Chapter 22
CHAPTER 22
CAROLINE
Going to Canada would be a bad idea.
Chase and I didn’t know each other that well and had met under awful circumstances (of my making). I had no business going to Yankee Stadium with him, let alone out of the country.
Years ago, Dad had told me about incident pits for deep sea divers. My dad loved documentaries, and he especially loved sharing random facts from them with his customers at the café, usually without any indication of interest from them. Mike always said our dad was the Wikipedia of Weird. Anyway, with incident pits, the worse something got or the longer it went on, the harder it was to get out of. Which was obvious. The only exit points happened before you realized you were in trouble, and once you were like, uh oh, this is gnarly , it was the end of the line for you. Basically, things with Chase in New York were so messed up there was no way I could mend them, so I should just do whatever I wanted while I could. Like go to Canada with the hot millionaire who made me come so hard I saw stars .
So, I packed a bag and the garment box he’d sent me and got on a flight to Canada.
Lake Ontario sped by underneath me, too dark to see. Chase had arrived in Toronto yesterday but promised to send someone to collect me at the airport. He said it casually, making it sound like it was just a friend, a mate, a pal; but I knew it would be a hired driver. Chase might be philanthropic, thoughtful and down to earth, but affluence was a deep part of who he was, and his casualness about the whole thing was deeply misleading.
Arriving only hours before the party wasn’t ideal, but last week Lyssa won our coin toss, so I was the one who had to get Root Beer in his carrier and take him to the kitty dentist this morning—he was fine, but he’d cracked a tooth chewing Lyssa’s knitting needles.
As we flew, I pulled up the email my little brother had cc’d me on, which I’d downloaded before takeoff.
To: Ryman Loans
From: [email protected]
RYMAN,
MY SISTER HAS PAID THE OUTSTANDING RENT ON THE CAFé AND NOW WE’RE UP TO DATE. IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, YOU CAN CONTACT OUR ACCOUNTANT, THIS EMAIL IS JUST TO SAY FUCK YOU.
NO REGARDS,
MIKE HOLLIDAY
The email should have made me feel good. I’d done what I’d needed to. I’d been a good daughter and a good sister. Gerard had been true to his word, and sent me the other half of the money, and I’d dolled it out where it needed to go, with a little bit left over for a new account called ‘savings’. Every time I logged into my banking it felt like a practical joke to see it there, with actual money in it, but it wasn’t. No real harm done to anyone, right? Joe may have been a bit embarrassed, but he was a big little rich kid, he could take it.
Everything was fine, and I shouldn’t feel guilty at all.
I was going to have a lovely time frolicking in Canada. If Chase wanted a weekend with Caroline Holliday, broke show-pony with a heart of gold and an insatiable need to be the center of attention at all times?, well, he was going to get it.
The party was at a fancy chalet outside the city. Chase had reassured me none of his Manhattan friends would be there, so I was traveling sans horrible wig, and my carry-on was full of gaudy, pink showgirl shit.
When the overhead seat belt sign clicked off, I started rolling my hair in foam rollers and tucking it under a silk scarf so it would set for the party. This would have really annoyed the passenger next to me if there had been one, but I was in the roomiest airplane seat I’d ever sat in, and I had no seatmates. Flying seventeen hours between New York and New Zealand would be so much easier in seats like this. Usually, when I got off a plane at home, I needed to go straight to a masseuse.
For about three seconds after I stepped out onto the pavement at Pearson, tugging my carry-on behind me, it was like being inside a snow globe. Magical. Perfect. Call me Elsa.
Then the cold hit me.
I was going to freeze my tassel holders off!
“You should have a coat,” my driver frowned as I shivered in the back seat.
The card on her dash said “Shelly, she/her” and was decorated with stickers of holographic smiley faces.
“I have a coat.”
“That’s not a coat,” Shelly scoffed at my subway coat. “You need a Canada coat.”
She turned the heat up as high as it would go, and we rode in silence. The snow made the long drive longer, but the car moved quietly through the night. I could tell Shelly wanted to say more about my coat but restrained herself.
Eventually we pulled into a gravel parking lot. A huge stone mansion sat in the middle of white-blanketed fields, a pointed protrusion among the natural beauty of the land. It looked like a Bond villain’s lair.
Shelly waved off my tip, and I pushed my way through the double doors of the luxury estate—which wasn’t easy; they weighed like a hundred Root Beers. Inside, an extremely organized looking person with a clipboard and a pencil skirt greeted me.
“Caroline Holliday?”
I tried not to beam at my real name. “That’s me.”
“I’m Elena. I’m the manager of the chalet. Chase Sanford asked me to show you to your rooms. I’ll send someone for your bags.”
“Oh, don’t worry?—”
“It’s not a problem.” Elena gestured to an extremely built masc person wearing an all-black event staff uniform. “Angus could bench-press a bear.”
“No, I mean I don’t have any bags.” I pointed to my wheeled carry-on. “This is it.”
Elena blinked. “Right. Well, Angus, do you want to take that?—?”
He tugged the dress box from under my arm and gingerly picked up my carry-on, which had a sticker of Bettie Page riding a tube of red lipstick on the side. My luggage looked like a doll’s suitcase in his massive hands.
“Angus will show you to your rooms.” Elena smiled. “It’s lovely to have you with us at Amisfield Estate, Caroline.”
The room was beautiful, of course. Or rooms . The one Angus let me into connected to another just like it. I knew immediately that this was Chase’s way of ensuring I didn’t feel he expected anything from me, even though I wanted expectations from him. Really, it was why I was here. I wanted to goad him until that careful control broke and he called me a brat again, and I wanted to revisit his heated promise from Lueur to turn my ass red if I didn’t behave. Maybe if I played my cards right…
Chase was out with his friend Gerry—they were at a whisky tasting or something—and guests were due to start arriving in an hour, which meant I had at least two to get ready. Unlike Chase, I never arrived at a party on time.
For a man who only ever wore one thing and hated buying new clothes, the significance of Chase’s buying me a fancy dress for this party was not lost on me. He’d picked perfectly. The sparkly white dress was stretchy, made to cling to every curve, and it glistened as I moved. The neckline was low and square, offering excellent Jane Mansfield–spilling-out-of-her-dress-while–Sophia Loren–glared potential, but the delicately gathered fabric extended down over my knees, making me look sophisticated too.
The second Lyssa saw the logo on the box, she’d tugged it out of the delivery person’s hands. “Holy crap Caroline! Do you know whose this is?!”
“Mine?”
Apparently, she meant the designer, and apparently it was someone important. She lifted the dress out of the box, gushing. “Please do a soft pink lip with this,” Lyssa had begged. “If you compete with the pearlescence of the dress, you’ll ruin the whole look.”
At Amisfield, when I applied some pale pink lipstick and stepped back to survey myself in the mirror, I sent a mental thanks to Lyssa. As always, she was right. The soft glitter of the dress, the pastel of my hair, and the subtle lip made me look like a vixen. I felt good. I felt like me .
I was glad I’d bitten the bullet and trusted Chase enough to come here.
The scene downstairs was nothing like I expected.
Guests in white gowns and black tuxedos dotted the ballroom. Chandeliers dangled from high ceilings, casting light onto floors furnished with rugs so hideous they must have been expensive. Partygoers sprawled over plush velvet furniture as 18th-century figures watched from gilded frames. The sounds of happy chatter and clinking glassware filled the air.
But it was the hired entertainers’ attire that stopped me in my tracks. They were all in gold: some in floor-length gowns, others in follies lingerie. One person was naked except for head-to-toe gold body paint.
As a performer in a lamé cape turned pirouettes on a small platform, a drag king dressed as Rocky from Rocky Horror —shiny gold shorts, abs, vacant grin—offered me an hors d’oeuvre. Off his bicep.
This wasn’t anything like the stuffy New York social scene. This kind of party was a Caroline party, and therefore the last place in the world I would have expected to encounter Chase Sanford. I’d been a performer at lush parties like this before but never a guest.
The crowd was small for the space, maybe forty people, which made sense. I’d noticed that Chase didn’t like to be in large crowds.
Scanning the room for my Mr. Moral, I didn’t see the Thor look-alike in a gold helmet passing out champagne flutes until it was too late. I turned because I thought I saw Chase’s blond head, and when I whipped around, I crashed into Thor. His tray flew up and glasses plummeted. Some broke instantly and others held until they hit the floor, but all of them smashed loudly, coating us in sticky humiliation. It took a lifetime for everything to stop smashing.
“I’m so sorry!”
“It’s fine.” Thor gave me a tight smile, but it was not fine. Obviously. There was champagne all over him, all over me, and broken glass everywhere.
A few guests cast us unimpressed looks, but most just stepped away from the mess and carried on their conversations. Thor and I dropped to our knees and began collecting what we could.
“Is there a broom?” I asked worriedly.
“I’ve got it. You don’t need to help.”
I shook my head and reached for more glass, suddenly fighting tears.
I’d looked so pretty in my fancy dress, and now it was ruined. The champagne would probably stain, the smell would cling, and I’d made a fool of myself in front of Chase’s friends.
He hadn’t even seen me in the dress before I’d ruined it! I’d wanted to show him I could fit in here as me, as Caroline. But two minutes into the party, I was drenched in champagne and on my knees, cleaning.
I was a Holliday, a tough cookie with the never-give-up gene—but this was too much. Even for me. I blinked rapidly, trying to push back the tears. I knew stuff like this happened and it wasn’t the end of the world, but it felt like it. I was humiliated.
Someone in the all-black attire of the venue staff arrived with a small broom.
The servers cleaned efficiently, but I spied a large piece of glass they’d missed and reached for it.
That’s why, when Chase found me, I was kneeling in a puddle of champagne, bleeding on the floor of his friend’s party.
“Caroline?”
My heart skipped a beat when I saw him, the crown prince of this golden affair.
For once, he wasn’t wearing his usual sweater, and the sight was a shock. He wasn’t in a tuxedo either—making big egos feel small by underdressing was his thing, whether he knew it or not—instead he wore a plain black suit. The sharp lines and perfect fit indicated it was expensive.
It figured. He wore couture, I wore spillage.
Quickly, I swiped my cheeks and Summer Smiled. “Hi Chase!”
He reached down and helped me to my feet.
“Caroline, are you OK? ”
I smiled harder. “Sure! It’s just a scratch. See, I’ve already stopped bleeding.” I showed him my finger so quickly he couldn’t really see it, then stuffed it in my mouth to hide the evidence, like Mike and I used to do when we were kids and had gotten hurt doing something we shouldn’t have.
Chase frowned but didn’t press, thankfully. When you felt like crap, kindness could break you. I needed him to be mean, not kind.
But of course, he was Chase, so he wouldn’t.
He turned to Thor and offered him a hand too. “Are you OK?” he asked the entertainer. “Are you injured too?”
“I’m fine.” Thor waved off the offer and climbed gracefully to his feet despite the cumbersome costume. “Please, carry on with your night. Can I get you a glass of champagne?” he asked me, too innocently. Quickly, I shook my head and he left.
The party raged on as if nothing had happened.
Except I was humiliated and my dress was ruined.
“You’re here,” Chase said, like he couldn’t believe it. “May I?” he held out his arms, and I was so surprised it took a while to work out what he was asking. Only Chase would ask permission to hug me when the last time he’d seen me he’d had his fingers inside me.
“Of course.”
I leaned into his embrace, admiring the sharp line of his jaw and the ledge of his brow from an up close, ant’s-eye view. Some people looked like entirely new humans from this vantage point, but Chase had the audacity to be beautiful from every angle.
His lips dusted the crown of my head in a whisper-soft kiss.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured into my hair.
“I did.” I pulled away and self-consciously smoothed my ruined dress.
Chase’s eyebrows scrunched.
“The champagne.” I pointed to the dark patches. “Look.”
He did. Then he laughed. “Trust me, Floss. Nobody is noticing the color of some fabric when it’s your body it’s wrapped around.”
I melted.
“Besides,” he continued, the corners of his eyes crinkling, “you know I’m not opposed to buying multiples of one item of clothing. How many do you want?”
“Easy, tiger,” I joked, “I’ll have to hydrate before any multiples.”
Mr. Moral blushed, but the look in his eyes said game on.
He motioned to another server for champagne. I relented and let him grab me one too. As we sipped, I looked around at the theatrical excess that was so my scene and not at all Chase’s.
“Do you like it?” he asked. “My stepbrother, Gerry, owns a cabaret club in New York and a sister club here in Toronto. Lots of the performers here are from his bars.”
I stilled, my heart pounding in my ears.
“I haven’t been to many of his shows,” Chase continued, “but I know he sometimes has burlesque performers. I thought you’d enjoy this.”
Dread crept over the back of my scalp and down my spine, its talons curling around my flesh and squeezing.
I had a very, very bad feeling about ‘Gerry’.