1. Sage #2
“This bird is aching to fly.”
A smile comes my way. “That makes me happy to hear. And judging from the way you look tonight, you’re going to have many takers.”
I eye her stunning attire. “And the same to you. I bet we’ll both be collecting numbers.”
A soft smile curves her glossy lips as she shrugs, a little helplessly. “Too bad I have my eye on only one number.”
I pat her arm, sighing sympathetically. “I know, Eliza.” Do I ever know? The man she longs for is all kinds of off-limits. Isn’t that often the way it goes with the ones we want the most? “Maybe tonight someone else will catch your fancy.”
“A woman can dream.”
Leaving my closet, I head to my jewelry box, selecting a delicate diamond choker.
I slide it on, the metal cool against my warm skin. I fasten the clasp at my neck, admiring it in the mirror, the way the stones catch the light.
I grab the last piece of the costume, but the most important one.
The one that completes my transformation.
I slide on a violet mask, the edges lined with feathers and gems, like a trussed up purple peacock.
Sounds about right. I’ve got a peacock in me, that’s for sure.
One last glance in the mirror. The mask does its job admirably, covering more than half my face, only exposing my lips, my chin, and my silver hair clip. The eyeholes are lined with the thinnest mesh, making my blue eyes even harder to recognize. They look simply dark, simply naughty.
They’re eyes shrouded in mystery, painted with intrigue.
But my belly flips with nerves.
Unexpectedly.
I set a hand on my stomach, trying to settle them, trying to talk back to the tension.
But I don’t have to do that alone. I have a friend, and I turn to her, setting a hand on Eliza’s arm.
“Do I look like Sage Carmichael? The woman whose heart was unceremoniously broken in front of the entire city?”
My voice wobbles as I think of that night several months ago. The night I very publicly learned what my ex had been up to. Or rather, who .
I don’t want to look like that woman tonight.
She shakes her head. “You never look like that to me. You always look like my friend, a person I respect, a woman who kept it all together after loss, and after cruel heartbreak. The woman with thousands of employees whose livelihoods she’s responsible for.
The benefactor for charity after charity in this city.
” She taps my sternum, nothing but strength in her voice, in her gaze. “That’s who you are.”
A lump forms in my throat. “Shut up. I love you.”
Tossing her head back, Eliza cracks up. “Aww, you’re sweet and mean at the same time.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Just call me a conundrum.” I draw a deep breath. “Also, thank you. I needed that.”
“I could tell, and it’s easy to say because it’s true.”
I smooth a hand over my dress, loving the way it makes me feel. And I want to feel like a different woman, the one who can come out to play at night. Tonight is a new beginning for me. An end to the heartache that’s haunted me for the last several months.
A heartache I’m shedding completely.
That’s who the woman in the black corset and violet mask is—the woman who’s moving on.
As we make our way through my suite, I pick up the thread of conversation again. “And for the record, you look like a woman who has all sorts of fabulous secrets.”
“Oh, so you mean I look like exactly who I am? One of the execs of the football team who’s secretly in love with the backup quarterback?”
I grab her hand, smiling softly. “Someday you’ll let me devise a plan for you and Xavier.”
“Until then, let us imagine ,” she says with a smile and a laugh.
I share both with her too.
We leave my suite, whisking our way down the plush carpeted hallway, then into the elevator. I press the button for the basement. No need to sweep through the casino dressed like this.
I’m not worried about being seen, per se. Nor am I sneaking off. I’d just rather enter the party already feeling like someone else. And so that’s how I want to begin the night too.
Also, another rule to live by is this: one should always err on the side of caution when one likes playing dress-up.
And this girl has always loved to play pretend.
The elevator lets us off at the lower level, and we wind through hallways till we near the exit. Reaching into my clutch, I grab my phone, dial my driver, and ask him to come around. Seconds later, we head outside to the portico at the back entrance of the hotel.
The valets glance my way, but none of them say, Good evening, Ms. Carmichael.
Neither do the doormen.
We are simply two women in costume. We blend in, because Vegas is a land for slipping into other personas.
The ruse works. No one expects to see buttoned-up Sage like this.
A frisson of excitement winds through me, the buzzy promise of getting away with something. It rushes through my body, the zip of anticipation, the hum of possibilities.
The gleaming black limo arrives within a minute, the driver pulling to the curb and stepping out.
Carlos’s eyes scan quickly, finding us. He opens the door for the back seat while a valet tips his cap. “Have a lovely evening in Las Vegas,” the valet says, as if we’re anyone.
I grin privately, delighted to pull this off.
When we’re in the car, the valet shuts the door behind us as Carlos returns to the wheel.
“Where am I taking you tonight, Ms. Carmichael?” he asks in the mirror.
He’s the only one who’ll know, and a good driver doesn’t let on about his boss’s nighttime escapades.
“Take us to Aria.”
He nods crisply. “As you wish.”
As the car swings away from my home, whooshing past The Invitation, a brand-new gleaming hotel across the street from mine, I shift my gaze to Eliza. Her eyes sparkle with mischief. She’s thinking what I’m thinking. We are Cinderellas off to the ball.
Only, I don’t want to meet a Prince Charming.
I’ve no interest in that.
I’ve been there, ridden off into the sunset with the man I thought was the one.
The man who turned out to be the furthest thing from it, his charm nothing but a lie.
I won’t go there again, won’t risk that type of man.
But I wouldn’t mind meeting a Prince Wicked.
I wouldn’t mind that at all.