Chapter Twenty Nine
Surprise and awe appeared on Ophelia’s face. “Is that the party?”
Mateo knowingly grinned. “Yes, wild one.”
“Jesus.”
The party was only a couple of blocks away. As they approached the house, Ophelia could see the lights and people gathering on the front lawn of a great mansion.
The mansion was three stories tall with a wrap-around porch and floor-to-ceiling windows.
Ophelia thought it must have been built in the late 1800s.
The front lawn was covered in ferns and flowers that looked as if they had been brought in especially for the party.
Fairy lights were scattered throughout the trees, creating a feeling of euphoria.
Vines from planters dripped from the second-story balcony onto the porch awning.
Hand-painted ornaments featuring tiny fruits and fairies hung in every plant.
Mateo led Ophelia down the walkway, which was covered by a canopy of vines with streams of multi-colored roses reaching for the tops of the party-goers’ heads.
“What is this party?” she asked, utterly bewildered by the lush and lavish decorations.
“A fellow artist owns this home, and yeah, she really enjoys throwing extravagant parties. Family money.” Mateo shrugged nonchalantly as if to brush off the grandeur of it all.
As they reached the front porch, a man dressed as what can only be described as a sexy gnome greeted them. “Hiya, Teo,” said the sexy gnome. “Come on in.”
Mateo placed his hand on the small of Ophelia’s back and guided her into the house.
“Can I get you a drink?” His smooth voice rumbling into her ear sent shivers down her neck. “I think there’s a bar at the end of the porch.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said. She was completely entranced by the splendor of the house. “I’m going to look around.”
As Ophelia walked through the lush mansion, she was greeted with sweet floral smells from fresh, crushed gardenia petals scattered across the hardwood floors.
In the parlor, a grand piano was being played by an alto-voiced woman wearing an elaborate headdress made of different bits of sparkle and feathers.
Her buttery voice floated through the room with an old ragtime tune, and guests in costumes tapped and bobbed to the music while leaning against the piano.
Ophelia let the music guide her through the room as she admired the original paintings on the walls and antique trinkets scattered on the shelves.
Clambering, coming from another room, stole her attention from the music. Through a swinging door was a man dressed in a full tuxedo, attempting to build a champagne tower on the kitchen island.
“Need help?” asked Ophelia, examining the wreckage of pots that had fallen on the floor.
“Yes! Drink the champagne!” he said as he popped the cork and poured the champagne. Ophelia watched as the champagne flowed and bubbled down the crystal glasses. She squealed with delight and grabbed an overflowing glass from the top.
Balancing her full drink, she floated through the kitchen into a hallway where she stopped to admire a massive vintage mirror that leaned against the wall.
One glimpse of herself, and she was startled by how she looked—as if she had been transported to another realm.
After only one glass of wine and a sip of champagne, she already felt drunk, enraptured by the place, the party.
She lingered, staring into the mirror, admiring the scenery surrounding her—twinkly lights, wistful movements from people dancing, brilliant colors from costumes, a magical blur. Then Mateo’s image appeared.
“Whatcha looking at?” he said, grabbing her waist and pressing her back into his chest. He flattened his palm against her lower abdomen.
“I uh…I just can’t get over this party,” she said breathlessly. Their image reflected was enthralling. He was a golden ruler who had captured a garden nymph.
“I’m glad you like it, and I’m glad you found a drink. I was having trouble locating the booze.”
Mateo did it again, that longing stare that lasted too long.
Her body responded without her consent, and she arched her ass into his pelvis.
Her body was searching, wanting. Mateo groaned, and she watched them in the mirror as she let her head fall to the side, offering her neck to him.
Good God, what am I doing? He is just so hot.
So intoxicating. Without taking his eyes off her in the mirror, Mateo dipped his head and nipped at the sensitive flesh of her neck.
The smell returned, assaulting her senses. Not again.
Ophelia straightened. A flicker of confusion showed on Mateo’s face again. She was sending him all sorts of bizarre messages. Fiery hot, then ice cold.
“What else is at this party?” she asked, deflecting.
“Let’s see,” he tsked. “Should we check out the jazz band, get a massage, or have our tarot read?”
Ophelia’s eyes widened. “A tarot reader?” The serial killer’s last victim had been a tarot reader.
A chill went through Ophelia’s body. Lauren Cash might have worked at this party if it weren’t for the Cutthroat Killer.
She might have loved this magical place as much as Ophelia did.
They might have even met and become friends.
A cacophony of horns began to sound, and Mateo grabbed her hand. “Band first. Tarot later,” he said.
In the grand living room of the house was a nine-piece jazz band absolutely tearing it up.
Over the bobbing of heads, Ophelia noted sweat beading on the players’ brows.
It seemed impossible that all nine large men and their instruments could fit in the room, but the room appeared to expand just for them.
The musicians were surrounded by more luscious flowers and greenery intertwined in the trellis of an arch.
In the back of the room was an ornate four-poster queen bed, where guests were piled on top of each other, lounging.
It wasn’t an orgy, per se, or at least she didn’t think so, but they were all touching, caressing each other’s arms. They were all barely clothed in handcrafted, eccentric costumes.
One person was swaying to the music, others were kissing, some were telling stories with grand gestures, but they didn’t feel real.
It felt like they were acting. Like the whole party was a play for Ophelia to experience, and everyone there already knew their role.
Ophelia drained her glass of champagne and started to move.
The horns were magnificently loud, and the vibrations from the sound were so strong she could feel it in her bones.
It was impossible not to dance. Mateo and Ophelia found themselves in a familiar place again, moving around a dance floor.
Ophelia felt like it was a mating ritual at this point, but she supposed it had always been one.
She was adjusting to his scent. It was still there, but she was acclimating to it. She let the party consume her.
At midnight, exhausted and drenched with spilled champagne and sweat from dancing, they retreated to the backyard for fresh air.
The yard was unsurprisingly unique with a giant oak tree towering in the center, its heavy limbs resting on the ground.
Under the tree and randomly throughout the yard were vintage claw-foot tubs overflowing with pillows and blankets.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” said Mateo, gently squeezing her hand for reassurance.
Leaning against the wood siding of the house, Ophelia watched people mill about in the backyard.
As she observed the party lost in thought, she felt a tingling sensation on her right as if someone was staring at her.
Curious, she looked in that direction and caught eyes with Etienne.
She inhaled sharply. She was not prepared to see him so soon after their awkwardly erotic treating session.
Etienne smiled at her in the only way that his reserved nature would allow. With ease, she returned the smile and watched him break away from his group of friends and saunter toward her.
He was dressed in Kelly-green pants and no shirt, just suntanned abs and chest hair. Apparently, going shirtless was the preferred dress for men at this party. He had a couple of creeping thistle blooms tucked behind his right ear. She tried not to ogle and look only at his face.
“Hey, O,” Etienne drawled. “What are you doing here?”
Ophelia looked at him skeptically. His tone almost sounded as if he thought she didn’t belong here. “Well, it’s a party, and I like those,” she said with a haughty smirk.
He huffed a laugh. “Yes, well, I know that. I didn’t know that you knew Felix or Liza.”
“I don’t. Are those the owners of the home? I was invited by a friend.”
“Yeah, I know Felix through family friends. We grew up kinda near each other.”
Great. Does that mean Ben is here? Ophelia began to look around anxiously.
Etienne reached out and sympathetically squeezed her elbow.
As if reading her mind, Etienne said, “Don’t worry.
Ben’s not here.” The weight of his hand was shocking.
She twitched from the overwhelming feeling, and he awkwardly dropped his hand.
“Oh, okay, good,” she said, not even trying to hide her relief.
Etienne dipped his head to her level and whispered in his baritone voice, “So how are you feeling about this new magical world?” His eyebrows raised in curiosity.
“Bewildered. Shocked. Distracted.” She took a large drink of her champagne. “The whole world seems different.”
Etienne hummed. “I went through that too. It’s like the veil has been lifted and anything is possible.”
Ophelia’s eyes widened at his words. “Yes, exactly. It’s very unsettling.”
“Do y—” Etienne’s question died on his tongue as Mateo walked up and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
“Hey, wild one,” Mateo said to Ophelia, pulling her tighter into his side. “Hey, man,” he said with a head nod to Etienne.
A calm, calculated look took over Etienne’s warm features, and he suddenly appeared even taller than usual.
“Mateo, this is my friend, Etienne.”
Mateo shook Etienne’s hand, both men sizing the other up.
Ophelia observed them posturing. Etienne was several inches taller than Mateo.
Etienne was brawny with a thick beard, chest hair, and limbs corded with muscles and veins, while Mateo, in contrast, was svelte and elegant in a masculine, artistic way.
One was as solid as the earth with roots and vegetation grounding him as the protector, the ruler of the natural world, while the other was a god of art and beauty, reflecting rays of gold.
The two men continued to stare each other down. Interesting. They don’t like each other. Ophelia cocked her head in amusement.
Mateo abruptly clapped his hands together, breaking up the tension. “Ophelia, my wild one, let’s go tubbin’.” Mateo wagged his eyebrows flirtatiously, his mouth twisted into a mischievous smile.
“Huh?” Ophelia murmured, confused.
“The bathtubs.” Mateo gestured to the claw-foot tubs that were placed sporadically throughout the back of the yard. “Come on.” He slid his hand into hers with a possessive grip.
“Oh,” said Ophelia with an uneasy chuckle. “Sure. Etienne, it was good to see you.”
“Yeah, you too,” he said. His eyes struggled to leave Mateo, but he offered her a brief smile. She’d never seen him act like this before, so outwardly angered by another man’s presence. As Mateo turned toward the back of the yard, Etienne swiftly leaned into Ophelia without Mateo’s notice.
“Don’t trust him, Ophelia. Talk to Jade. She’ll tell you,” he whispered before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.