by Staci Hart
“We could have a White Party. Send fancy invitations with art deco details of gold. Tell them to dress in all white, vintage ’20s, but we won’t tell them where they’re going, only that they need to bring a bottle of champagne. Send vintage cars to pick them up and drive them out to an orchard. White dance floor. White everything. And no one will know who threw it.”
“Just like the first Bright Young Things party,” Zeke breathed.
“It’s like Gatsby,” Joss said in wonder. “But, you know. Not depressing.”
“It’s genius,” Betty whispered. “You’re a goddamn genius.”
“All I did was steal a party from people who were much smarter than me. Don’t call the papers or anything,” I joked, opening my notebook. “I already started researching. I found an orchard and called them—it’s their off-season, so they’re free—and a place that rents vintage cars said they’d have to bring some in, but they can do it too. They won’t be authentic. The oldest I could get was ’40s, but—”
“No one will care. Literally no one,” Zeke interrupted. “This is happening. We are doing this.”
My brow arched. “We? Like the we who threw the Victory Party?”
“Okay, you. But with our moral support,” Betty amended.
“Do you think it will be cold?” Joss asked. “I mean, it’s January in New York.”
“So we have enough space heaters to light the dance floor on fire. It’s a full moon too. And, Zeke, there’s a little brook on the property where we can race champagne corks.”
His hand flew to his mouth, and he made a muffled squeaking sound.
“I was thinking I should come up with a business to run it through. I was thinking to call it Stephanie Tennant”—Zeke made to potentially throttle me—“but I think instead, I’ll go with Cecelia Beaton.”
Zeke visibly relaxed. “Oh, thank God. I mean, Tennant was a wonder and all, but Cecil Beaton. Fashion photographer. Costume designer. He worked with Audrey Hepburn, for God’s sake. You can’t pick Tennant over Beaton. You just—”
“Okay, okay,” Betty soothed. “Down, boy.”
“How much is this going to cost?” Joss asked, nibbling her lip and looking worried.
I shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll foot the bill.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” Zeke and Betty chimed.
I rolled my eyes. “You’re one to talk, Betty—your dad is a rock legend.”
“True, but your dad gave you an actual fortune just so your mom couldn’t get it in the divorce.”
The pang in my exhausted heart was as familiar and unwanted as it ever was. I joked over it. “Zeke got his cash from another Daddy altogether.”
Zeke leaned back, hanging his forearm on the back of Betty’s chair. “What can I say. The Daddies love me.”
“And Joss is too sweet for a Daddy joke,” Betty said.
Joss huffed. “I am not.”
“It’s not a bad thing,” Betty assured her. “Where would we end up without you to balance us out?”
“I don’t know, but I bet it’d smell terrible,” Joss said.
Zeke turned to Betty. “Ooh, who are you gonna bring? Maybe the beefy sailor from last night? I know how much you love seamen.”
“Hmm?” she answered. “Oh, you mean, Randy? No, wait—Rodger.” A pause. “That can’t be right. I’d never sleep with a guy named Rodger.”
“So no then?” Joss asked.
“I’m gonna guess no,” Betty answered.
“How about you, Joss?” Z started. “Please tell me you’re inviting Jake Gyllenhaal. And that you finally kissed.”
“We did. On camera.”
“I mean without thirty people in the room.”
“Be honest, Zeke. You want me to bring him so you can touch his beard.”
He leaned in. “But seriously, do you think he’d hit me?”
She laughed. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“You’d be surprised what a straight man will let me do under the right circumstance,” he noted.
Joss rolled a shoulder. “You could always play the Drag Race card.”
Zeke bobbed his head, considering that. “It is an appearance that gets me places I’m not supposed to be.”
“Oh, shut up,” Betty said around a mouthful of potatoes she’d stolen from Zeke. “You came in second place. Appearance,” she snarked.
Zeke gave me a look. “And I guess you’re bringing Dex?”
“If you’re bringing Roman.”
Zeke sucked in a reflective breath through his teeth. “Hmm. I’d consider ditching him if it meant Dex and his wandering cock wouldn’t be there.”
“You’re the worst.” I threw a napkin at him, laughing.
He picked it up gingerly and dropped it on his plate. “No, Dex is the worst.”
I looked to Betty and Joss for backup, but Betty was making a he’s right face, and Joss had suddenly found something very interesting about her cuticles.
“Oh, come on. All of you?”
“Did he stay the night?” Zeke asked.
“Yes.”
“The whole night?” Betty added.
I sighed. “Why does that matter?”
“How do you know he didn’t go give it to Dominique when he left?” Zeke’s mouth was a smartass puckered line of I’m right.
“Then that’s what he did. At least I got him first.”
Betty laughed and held up her hand for a high five. “Attagirl.”
“You know,” Joss started, “it’s just that we love you, Stella. And we don’t think Dex does.”
“I appreciate you guys. I do. But I’m not being mistreated. I agreed to his terms.”
“They’re bullshit terms,” Zeke said.
“Maybe for you. But if I agreed to them, can’t you respect that? If I’m happy, isn’t that enough?”
At first, no one answered.
“I want you to do something,” Betty finally said. “I want you to think about three things that are absolute musts in relationships. Three things that, if not found, are dealbreakers. And please, try to be objective and not think about Dex.”
My mind emptied under the pressure. Dex popped into my head. And I realized how hard this would be.
I also realized she was right to make me do it.
“I’ll see what I can come up with,” I promised with my nose just an eensy bit in the air. Because deep down, I knew I wasn’t going to like what I found. But I smiled. “And in the meantime, we have a party to plan.”
3
Truth Hurts
I stepped out of the white RollsRoyce and into a fantasy.
The winter had been unseasonably warm, and thankfully, Christmas had slipped into New Year’s in a pleasant range of temperature that made our outdoor party not only possible, but the perfect way to ring in the New Year—under the full moon.
The raised dance floor had been set up in an alcove surrounded by bare apple trees wrapped in fairy lights, the only artificial light at the party. Everything else was kissed by moonlight, reflecting off the square in the center of the space where people in all white danced. Even the DJ, tucked back in an inconspicuous corner, had dressed in white, one hand on white headphones and the other on a white turntable as he played electronic music created around loops that were straight out of a time long before us. It was electro-swing, the song floating through the crisp air, informing us that it didn’t mean a thing, not if it didn’t have that swing.
Dex offered his arm, and I took it blindly. Z, Roman, Betty, and Joss and their dates were on our heels, the lot of us awestruck and smiling as we drifted into the party like moths to the moon.
I’d hired an event planner—straight out of college and unaffiliated with any firm—to help me, and Genie handled it like a seasoned pro. I did everything remotely so no one would know who set up the party. Genie was my eyes and ears—an actual genie, if I was being honest. I set up a business—Cecelia Beaton—in Delaware, a state where business records were sealed. A business account
was created, funded by one of my offshore accounts. My accountant had taken care of nearly all of it, primarily to release me of personal liability in case someone drowned in champagne.
And the secret had driven my friends mad.
The mystery and anticipation was so far beyond what I’d imagined. People hated not knowing a secret, and the squirming speculation was all anyone could talk about. The group’s social media accounts exploded with pictures of their invitations. Their costumes. Today alone, there were hundreds of posts and reposts of everyone getting ready, of the champagne and jewelry, satin gloves and feathered fascinators. The inside of their cars as they headed here. And the buzz had spread so far, I had a suspicion it might go viral.
Insane. Insane and incredible. And I’d done it all.
Their happiness filled my heart to the brim, so full, my ribs ached from trying to contain it all.
The second we stepped onto the white dance floor, glowing with moonlight, our friends opened up and dragged us in to join them. Waiters with stiff backs, wearing white tails, carried around trays of champagne, and for a long time, all we did was dance. A jumping beat came on that had us all bouncing and pretending we knew how to do things like the Charleston and the fox trot. And by the time the song ended, we were all winded.
White blankets were spread at intervals in the grass around the dance floor, and breathlessly, we sat under the cloudless night sky. Within seconds, we were supplied with champagne, and for a little while, we just watched our friends dance. Dex stretched out next to me, leaning on his elbow, and I lay next to him on my back, counting stars.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Stell,” he said so no one else could hear, smiling down at me.
“Why, thank you.”
“I still can’t figure out how you did it all. I don’t think I could have even imagined a party like this, never mind putting it together.”
“Well, I’m not the one with commitment issues, am I?” I teased, nudging him with my satin-gloved palm.
“Ha, ha,” he answered with a smirk.
“It was the most fun I’ve had since the Victory Party. Think anyone will figure out it’s me?”
“Nah. That’s all anyone’s talking about—who is Cecelia Beaton? They don’t even have a clue. I mean, there’s speculation, but more people think it’s Z than you, and there are another ten names on that list everyone’s certain did it. Are you going to do a big reveal?”
“I kind of want them to sweat it out.” A mischievous smile tugged at my lips. “Maybe we can do it every year. Our mysterious Bright Young Things parties, thrown by the illustrious Cecelia Beaton.”
“That’s a tradition I can get behind.” He leaned down to kiss me and broke it with a sigh. “I’m gonna hit the bar. If I drink any more champagne, I’m gonna get myself into trouble.”
“Oh, so something new?”
A laugh, his head kicked back to expose his Adam’s apple. “You know me too well, Stella Spencer.”
“That, I do. Go on. Bring me back a whiskey, would you?”
“Your wish is my command.”
Swiftly, he kissed me again and headed toward the bar. And I sat, tucking my legs and turning to my friends, wishing that were true.
Z and Roman had just gotten up and were trotting hand in hand toward the tree line to do exactly what anyone would think they were doing. Betty’s and Joss’s dates extended their hands to get back on the dance floor.
Betty’s brows clicked together. “You okay?”
I smiled and nodded. “Go on. I’ll wait for Dex.”
“If you must,” she said on a sigh, taking her date’s hand and heading toward the fun.
Leaving me alone.
But I didn’t feel lonely. I watched over the party with pride and joy, basking in my accomplishment and the fulfillment of my desire for togetherness. For connection. We were all here, all of us living in this moment, a moment I’d created simply for the joy of it.
For the stretch of a song, I imagined a host of New Year’s parties, sad I’d have to wait a whole year to throw one. But themes rolled through my mind like a parade, and I watched them go by with appreciation and excitement.
Until I saw Dominique heading straight for me.
Her dress was incredible, a white satin affair that clung to every curve, draping at the neckline. It was the only thing she wore besides shoes and accessories—the fabric was such that I could see the divot of her belly button and make out the exact shape of her ass, which was, by all standards, perfect. The sparkling band around her crown held a white ostrich feather, her neck dripping with diamonds. But her lips were red as sin, smiling at me shrewdly.
She sat next to me without invitation. “This is some party. I don’t think I’ve ever been to anything like it before.”
I hummed noncommittally.
“Any idea who threw it?”
I shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. But whoever did has too much time on their hands.”
A quiet chuckle. “Just saw Dex. You know, it makes me crazy that he barely talks to me when you’re around.”
“I can imagine that would be difficult for you,” I snarked.
“I’m sure someday, you’ll be there for yourself. We all know Dex isn’t meant to settle down. He’s going to be like George Clooney and not settle down until he’s fifty.”
I didn’t react, didn’t argue, just worked to keep my breath even and my lips quietly smiling. Hurry up, Dex. If for nothing else than that drink.
“Another girl will come along, someone new. Different. Someone who isn’t you or me or any of us,” she said. “Somebody like her.”
My heart stopped when I saw him edge his way into a pack of men clustered around a small, smiling blonde. She looked like a little angel with a face brimming with hope and a smile teeming with innocence. And then he handed her my drink.
“Who is that?” I asked.
“Elsie Richmond. She just moved here from California. And the wolves smell fresh meat.”
Dex sidled up to her, smiling that smile. The smile that was mine.
And I found myself unable to breathe.
“You see, that’s the thing you never did get, Stella. Dex isn’t yours, and he isn’t mine. You can pretend all you want that your arrangement with him is fine, just fine, but I, for one, know better. These kinds of things only work when both parties are on board. And you, honey, are not even at the station.”
I tried to swallow, but my throat stuck. I removed my gaze from Dex to look at Dominique, expecting to find her mocking. But she wasn’t. Behind her small smile was sadness, her eyes colored with understanding. Camaraderie. Solidarity. And a touch of pity.
“I knew walking into it that he was never going to be mine. But I don’t think you did.”
I didn’t want to admit she was right. I looked back toward the crowd. The other would-be suitors had given up and wandered off, leaving the two of them alone. It was unlike him to approach someone so brazenly while in my company. An unspoken rule he’d employed out of respect for my fealty. And to break that gave a weight and truth to her words that settled in me like sour milk.
“Why do we always want what we can’t have?” I asked, my gaze lingering on the two of them.
Dominique sighed. “Because men like him make us believe we’re special. Different. It’s how they lure us in, and it’s how they hold us captive.” She stood, smoothing her dress. “Don’t feel bad, Stella. I’m a sucker too.”
With a pained smile and a nod, she turned and walked away.
I held the end of a glass of champagne in numb fingers, watching Dex as he took Elsie’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. My relationship with him clicked and fluttered in my thoughts. And the last frame was Dex smiling at Elsie.
This wasn’t what I wanted. Not at this cost. I wasn’t a plan B. I wasn’t a fancy dress he could take out and twirl around.
I was tired of being convenient.
And I wasn’t going to do it anymore.
> I tossed back what was left in my drink and stood. Turned for the bar and put one foot in front of the other. I packed all of the inevitability away, replacing it with determination, having found my pride under layers of fluffy stuffing.
Because I was through.
All I had to do was tell him.
It was nearly midnight, the moon high and the spirits higher. We were a smiling band of merriment, waiting for that moment of hope, the transition into something new.
Dex had wandered back to me, but my friends made a shield of social excuses to keep me moving in the opposite direction of him. We spent a long time at the brook racing champagne corks, the distraction welcome. Because I didn’t know if I could keep my feelings inside, and the last thing I wanted to do before the stroke of the new year was talk about this. The confusion on his face pleased me. But I noticed he’d stayed away from Elsie for the rest of the night.
Everyone was on the platform in the last few minutes of the year, waiting.
“You okay?” Betty asked, squeezing my hand.
I nodded, hoping my smile was assuring. “Are you sure you can’t kiss me at midnight? It just feels like bad luck.”
She was about to answer, but whatever she would have said died in her throat. “Might be bad luck anyway.”
I felt him behind me, that familiar hand in the notch of my waist.
“Hey,” he said, smiling when I looked up at him. “I’ve barely seen you all night.”
“We had some very serious gambling happening in the cork races. Somebody had to keep the peace,” I joked over the sound of my drumming heart.
He chuckled, moving to kiss me, but I turned my face to land his lips on my cheek. When he backed up, he was frowning. Taking my hand, he pulled me until we were flush. Gazed into my upturned face, tracing its shape with his eyes.
“Tell me what’s wrong,” he urged as the energy in the crowd rose.
I tried to smile, searched for the words to deny it. But my chin flexed instead. Tears pricked my eyes. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Confusion and worry drew his brows together. A flash of fear shot like a comet behind his eyes. “What? What happened?”
