Chapter 37
Cornelia
West’s masquerade party at his nightclub is legendary. It happens once a year during spring break and is one of the most coveted invitations of the season. Part of its allure comes from the party’s notorious reputation and the sheer number of celebrities who attend.
There’s something about wearing a mask and believing nobody knows who you are that brings out people’s wildest nature. I say believing because, if you truly know someone, you can recognise them even with a mask on.
This year, West added a little more spice by making it a black-and-white party, with the masks being strictly opera style.
I’m wearing a vintage Chanel off-white dress—the same one Lily Collins wore as a debutante at Le Bal des Débutantes in 2007. It isn’t my usual type of dress; normally, I’d go for something in black at a black-and-white party. But that’s the point—to be a different person for a while.
Because of that, I opt for minimal jewellery.
I’m just wearing my everyday Jessica McCormack ring and platinum vintage Pragnell earrings with diamonds.
I am wearing white Jimmy Choo heels, a white clutch by Jimmy Choo, and a white opera mask to match the dress, with my hair styled in an updo to complete the look.
After having a few pictures snapped by the paparazzi outside, I step into West’s club, and it’s exactly what I expected from him.
The whole place feels like it’s from another era—in the best way possible.
Towers of champagne are scattered throughout the room, and exotic dancers dangle gracefully from the ceiling.
I came alone. TJ had asked if I wanted us to come together, but with all the paparazzi outside, why give the press something to write about? So, I used that as the excuse for why it was more convenient for us to come separately.
I do a turn around the room, talk to some people, and then make my way to the bar to order a drink.
As I stand waiting, I spot Annabelle walking in my direction. I know it’s her because she sent me a photo of the dress she’s wearing—a satin black dress with lace details. And she’s holding a black mask on a stick that doesn’t cover much of her face.
I turn around and try to make myself smaller, hoping she hasn’t recognised me and that she just happened to be coming to the bar. But my hopes are shattered when she taps my shoulder and says, “Found you.”
I didn’t tell her what I was wearing, saying it was more fun this way so she could find me. But the real reason was that I had been avoiding her.
I’ve been spending a lot of time with TJ—and when I say a lot, I mean a lot—and she’s the only one who could call me out on it and actually get me to listen at this point.
“Was I so easy to find?” I ask her. “I thought I did a good job with my disguise.”
“You did, but I heard your voice and it’s a big giveaway,” she points to my Jessica McCormack ring. “So, why have you been avoiding me?” Annabelle adds bluntly.
At that moment, thankfully, the bartender hands me the martini I ordered. I take a big sip, buying myself time to come up with something.
“I haven’t been avoiding you. I’ve just been very occupied,” I lie.
“But not that occupied for TJ, it seems.”
I didn’t tell her about spending time with TJ, but I was almost one-hundred percent sure she knew.
“TJ just happened to… fine,” I sigh, giving in. “I was avoiding you.”
“Because you were spending time with TJ?” she presses.
Begrudgingly, I say, “Yes.”
She frowns, her brown eyes studying me intently for a few seconds. “Are you still in love with him?”
I look at her, offended. “Are you really asking me that?”
“Yes,” Annabelle says with unwavering confidence.
“He did one of the vilest things anyone could have done to me. How could I love him after that?” I reply, my voice sharp, almost defensive. “Thinking that I could is ridiculous, and disgusting, and…”
She looks at me, eyes narrowing as if peering straight into my soul. After a moment, she replies, “But you do.”
More like never stop.
I take a few seconds to answer, but at last I say, “I do.” I could try to deny it, but the only one I’d be fooling is myself.
I shouldn’t, though. The love I have for TJ doesn’t make any sense. It seems to defy every law in the universe, stubbornly existing in a place where it has no right to be.
“But it doesn’t matter, because even though I do, how could I ever forgive him for what he did?” I tell her, my voice heavy with frustration and sadness.
How could I ever forgive him for what he did? It is a question I have been asking myself a lot lately. Not because I think I could never do so, but because I desperately want to find a reasonable way to do so. One where I wouldn’t be betraying myself in the process.
Annabelle just nods because, like me, she doesn’t have an answer.