Page 9 of Gilded Princess

Blaire’s family is old money, made their fortune in oil, and rumor on the street is that she won’t inherit her family’s company—and fortune—until she’s married with an heir.

It’s a crock of patriarchal bullshit if you ask me.

In a rare show of vulnerability last year, Blaire broke down in the women’s locker room and told me the whole thing. I’d never betray her confidence and share what she told me, but sometimes I wonder if there’s something I can do to help her.

I can’t imagine being eighteen and knowing that your husband has already been chosen for you. A virtual stranger who’s going to be your partner for life, regardless of your opinions on the matter. If you’re lucky, you get matched with someone who’s pleasant enough and who won’t flash his mistresses around town for all to see on Page Six the next day.

And how sad is that? Your best-case scenario is a man who won’t publicly shame your sham of a marriage. No, thank you.

The concept of love is laughable to most of the people in this room. Something reserved for fiction and adolescents.

My mom isn’t a saint by any means, and most of the time, she does the bare minimum in the adulting department, but one thing I can say with confidence is that she’d never marry my sister or me off like that. And it’s not because of some misplaced sense of love either.

I’m sure she loved my dad, and I know he loved her. But they didn’t have that fairytale type of love, which is ironic considering the stories he used to tell me when I was young. It was all princesses and white knights and eternal love.

My parents met when they were young, and my dad enlisted soon after they got married, leaving a pregnant wife at home. He was gone more than he wasn’t, and I think we all got used to that kind of life—one that didn’t include him.

“Earth to Madison.” Blaire waves a manicured hand in front of my face, snapping me out of my fog.

I flash her a smile, and some of the tightness around her eyes relaxes. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

“Babe. Just wait a few hours until it breaks up a little. I brought party favors,” Sammi says as she waggles her eyebrows and shakes her palm-sized handbag for the evening.

I work hard not to clench my jaw and settle on a forced smile and a noncommittal hum.

“Knock it off, Sammi. You know Madison doesn’t roll,” Peggy says as she flashes an apologetic look in my direction.

Sammi recoils and looks at Peggy with a frown. “Like I’d bring molly here with all of this and have the worst trip ever? No thanks. I brought my perfectly legal prescription tonight. You know, in case I need to concentrate.” She smirks at us with her chin tilted high.

“Thanks, Sammi. I’ll let you know, okay?” The olive branch seems to pacify her and they move the conversation to who’s wearing what. I have no intention of taking her up on that offer, but I don’t need to voice that right now. She’ll forget all about it in thirty minutes, anyway.

After ten minutes and another glass of champagne, it catches up to me, and I excuse myself to the ladies’ room. It’s not the same bathroom that I used earlier, but it’s no less luxurious. They brought the enchanted forest theme in here with colors of deep reds and mellow oranges, and there’s even a small garden’s worth of greenery in the powder room next to the full-length mirror.

Once I finish and reapply my lipstick, I walk back into the ballroom. My steps are slow as I people-watch. The crowd is decidedly larger than an hour ago, and I’m a little surprised at the size.

The familiar notes of Beyoncé hit my ears, and I can’t hold back the chuckle at the boldness of the band tonight. A smile spreads across my face, and I glance around the room to see if anyone else has noticed. I see a few smiles and giggles, but it’s mostly going unnoticed. Shame.

I glance at the huge ornate iron clock on the wall and silently count down the minutes until a DJ replaces the strings and the dance floor opens up. Only thirty minutes. I can do that. I nod my head along with the beat, impressed with the violinist as she absolutely smashes this song.

I grab another glass of champagne from a passing waiter with a smile, content to watch them fill the atmosphere with a whimsical take on this sultry song. My nerves jump with the need to dance, but I don’t leave my spot along the edge of the room.

One minute, I’m enjoying the instrumental sounds of “Drunk In Love” and the next minute, my focus is pulled away almost involuntarily. My heart skips a beat before it beats in double-time as my awareness picks up on something behind me. Or someone.

“You look gorgeous tonight, as always.” My breath freezes at his familiar voice. Too many emotions barrage me at once, and I don’t have time to sort through them or settle on just one. “This dress is exquisite on you.” I feel the barest of touches as he drags the tip of his finger down my spine, and a trail of goosebumps follow his ghosted touch.

“Matteo.” I say his name on an exhale, my heart clenching at the thought of him here, now, after so much time.

I don’t even need to turn around to see his face. He’s the only man I’ve ever met who’s had this kind of effect on me. Lust sends a flare up through my body, but shame settles it back down. Sometimes I still think about that night, and I can’t believe that I didn’t see it coming.

I shift my weight, but his warm palm on my back stops me from turning around to face him. I beg my traitorous body to harden its resolve against this charming asshole. But she’s a fickle bitch, and she still craves his touch after all this time.

“Shh, doll. Don’t turn around. We’re concealed in the shadows here—”

Indignation soars through my veins and my hands fist on my sides. “What? Don’t want your girlfriend to see you with your hands on another woman?” I’m actually a little shocked at the scorn in my voice, but the deeply feminist part of me cheers me on, ready to kick his ass verbally.

He chuckles, this deep, masculine sound that has my toes curling inside my Jimmy Choos.

He slides his hand up my spine until it tunnels underneath my hair, settling at the base of my neck. His long, warm fingers flex and tangle in my wavy strands. He gives them a gentle tug, and a gasp leaves my mouth unbidden.

---