by Sara Celi
I didn’t answer.
“We’re talking about marriage, for god’s sake, not a trip to the salon.”
“True, but—”
“Oh, my god,” she shrieked. “You are? You are.”
“I probably won’t do it.” I took my jacket out of the locker and slipped it on over my soaked tank top. “Come on. Let’s go. I need to get going. I have a few things to do this afternoon before the party tonight.” I slung my gym bag over my left shoulder and slammed shut the locker.
“I’m glad you’re still going.” Brooke stood.
Long before I’d found out about the bankruptcy, I’d bought hostess-level tickets to the Karen Worthington Fund Breast Cancer Awareness charity gala, an event always held at The Breakers Resort during the early weeks of Palm Beach’s winter season. As a result, my ticket also included a preview cocktail party at The Beachcomber Club, a bastion of high society on the northern end of Palm Beach.
“I’ll see you at seven,” I told her as we walked out to the reception area for the yoga studio. Luke Rothschild stood behind the desk; we waved to him and said hello as we crossed toward the front door. I made sure to seem as casual and unassuming as I always had. My family considered Luke a close friend, and I didn’t want him to get the idea that anything was wrong, although almost everything about my life felt that way.
“Let’s just try to have fun,” I told Brooke once we got outside. “I don’t want to think about all of this until tomorrow. I just want one more night of my old life.”
“You’ve got a deal.” Brooke gave me a quick hug. “Just make sure you look hot tonight, okay? At least we have this distraction. Nothing like Palm Beach at the height of the social season. You might as well make it one of the best nights you can remember, right?”
“Right.”
She said goodbye and got in her car, but I took a minute before I got into my own. I just couldn’t seem to shake the heavy feeling that had wrapped around me in less than a week. My life was already different, no matter how much I wanted to deny it. Nothing was the same.
Nothing.
What a mess.
That night, I downed two vodka-soda cocktails and then a chardonnay within a half hour of our arrival at The Beachcomber Club. It seemed like the best way to get through the night.
“Whoa,” Brooke said when I handed the empty wineglass to a passing server less than five minutes after taking it from a different one. “You might want to slow down.”
“No way. I fully plan on speeding up.” I motioned to a passing server and grabbed my second glass of white wine off his full tray. I raised it in Brooke’s direction and almost drank it, but the sour expression on my best friend’s face warned me not to take an immediate sip. “Fine.” My shoulders slumped. “You win. Let’s mingle.”
The club had opened the area around the main pool for the party, allowing guests to drink cocktails and eat small appetizers against the gorgeous backdrop of the lighted water and the private beach. White lights twinkled overhead, socialites gathered in designer dresses around black-clothed tables, and clusters of red poinsettias created a festive ambiance against the tropical air.
“Come on.” Brooke led me to a large sponsored step-and-repeat near the entrance to the beach. We posed for a few photos, ready to tell the world that we didn’t have anything to worry about besides our next cocktail or which outfits appeared the best under what filters. She unlocked her phone and waved it at the setup. “Let’s upload it. I’ll send it to you.”
I stopped at the edge of the backdrop. “I don’t know, I—”
She lowered her phone, and her shoulders slumped. “What? Why not?”
“I just—” I took a sip of liquid courage. “It doesn’t feel the same. Not since… everything.” I drank some more wine. It needed to take effect, and soon. “It’s just not the same. Nothing is.”
She pursed her lips. “I understand. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“Just not right now, okay?”
“I get it.” She shrugged. “Sometimes I think life was better before the world of social media, anyway. It was certainly simpler.”
“You’ve got that right.”
I peered over my shoulder at the rest of the party, which was filling up fast with people. When I looked back at her, I wore a fake grin. Maybe if I did a little acting, I’d be able to get through the night. “Now, what did I say about mingling?”
Brooke and I knew about seventy-five percent of the people at the event, standard for us during a night in Palm Beach. We made the rounds, greeting most of them and making small talk about the winter social season and all the pending charity balls people made a habit of attending. I did my best to keep the smile plastered across my face and a springy jaunt in my walk, part of the mask I knew I had to wear in order to make sure that no one suspected that my family and my dad’s company teetered on the edge of disaster.
Keep it up, Ainsley, keep it up…
“There you are, Ainsley,” Mitzy Reese called out as she approached our cocktail table. I was mid-sip when she said my name, and I hastily put down the wineglass. She gave my dress a long appraisal; it was a bespoke one I’d had designed in Paris a few months before. Now, considering my brother’s revelations, it seemed stupid and extravagant. “You look impeccable, as always.” She leaned in so that I could oblige her contour-coated cheeks with two air kisses. “Is that a Javier LePree?”
“It is. I got it in Paris after fashion week.” I glanced down at the mountain of red tulle that encircled my waist. Maybe I should resell in on eBay and raise some funds. I’d paid $1700, but maybe it would fetch a thousand or so. “I love his work. The craftsmanship is in a class all its own.”
“I’m having him do my evening gown for the Children’s Fund gala this year.” She drank some of her champagne. “You’ll be coming, of course.”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said, though the idea of paying $750 just to get in the front door of the Phillips Estate now also seemed silly and frivolous. In a few weeks, I’d have to find a believable excuse when she called, asking me which tickets I wanted to purchase.
Perhaps I should conveniently go to New York again during that time…
“Mitzy, call my father’s office next week,” Brooke said, snapping me out of my wandering thoughts. “I’m sure he’d love to sponsor a table this year.”
Mitzy’s eyes brightened and she placed a manicured hand on her arm. “Oh, Brooke, that is so generous of you.” She said this as though my friend had just offered to save one hundred HIV-positive children in Africa from certain death. “We’re so excited about the continuing growth of our Read with America program. I just think…”
The two of them slipped into a superficial yet endless conversation, and I took that as a cue that I could extract myself from the situation before it became more awkward. I picked up my wineglass, downed some more, and wandered closer to the large pool. When I reached the edge, I began counting the white lights that ran along the pool deck, rimming the edge.
Five lights. Ten. Forty. Forty-three.
“Don’t tell me you’re so bored that you’re counting the pool tiles?” a deep voice said behind me.
I jumped and held in a gasp. I didn’t turn around right away. I let the tenor in his voice settle in my ears and suffuse into my blood first. It mixed with the wine and made me heady, intoxicated. Could I be dreaming? Maybe I’d had too much wine. Or maybe I’d fallen asleep counting white lights. I gripped the wineglass, drew in a long gulp of fresh, manly air, and spun around.
And there he stood, wearing a dark suit with a crisp, white shirt. A cocky grin pulled at his lips.
“W-what are you doing here, Trevor?”
“Drinking.” He raised what appeared to be a Manhattan in my direction before his attention floated down to my glass. “Which is what you seem to be doing, too.”
I scoffed. “I beg to differ. I’m circulating.”
“With the pool?”
“Yes. Wit
h the pool.” I glanced around at the rest of the party, and the clumps of people engrossed in small talk that they, no doubt, thought would lead them to better marriages, business opportunities, and higher social statues. “You happen to have caught me in between discussions.”
“Lucky me.”
He drank some of his cocktail and devoured me over the rim of the tumbler with his dark-brown eyes.
Damn it.
My stomach twisted, and my thoughts turned back to that night at the Whitney Museum, a night when I’d also been drinking too much, and on the arm of Lawrence Chamberlain, a boring man I didn’t love, but one my father had wanted me to marry.
The memories of that night at the museum were mostly a blur, but Trevor had stopped me as I made a beeline for the open bar and another glass of champagne. It was about the same moment that I’d come to the realization I couldn’t force myself to marry Lawrence.
“It’s been a long time,” Trevor had said.
“Yes. Not that I’ve been wondering how you’ve been,” I’d replied with a tartness to my voice.
“Haven’t seen you since just after your college graduation.” His gaze roamed over my body. “A shame.”
“Hardly.”
Even with the haze of alcohol, I’d had to admit he was more handsome than I remembered. That annoyed me. Leave it to someone like Trevor to become more distinguished with time. And on top of that, there was something behind his eyes, something that felt like amusement and cunning.
“Well, believe it or not, I have been wondering about you.” Trevor lifted his cocktail glass. Soft classical music played in the background somewhere across the expanse of the museum’s gathering area. “And also, about your father’s company. I’ve been hearing a few things about—”
“Whatever you think you’ve heard, it isn’t the truth,” I retorted before I turned my attention back to the bar. I ordered my refill before answering him again. “We’re doing better than ever.”
He studied me. “That so?”
“Yes.” I put a hand on my hip. “We just reached new quarterly profit records.”
Trevor took a long sip of his drink. “Are you sure about that?”
“Of course.” Doubt pulled at my stomach, and I frowned. When the bartender handed me the fresh glass of champagne, I barely noticed it as I took it. “Why?”
Trevor glanced at the rest of the party, then motioned for me to follow him down a small corridor off to the side of the event venue. By the time we reached a secluded spot near the stairs, curiosity had washed over me.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Whatever you want to say, I’m sure you could have said it at the party.”
He shook his head. “It’s complicated.”
“Meaning?”
He took a deep breath. “I’m in the business world, Ainsley. People talk about things behind closed doors. They whisper secrets long before those same rumors become ugly truths.”
“I’m aware, Trevor.”
“I don’t think you are.” He stepped closer to me, as if to make sure only I’d hear his next words. “From what I understand, you might need my help more than you realize.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
Trevor leaned down and put his mouth near my ear. He smelled like bourbon and cologne, topped off with a faint musk. The heady mixture enhanced his handsomeness, and I bit the inside of my bottom lip. I needed to steady myself and remain in control. Our families had pitted their fortunes against each other for decades, and he was my enemy, not my equal.
“You know, I’ve been thinking about something,” he said, his voice raspy and sending chills through my body. “We might be rivals, but it doesn’t always have to be that way.”
It was perhaps the last thing that I’d expected him to say. Surprised, I tried to step away from him, and instead found myself backed against the wall next to the staircase entrance. I was wedged between it, and him, and there was no moving away.
“It doesn’t?” I managed to reply.
He shook his head, then took another long swig of his drink. “We might be able to do more if we’re allies. We could run this town.”
Unconvinced, I focused on my still untouched champagne glass. “I’m doing just fine without your help, thank you very much. I don’t think you have anything I—”
In one swift movement, he took my drink from my hand and placed it next to his on a nearby cocktail table. I tried to say something, but then his lips cut off my words. They crushed against mine, and his mouth claimed me. He was all around my body, and his rough kiss had an intensity behind it. I found myself returning his passion, in part because no one had kissed me liked this in a long time. His embrace was strong, forceful, demanding, and raw.
“We need each other,” he murmured when his lips broke away from mine for a moment. “I can feel it.”
He claimed me again with his mouth, and we melted against each other. His tongue entwined with mine, and I completely lost myself in the moment, as his hands tangled in my hair, then traveled down my neck, and reached the top of my dress. By the time I regained control and pushed Trevor away, my cheeks were hot, and raw energy pulsed through me.
“Who do you think you are?” I demanded, attempting to slow my breathing and calm the euphoria that had just highjacked my system.
A half second later, my palm connected with his left cheek and made a loud crack, which I then followed up with a shove. I took my drink from the table.
“You’re an asshole,” I told him over my shoulder as I stalked back to the party. But as I did so, a small smile tugged at my lips.
Now, years later, and in the place that I had once considered my gilded escape from reality, I felt myself growing both irked and intrigued by Trevor’s presence. And if he expected me to admit that he’d been more than a little right back then during our conversation at the Whitney, then he had another thing coming.
“It’s the beginning of the work week. Aren’t you supposed to be in New York?”
“Not necessarily.” Trevor gave me a full smile. “I can work anywhere I choose. When you run the empire, the court follows you. It’s one of the perks.”
I tore my gaze from his. “Lucky you.”
He ducked his head and leaned closer to me. “You know, for someone whose brother was happy to take my charity, you really are a piece of work, aren’t you?”
“It’s one of the things I do well. And he took your charity, not me.”
“From what I understand, you didn’t argue very hard against it.”
I stared down into my drink and gave him a weak response. “That’s not entirely true.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke. We didn’t walk away from each other, either. As things began to feel more awkward, I studied everyone and everything but him. This night wasn’t going the way I had expected, I thought as I made a circular motion using my glass, swirling the wine around. It was far from the proper way to hold it, but I was past the point of caring about superficial etiquette. That had disappeared earlier in the evening, around the time that I’d arrived at the bottom of my second cocktail.
The rush and ebb of the ocean sounded on the beach somewhere behind me. The chatter and laughter of partygoers carried on the salty breeze. Finally, he broke the silence between us.
“I know you don’t like me, Ainsley.”
I shivered, although it was an unseasonably warm night. “Wow. What an observation. Someone should give you an award.”
I swallowed the rest of my wine and glanced in Brooke’s direction. She still spoke to Mitzy, but their conversation had expanded, and now included several other Palm Beachers, most of whom had famous last names and the money to go with them. Brooke looked as if she couldn’t be more pleased to be the center of it.
“Maybe that Ivy League education of yours was good for something. I have to admit, though, I’m surprised the folks at Harvard managed to get you to open a book.”
He chuckled. “Most worthless thing I ever did wit
h my time. I hated every minute of being in Cambridge.”
“What a shame.” I sniffed. “You must have been too arrogant to know what was good for you. They could have taught you some manners, if only you’d let them.”
“You mean the kind that you have? I’m dying to act like that.”
I shrugged. “I might be a snob, but at least I’ve earned the right.”
“Have you? From my vantage point, you haven’t earned much of anything.”
My reply caught in my throat. He was right. More than right. Damn it.
“Well,” I managed after a hard swallow. I handed my glass to a passing server. “Now that you’ve insulted me once again, I think I’ll get another drink.”
“You’re the one who belittled me first.”
Touché.
“Regardless,” I said. “I’m leaving.”
I took no less than two unsteady steps away from him before my heel broke. With a resounding crack, it snapped in two, sending me teetering backward. “Oh, my god!” I cried out, and the rest of the well-dressed crowd turned to me, all of them watching with stricken faces as I wavered dangerously close to the edge of the gleaming water.
Trevor grabbed my arm. “I’ve got you. You’re fine. I’ve got you.” He pulled me back from the edge of the pool. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and rotated toward the now quiet crowd. “See? Don’t worry about it. Disaster averted.”
A few of the party guests murmured to each other before they returned to their watered-down drinks and miniature quiches. Every single one of them had a disapproving, haughty expression on their face. This was going to spread, and I knew it. Palm Beach’s socialites finally had a story to tell about me, and they wouldn’t miss the opportunity. If they only knew the real secret about the Ross family.
Oh, well. Screw it.
“T-thanks.” I limped away from the pool deck on the broken heel and ripped off my shoes. “You saved my life, my dress, and my cellphone.” I waved my beaded clutch at him. “But don’t think I’m going to start being nice to you.”
