by Staci Hart
I didn’t miss the flush of her cheeks from whatever she saw.
“I was, but Levi here is a nonbeliever, and I felt compelled to show him just what it was all about.”
“Levi,” she said, almost as if it were a sound she’d never heard before. “Stella.” She extended a hand, which I took, my thumb absently stroking her skin, charting the fine bones that rested beneath.
“Welp, look at that.” Ash held up his empty glass with a dramatic flair. “Time for a refill. Need one, Stella? Levi?”
“I’m good,” she said on a laugh, removing her hand from my grip. I hadn’t realized I was still holding it.
“Me too,” I answered. Or mumbled.
Ash said something smart before walking away, but I didn’t hear him.
You’d think I’d never seen a pretty girl before.
You’d think I’d never seen Stella Spencer before.
Not in person, of course, but everyone knew the socialite, heiress to her father’s unbelievable real estate fortune and one of the core Bright Young Things. But the dozens of photographs I’d seen of her were nothing compared to the real thing. A picture could never capture the sheer allure of her, the charm of her presence that existed by nature alone, without a single word of encouragement.
It was no wonder everyone wanted to know her. I counted myself among them for the first time whether I liked it or not.
I took a sip of my scotch to fortify myself, gathering up my wits and lining them up like soldiers. When I lowered my glass, she was watching me with her head cocked.
“I’m surprised you bumped Lily off Ash’s arm,” she said. “How big of a favor does he owe you?”
“Big enough that this doesn’t even begin to cover it.”
“Well, I’m glad you managed it. Where’s he been hiding you?”
“Nowhere. Never wanted to come before.”
One of her dusky-blonde brows arched, tugging the corners of her lips up with it. “Oh? And what changed your mind?”
“Ash can be very convincing.” I glanced around the room in appraisal.
She moved to my side to assess the room with me. “And what do you think? Does it live up to the hype?”
I glanced at her with a smirk on my face and a thud of possibility in my sternum. “Exceeds all expectations.”
Another laugh, another pretty blush, her gaze moving back to the crowd. “Glad to hear it.”
“Why? You didn’t throw this elaborate shindig, did you?”
She laid an amused, mildly patronizing look on me. “That’s cute.”
“You didn’t say no. Should I call you Cecelia?”
“You can call me whatever you’d like,” she answered with a smile. “But those of us who are at every one of these parties have a certain ownership to the thing, even though we didn’t put it together. We’re just the pieces that make up the whole, but don’t mistake it for more than it is. We have the distinguished Cecelia Beaton to thank for our good time.”
“Hear, hear.” I raised my glass, and she lifted an imaginary one in salute, eliciting a frown. “You don’t have a drink. How about I rectify that?”
But as I slipped my hand in the small of her bare back to guide her toward the bar, she stepped into the crowd, turning to face me as she went. “I think I can manage. Nice to meet you, Levi.”
“Not as nice as it was to meet you.”
With hot eyes and a lovely smile, she headed away. The crowd parted before swallowing her up again.
And I gave myself a new mission, one that superseded my reconnaissance.
On the wings of a smile, I knocked back my scotch and turned for the bar.
There was something about that girl. A curiosity, one I found myself compelled to unearth. I wasn’t easily struck, and that alone was all the reason I needed to find her again tonight. So I picked up my metaphorical shovel and made a vow to find out just what it was about her that obliged me to dig. Maybe I’d learn more than I bargained for.
And if I was lucky—very, very lucky—I would kiss Stella Spencer, well and thoroughly, to see just what all the fuss was about.
2
Seeing Stars
STELLA
Levi was right. I needed a drink.
I was a little ashamed of the extra sway in my hips as I walked away, but I couldn’t help but want him to watch me go. Doing my best to cover my deliberate grab for his attention, I nodded and smiled at the faces I passed, scanning for Betty and Zeke. One of them would have a spare drink. I didn’t care what it was.
If I didn’t cool down, I was likely to burst into flames right there in front of everyone.
I could feel Levi’s eyes on me, eyes as dark as the shadow of his beard on a jaw cut from stone, dark as his hair, long enough to curl around his ears and lick the collar of his shirt. Something in my chest shuddered at the memory made just a few short seconds ago, and it took an excessive amount of willpower to stop myself from looking back at him, just to make sure he was still there.
Unknown faces—especially faces as gorgeous as his—were a commodity at these parties, which must have had something to do with the intrigue. Maybe it was that in all the years I’d known Ash, I’d never seen Levi before. Maybe it was in the way he’d looked at me, as if I were a juicy, rare steak, and he hadn’t had a meal in a week.
I had a feeling he’d devour me. All I had to do was give him permission.
Permission granted, I thought in his direction with my smile on the rise.
The thought sent a delectable shock of heat from my stomach to the juncture of my thighs. I wasn’t one to sleep with random guys at these parties—that was more Betty’s brand. But it’d been a month since my steady, Dex, had gone off and gotten himself a girlfriend, and a serious one at that.
Dex and I had been a convenient thing for years. When either of us needed a date, the other was there. Two in the morning You up? texts were always answered, no questions asked. I couldn’t call it a fling. That would imply it was here and gone. I couldn’t say it wasn’t a relationship either—we partook in cuddling and pillow talk and genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. But he’d told me from the start that not only was he not looking for a relationship, but he wasn’t even interested in being monogamous, citing monogamy as a societal expectation that defied our human nature or some bullshit like that.
And I’d told myself I wasn’t in love with him. But it seemed, in the end, we’d both been lying.
It’s fine. Who even cares? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and I’m pretty sure I just snagged a hammerhead.
I pursed my lips to stifle a laugh.
A trickle of sweat rolled into the hollow of my throat. It was as hot as the inside of a furnace, and though my dress was airy, the heavy beaded details stuck to me like flypaper. My smile widened with pride as I looked around the party, taking it all in. The music. The atmosphere. Their happy faces that told me exactly what I wanted to know.
I’d thrown one hell of a party.
Being Cecelia Beaton had become a full-time job, one spent planning and dreaming and imagining the next party, the next good time. Other than Genie—the event planner I’d snagged while she was still in college and paid buckets of money to keep quiet—very few people knew, though it still felt like too many.
Legally, I was fully protected. Cecelia Beaton was the business I’d set up in Delaware, where the records were sealed. Money was paid into the business from an offshore account, and Genie and I talked on WhatsApp under fake numbers. We hadn’t even seen each other face-to-face in months, not with the paparazzi staking her out. But enough nonessential people had interfered that I’d had to do my fair share of bribing, and a few members who had fallen out of line or disobeyed our credo had been publicly shamed—a task Betty and Zeke took great pleasure in. It was the only time we used our powers for evil and happened to be the most effective way to keep everyone on their best behavior.
I spotted Zeke, not only for his formidable height, but that said height wa
s topped off by platinum-blond hair in perfect finger waves. With a sigh, I beelined for him.
Or tonight, her. Rather than come in full-blown drag like I’d figured she would—I’d expected the Ziegfeld Follies getup, complete with a sparkly four-foot headpiece—Zelda Fitzperil had come as in a smart three-piece suit with no shirt beneath the three-button vest. A man dressed as a woman dressed as a man in a cheeky nose thumbing at gender as a whole. The V hit just beneath her impressive cleavage—a magical combination of contouring and creative taping. The second Zeke put on falsies, he became Zelda, and Zelda was always onstage with a bottomless bag of jokes and an, Oh, honey, for us all.
Z smiled at me with luscious red lips, extending her extra drink in my direction. “You look like you need this,” she said.
“Thank you,” I answered in relief as I took the longest pull of her old-fashioned that I could manage, grateful for the chill of the glass in my hand.
Betty smirked. “What’s got you all bothered?” One of her dark brows rose, and she elbowed Z in the ribs. “Look, she’s flustered.”
“You mean besides it being a thousand degrees in here?” I said.
Z shifted in my direction, hip first. “Who’s the boy, Stell?”
“What boy?” I asked innocently.
Both of them rolled their eyes, and a laugh busted out of Betty. “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody. He looks like he could work on a railroad.”
“All the livelong dayyy,” Z sang. “He could lay tracks on me all night long.”
“Me too,” Betty said, inching up onto her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of him. “Pound some stakes.”
“Nine-inch steel.” Z looked over everyone’s heads at Levi. “How big do you think his hammer is?”
“Fucking sledgehammer, no doubt,” Betty said before donning an accusatory look. “How come you didn’t climb him like a gym rope?”
“If I’d stayed any longer, I would have.”
“It’s about time,” Z said, three words of straight attitude.
“I’ll drink to that.” I nodded and waved in return when another of our friends caught my eye.
“You’re due. When was the last time somebody snaked your pipes? Dex at Under the Sea? If I remember right, you almost got arrested for rubbing your parts all over each other in the Washington Square fountain.” Z shuddered. “I don’t know how you were so drunk as to have any parts in that fountain. Should have been arrested on a health violation.”
“I’ve been busy,” I answered lightly.
“Busy wondering why Dex is dating Elsie Richmond instead of you?” Z laid a look on me.
I gave her one right back. “It’s fine. I couldn’t give a good goddamn who Dex is seeing.”
“Then how come he’s not here tonight?”
I shrugged. “I sent him an invitation like I was supposed to. I don’t care if he comes.”
Z snorted a laugh. “You are so full of shit.”
“We have a silent agreement that he won’t show his stupid face. Anyway, I’ve been busy. You two know better than anyone why.”
“Busy partying,” Betty amended. “And if you can’t get laid partying, you’re doing it wrong.”
“So maybe I’ve been feeling a little picky,” I said.
They looked at each other for a protracted moment before breaking into laughter.
I pinched the back of Z’s arm and twisted until she yelped and slapped my hand. “Ow, bitch. If that leaves a bruise, I swear to God—”
“We’re just concerned about your well-being,” Betty said.
“And the well-being of your vagina,” Z added. “I get Dex fucked like a porn star, but that asshole is emotionally bankrupt. What you need is a good old-fashioned nailing, and who better than the big, beefy sledgehammer? Get yourself a rail job.” We must have looked confused because she added, “A rim job with more steel.”
“Maybe for you,” I said on a laugh. “No steel is getting near this rim. At least, not without a lot more booze than I’ve had tonight.”
“Amen.” Betty clinked her glass to mine in solidarity.
“Amateurs,” Z said into her crystal glass before taking a drink.
“Where’s Roman?” I asked, surveying the crowd for Z’s boyfriend.
“Who the fuck knows?” Z said with a wave of her hand. “He’ll pop back up when you least expect him. Like herpes but cuter.” Her eyes hung on something behind me, something that had her both appraising whatever she saw and amused by its approach. “Chugga-chugga choo-choo.”
A glance in the direction of Z’s gaze knocked the breath out of my lungs.
Because Levi was winding through the crowd toward me.
He was all broad shoulders and corded arms, his chest wide and waist narrow. Thick forearms dusted with dark hair led to very large hands, which were wrapped around two drinks. A tilted smile accompanied a look that set that fire in my belly again. Another droplet of sweat rolled down the valley of my spine, and I wasn’t entirely sure it had anything to do with the temperature of the room.
“He is gonna fuck you up,” Z said into my ear.
That’s what I’m afraid of, I thought.
Levi climbed the few steps to meet us, and I stepped back to make room in the circle. He took up so much space, not just for his daunting size, but for the gravity of him, pulling me toward him like a black hole. I wondered if that gravity affected everyone or just me.
“Couldn’t let you go until I knew you had a drink in your hand,” he said, his voice rumbling and low. His dark eyes shifted to the glass in my hand. “Looks like you found one after all.”
Z snatched the drink from my hand with a smile. “Actually, that’s mine.” When my brow furrowed, she said, “What? You’ve got another one, thanks to your big, hairy wolf.” She swiped his second drink, put it in my hand, then extended her elegant hand in Levi’s direction. “Zelda Fitzperil. Who are you, and what are you doing with Ash?”
Levi took her hand. “Call me Levi, and Ash and I went to Columbia together. He owed me a favor.”
“Must have been some favor,” Z cooed and released his hand.
“I’m Betty,” she said with a wave.
“Betty Vance.” Levi raised his glass. “Vic Vance’s daughter. Man, my dad had all the Hell’s Bells records. Gotta say, I’m a big fan.”
“I’ll let old Vic know.” To her credit, she tried not to sound bored.
“What a gentleman,” Z said, sliding closer to Levi. “He brought you a drink, Stella, and I’m almost positive it doesn’t have a roofie in it.”
“Who needs roofies when you’ve got a smile like this?” Levi joked, laying a smirky, smoldering look on Z.
Z slipped her arm into the hook of his. “I like him.”
Levi looked pleased with himself. “Works every time.”
Betty rolled her eyes. “Come on, Z. Let’s go find Roman.”
“He’s not a lost puppy, Betty, even if he is a dog. Ten bucks says he’s doing lines off a toilet seat.”
Betty threaded her arm through Z’s free one. “Well, let’s go make sure he doesn’t end up facedown in the shitter, shall we?”
Z pouted and let Levi go. “Fine, fine. See you around.” She caught my eye and started singing about the railroad again before taking off toward the dance floor.
The temperature in the room rose by a dozen degrees the second I was alone with Levi. Looking for a reprieve, I pressed the cold glass to my neck and smiled at him.
“Thanks for the drink. I mean, even though I said I didn’t want one.”
He rolled one massive shoulder. “What can I say? I’m persistent.” A cool stream of sweat from the glass rolled down my neck and into my cleavage, and he watched it all the way down before catching himself. His gaze shifted to the crowd. “You really come to all of these?”
“Ever since I got my first invitation.” I didn’t mention that I’d sent it to myself.
“New Year’s Eve, right? The White Party?”
My lips quirked with
a smile. “Just like the original Bright Young Things. It was unseasonably warm, and we drove upstate, danced all night in an orchard on a white dance floor. Raced champagne corks in a stream. The whole deal.”
“I’ve heard the stories.” He looked over the crowd. “These parties are a national treasure, and you’re all American royalty. Guess nobody should be surprised you caught the negative attention too.”
“Like what?”
“Warren, for starters.”
My lip curled at the mention of the commissioner’s name. “He needs to get real problems. You’d think he’d be worried about actual crime in the city instead of busting perfectly legal themed parties.”
“That’s everybody’s question, isn’t it? I figured something personal happened, something to get him fired up. Out for revenge maybe.”
They were the same questions all the new people asked. Everyone wanted to know about the scandal, even though I didn’t have any more of a clue than they did.
So, unfazed, I answered, “I think he’s just angry about his lost youth or bitter about his years as a beat cop—who knows? I do know he’s a big fan of being a pain in everyone’s ass.”
“Well, I know you don’t know who Cecelia Beaton is, but I bet if you figured it out and served her up, he’d shut up.”
A laugh shot out of me, and I looked over to find him unamused. “Oh, you’re serious.” And then I laughed again. “You really are new, aren’t you? None of us knows who Cecelia is, and even if we did, none of us would tell.”
“Not even to save your own necks?”
I frowned at him. “We’re not doing anything dangerous. No one needs saving. But in your hypothetical, no, we wouldn’t do it. It might seem like we’re nothing but lushes and degenerates, we’re here for more than just what you see. It runs deeper than dancing and booze and costumes.”
“Does it?”
“It does. I … it’s hard to explain.”
