn’t be replicated, even at parties with presidents and dinners with billionaires.
For the first time, this was a look at what Palm Beach could feel like if it was young. He’d really done it…
Shit.
My stomach constricted as if someone had just kicked me straight in the center.
A small contingent of black-suited men had arrived at the lawn entrance, and none of them yet wore masks across their faces.
They clumped together with deep frowns, and they didn’t fit the rest of the glittery, gauzy guest list.
Worst of all, I knew them.
In fact, I knew them a little too well.
I sent up a silent thank you to God I had a mask that covered most of my face.
Had this been a regular party, I wouldn’t have been able to hide, wouldn’t have been able to use it as a shield against them.
I would have been totally exposed. But with the mask on, I had a chance of disappearing before they discovered I’d also found my way to Ibis Isle that night.
With one eye on the men, I maneuvered a little deeper into the crowd.
The people I put between myself and them were like pawns on a chessboard, and each step I took a calculation designed to keep them far away and get me closer to making my exit.
One step here, another step there. One more step… now this one…
When I got to the sliding glass door on the left side of the lawn, I slowly opened it and stepped inside.
Sure, it wasn’t my house, but I wanted to use it as a sort of visible wall between me and the people I’d rather not encounter.
I slipped off my mask. This looked to be a library of sorts, with floor-to-ceiling bookcases and an expansive collection of books dedicated to classic first edition books, fashionable houses, artwork, and architectural landmarks.