by London James
“That wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain ex of yours, would it?” Sebastian asks.
I walked myself right into that one.
“Chad is a non-entity in my life. He ceased getting to have anything to do with my decisions and future plans when we broke up six months ago.”
“Let’s be honest. He didn’t really have a whole lot to do with those even when you were together.”
“Besides,” I say, gliding past the comment, “I don’t think a ball is really his scene.”
“Are you kidding? He’ll do anything to try to get your attention again. If he thinks you’re going to be somewhere, he’s going to be there, too.”
“All the more reason to not go.”
“It’ll be fine. It’s a masquerade.”
“So?”
“Masq-uerade," Seb emphasizes. "Everybody is going to be wearing masks. He won’t be able to recognize you.”
“We dated for years. I don’t think a mask is going to totally obscure my identity.”
“If he doesn’t have anything to do with your decisions, why would it matter? He’s been trying to reclaim you ever since you broke up with him. He thinks he’ll still have a spot, sitting beside you on the front porch, sipping lemonade, and watching the world go by.”
“Thanks for that extremely flattering visual of my life.”
“That’s not what I meant. I just mean he has some unfinished business with you.”
What an awkward, drawn-out way of saying it. This tells me Sebastian is trying hard to say it with some tact.
“Unfinished business? Is that your way of saying we broke up because I wouldn’t put out?”
“I was actually trying really hard not to say that.”
“What I think Sebastian is getting at is that Chad feels slighted. You so wisely chose not to have Chad be your first, and yet everyone in the village was taking bets on when you’d announce the engagement. His desperation for you to take him back stems from feeling like he didn’t fulfill his manly destiny.”
I scoff. “Because that’s so much better. He wants to get back with me, not because he loves me or thinks we have a future together, but because I wasn’t his conquest.”
Skylar thinks about that for a second. “It sounded better in my head," she says.
My eyes roll back so hard, I nearly knock myself off balance, so I let the momentum carry me to the pantry so I can gather ingredients for cinnamon rolls.
“The point is that Chad is in the past. No more hanging out. No recounts. He’s done. You broke up with him because you know there’s no future for the two of you, and you want to live your life. So, start living it," Skylar presses. "Go to the ball. Look gorgeous and drum up some business. Do something completely revolutionary and unexpected and have fun.”
My hands go through the motions of making cinnamon roll dough. It's so natural that I don't even have to think about it anymore. Gran taught me to make dough the day before I need it so that the flavors have time to develop. Nearly every afternoon finds me right where I am, readying the dough for the rolls to be made the next morning. Even when there aren't any guest reservations for the night, it would feel wrong not to make the dough.
“I appreciate you two thinking about me, and I love you for it, but being ready for the guests is really what I need to focus my attention on right now.”
“Alright,” Sebastian says. “I guess the renaissance of Hometown Bed And Breakfast means you’re going to need a new brochure.” He draws his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture of me. “Oh, that’s a good one!"
Skylar leans over his shoulder to peek at the picture, and she nods.
“It’s definitely a keeper.”
He turns the phone, confronting me with an image of my hair hanging in scraggly strands around my face. What little makeup I put on this morning is now streaked across my shiny nose, and the look on my face is several shades away from awake and hospitable.
Wow.
Dropping the dough onto the counter, I stomp out of the kitchen and toward the front stairs.
“Where are you going?” Seb asks.
“To my bedroom to put on a fucking dress.”
“Gown,” he calls as his footsteps start after me. “You need a gown.”
Chapter Two
Avery
“Do you always travel with a mask in your backpack, or is this just for the ball?”
Seb runs his fingers over the dramatic peacock feathers. They are curving up from one corner of the black satin mask he just produced from his bag.
“Just for tonight,” he says. “I got this from a friend who says it brought him a lot of luck at Mardi Gras this year.”
“A resounding endorsement.”
The closest thing I own to a gown is a cocktail dress, but it will have to do. With only a few hours until the ball, and all the plucking, shaving, curling, and buffing I need to do to make myself look nothing like that picture, there is no time to hunt for something else to wear. While my hair is having a Medusa moment in these bright pink curlers, I finish kneading the cinnamon roll dough and stash it in the refrigerator for future use.
I want to put the finishing touches on one of the guest rooms, but Seb and Skylar catch me before I can detour, funneling me back into my room. It’s been a long time since I remember having this much fun, and the excitement starts to build up until I’m wiggling to the music pouring from Seb’s phone and polishing my toes. It’s my distinct belief that even if no one sees them, a woman is never at her best unless her toenails are painted. A sweep of red never fails to make me feel sexier.
The afternoon flies past, and finally, it’s time to leave for the converted barn at the edge of Vidalia Isle. That's where the Tea Party Committee is hosting the ball. Skylar and Seb joined in the fun already. They had changed into the formal wear that they managed to stash in my room without me noticing, proving just how deep their scheming truly went. With Skylar and I on each of his arms, Seb escorts us through the front door and down the wide curved stairs, leading us up to the veranda. Even on its first day, September has laced the air with the scent of leaves, and yesterday’s heavy rain ushers in a cool note that creates a pleasant shiver along my skin.
We are at the bottom of the stairs when an unexpected wash of headlights surprises us. With a few exceptions, laws prohibit private vehicles in Vidalia Isle, which means whoever is currently barreling down the dirt-and-gravel driveway toward us either lives on the island or has found a way to work the system.
“Who the hell is…”
Seb doesn’t have the chance to finish his question. The car skids to a stop in front of the bed-and-breakfast, its tire catching a deep puddle and sending a spray of cold, muddy water in our direction. Seb and Sky manage to scurry out of the way, but I receive the full brunt of the wave. It splashes the front of my dress and dribbles down into my cleavage. My shoes feel like little swamps on my feet, and the sludgy water glides down my legs. At least Seb insisted on protecting the mask by keeping it tucked away until we arrive at the ball. Otherwise, the murky water would have damaged that, too.
My two best friends immediately swoop into action.
“Bring her inside,” Seb commands. “Get her cleaned up. I’ll deal with the guest.”
“Who is it?” I ask as Skylar’s hand closes around my wrist. “No one is supposed to be here tonight.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he insists. “I’ve helped you check guests in before. It’s fine. Go get cleaned up.”
Skylar pulls me up the steps and back into the house as the car door opens. Down below, I hear Seb enthusiastically greet the mystery guest. Sky peels me out of the ruined cocktail dress and tosses me into the clawfoot tub. I'm sitting in the bathtub of my master bathroom, trying to rinse the puddle off my legs, when all of a sudden, my phone jingles from on top of the counter.
“A text message? What’s it say?” I ask.
She picks up my phone and opens the text. “Don’t wash off your makeup,"
Skylar reads. "I’ll be upstairs in a minute.”
I sigh. “If I’d ever gotten a text like that from Chad, the conversation earlier would have gone in an entirely different way.”
“Glad he didn’t send one then,” she says, typing something into my phone.
“What did you say to him?” I ask.
“Okay. I’m naked.”
“Good job. Why doesn’t he want me to take my makeup off? My dress is ruined. It’s not like I’m going anywhere tonight.”
“I don’t know.”
I’m feeling awkward sitting in my bathrobe on the edge of my bed. Finally, Seb sweeps in a few minutes later.
“He’s gorgeous,” he says.
“Who?” I ask.
“Your new guest. Like… wow.”
“Did you get him checked in?”
“Yes. I put him in the room that's unreserved until the end of the week. He didn’t really have an end point in mind for his visit, so I figure if he’s still here, you can play some guest Tetris and figure it out.”
“Who is he?” I ask.
Seb’s face goes blank. “What?”
“The new guest. Who is he? His name?”
His mouth opens, and he blinks a few times before closing it again. “Um...”
“You don’t remember his name?”
“He said it. I know he did.”
“But you were too distracted by his dreaminess to retain it?”
“Yeah,” he says with a smile.
“I can’t believe you did that! How am I supposed to welcome him without knowing his name? That could be the blogger. The blogger. He makes it a habit of just showing up at some places to throw owners off their game so he can get a true perspective for his review.”
Seb's smile melts. “I’m sorry, Avery. It was all kind of…” His tongue sticks out, and he waves his hands around above his head in an interpretive dance, trying to show me his reaction to the unexpected guest. “But… silver lining… you don’t have to actually welcome him tonight. He said he was going to be spending the evening out and about, and he might not be back for breakfast.”
“Why would he show up and check-in, just to disappear? Is he testing me?”
“Don’t know, but at least that means you don’t have to worry about him being here by himself tonight.”
“By himself? He wouldn’t be by himself. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Of course you are. There’s a ball waiting.”
“And a dress covered in mud balled up in the corner of my bathroom.”
As if waiting for my cue, a dramatic knock comes from my bedroom door.
“I thought you said he was going away,” I hiss, pulling my bathrobe together and curling my legs up in a ball under me. “This is not the first impression I want to give to my guests. Especially not a guest who may very well be the most influential and potentially destructive force in my industry.”
“I don’t know. That could be a pretty good impression to go with,” Seb says, “but that’s not your guest.”
He sweeps over to the door and opens it with a flourish.
“Did someone call for a fairy godmother?” Mr. Pellegrino asks. The tall, slender man enters the room like he’s searching for his spotlight, and he swings a garment bag over his shoulder. Another younger man follows him in with a glossy box in his hands.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Seb says, shutting the door behind them. “As you can see, it’s a touch of an emergency.”
“I’m always prepared for a good makeover,” he says. He gestures at the other man. “This is my assistant, Leo. He’s new to the island.”
My eyes narrow slightly as I point to him, my mind sifting through the records of previous guests for his familiar face.
“Didn’t you stay here for a couple of nights a few months ago?” I ask.
Leo nods. “Sure did. This spring. I came for the Vidalia Onion Festival and decided to plant my roots in Vidalia Isle.”
“It might have something to do with a certain young man who just so happens to share my fabulous sense of style Mr. Pellegrino says with a knowing smile as he hangs the garment bag over my bathroom door. He starts to unzip it, distracting me ever so slightly from the rest of the conversation.
“Shawn is a nice perk,” Leo admits. “But I also just fell in love with the village. It sounds crazy since I’ve always loved the city, but I feel so at home in the Isle.” He shrugs, the look in his eyes slightly misty. “Maybe I was just always meant to be Southern.”
Mr. Pellegrino shoots him a pitying look.
“Oh, no. You are not Southern. You are a transplant. We will accept you and love you, and we will teach you the proper ways of life, but you’re not going to be Southern. A hound could bring her pups into the oven and you wouldn’t start calling them biscuits, baby.”
“We could make you honorary,” Skylar offers. “Like the stuff they serve in restaurants in other parts of the country. Call you Southern-style.”
“Southern-style Sweet Leo?” Sebastian asks.
“Just when I thought my dream of being a burlesque dancer had run dry, you give me the perfect name, and it comes back to life,” Leo says.
“Alright, all of you! Get out,” Mr. Pellegrino says, shooing them away. “I have magic to do here, and you aren’t helping.”
They scurry out of the room, undoubtedly to raid the kitchen in search of the pitcher of actual sweet tea I keep tucked in the back corner of the refrigerator. After they leave, Mr. Pellegrino finally pulls a gown out of the garment bag. It’s a confection of dark purple satin, and black crystals in the form of abstract peacock feathers run along the back of the skirt, as well as the small train. It kicks my little cocktail dress’s ass.
“It’s gorgeous,” I murmur.
“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’d offer nothing less for a ball. Now, off with your robe. Silkies are in the box.”
I reach into the box beside me that Leo left on the mattress, and I pull out a delicate set of purple lingerie that ends up being an exact match to the satin of the gown.
“Are you going tonight?” I ask as the panties settle into place. They hover over my hips under the robe.
“I’ll make an appearance,” he says. “To tell you the truth, I’d rather do a lap around the ballroom, go home, put on my favorite socks, and eat a big bowl of chili. It’s my first-day-of-September tradition.”
I smile. “Fall is a good time for traditions.”
The gown fits me so well it's as though Mr. Pellegrino crafted it specifically for my body. He laces the dress from the back, and it creates the perfect silhouette. Then, he adds the finishing touch of crystal-embellished heels. It’s exquisite. I could take a simple stroll around the grounds of the bed-and-breakfast while wearing this dress, and it would still be the fanciest I have ever felt. Sebastian takes my hand, beaming at me as I walk down the steps.
“He’s good,” he says, looking me up and down. “You’ve got to admit it. He’s good.”
The ball is already in full swing by the time we get to the barn. Elaborate masks and elegant gowns create a transcendent atmosphere that's unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Music streams down from a live orchestra playing on a platform stage that is built up along one side of the barn. Tables overflowing with food and drinks fill the other side.
Mr. Pellegrino and Leo arrive shortly after we do, and Leo immediately crosses over to the food. The treats were most likely crafted by Shawn, who is known throughout the village for his catering. I plan on eating a decidedly unladylike amount of food once I make my way over to the tables. But it’s not the spread of finger foods that appeals to him. For Leo, the most appealing part is the tall man with neat braids that are pulled back and tied at the base of his neck. He is dressed in a sleek, black suit, accented by a vibrant blue pocket square and shoes to match.
Shawn reaches his hands out for Leo, and the genuinely delighted smile that crosses his face warms my heart. I don’t know what that feels like. My relat
ionship with Chad spanned my late teenage years and into my adulthood. There were times when I was almost convinced that he would be my future, but never once did seeing him cross a room to me warrant that kind of smile.
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice someone else enter the barn, and I turn to look at who it is. In that instant, everything else disappears. I’m transfixed. Towering over the people around him, this man fills out his custom-tailored suit with a body that could have been carved out of the quarry at the back of the island. The man in the red mask is unfamiliar and mysterious. Most importantly, he’s alone.
Chapter Three
Owen
It’s the first time, in as long as I can remember, that I can walk into a room without fanfare. A few eyes turn to me, but it’s out of curiosity about another guest arriving rather than a desperate need to flock to me. No one rushes to me with their hands outstretched, begging to touch me before my security can stop them.
I don’t even have my security with me. This doesn’t happen often, and I’m relishing the feeling of being unrecognized. It took some serious convincing to get my parents on board with me going outside without the security team tagging along. I had to emphasize several times that I wasn’t planning to run off to some war-torn land where I may be kidnapped. I also had to assure them that I wasn't heading for a local red-light district where I might get myself caught up in another scandal. It was just Vidalia Isle, the quiet little island they’ve talked about all my life. When they agreed to let me go alone, I slipped out of the house before they had the chance to change their minds.
I’ve been on the island for less than an hour, and I'm already questioning my decision to come to the ball. Not that galas like this are unfamiliar to me. That might actually be why my mind automatically decided I needed to come, compelling me to buy a ticket a few weeks ago back when I first started planning this visit. If there is a ball to attend, I am going to attend it. But I completely overlooked the fact that I needed to book a room to stay in while on the island. Priorities, apparently.
