Page 30 of White Rabbit

“Ah, no. Not yet I’m afraid.”

“Well, he must hurry and put a ring on it as they say these days! Remind him that well-bred women rarely stay single for long, so he should snap you up.”

I hadn’t actually heard from Chad since Friday, when he texted me to tell me he was going to the gym. After that it had been radio silence, and I’d even gone round to his apartment to see if perhaps he was sick or had an accident, but there had been no answer. His building security wouldn’t let me in, saying that he’d put in a notice to move at the end of the month.

It wasn’t like him to vanish for four days without a word, and I was worried. When I called his work, they’d said that he’d booked some time off for a family emergency, but when I called his mother, who lived on the other side of the country, all she would tell me was that Chad would reach out when he was ready. The whole situation was bizarre and came at the strangest time. As soon as I wanted to end our relationship, he goes missing? Is he just trying to avoid the inevitable? Or was he ghosting me first? It made no sense.

Packing up the rest of his belongings had given me some closure, and I’d realized that breaking up was the right thing to do. The writing had been on the wall for a while now, but I’d been burying my head in the sand, hoping the niggling voice in the back of my head would go silent. Instead, it had gotten louder until it was almost screaming inside my skull. Creed only played a small part in my decision. The chemistry between us was dangerous. I couldn’t risk it imploding and hurting the people around me more than it needed to.

Tiff and Orla were coming over on the weekend, and I was planning on telling them about my breakup, but obviously with Chad missing, that made things a little more complicated.

Finally pulling myself away from grabby hands and their owners, who wanted to spend the evening commenting on my life, I make my way to the bar.

As I’m standing, waiting to be served, a petite blonde woman beside me leans over the bar to see what’s on offer. She’s wearing a red fitted one shoulder, floor-length gown that has a split up to her thigh. On the shoulder and at the top of the slit, there’s intricate gold beading which seems to match the hair pins she’s using to tame her thick curls.

“God, I need a drink,” she says when she catches my eye with a wide smile. Turning back to the server, she waves him away when he offers her a bottle of Dom Perignon. “No, not that shite. I’ll have a bottle of Roederer.”

I’ve never heard anyone call Dom Perignon shite before, given that bottle prices started from around $280 dollars.

She turns back to me as her champagne is uncorked and poured. Her blue eyes move over me, taking in my peach-colored tulle gown and simple silver jewelry. “You look lovely. I like that dress. Very elegant.”

I snort, waiting for the next comment. The same one I’d heard over and over again already this evening. “Just like my mother, huh?”

Her brows knit together in confusion as she tilts her head at me. “Do I know your mother?”

The server offers her two glasses of champagne and she pushes one in my hand before reaching over and tucking the bottle under her arm with a wink.

“Doesn’t everyone?” I chuckle awkwardly as we shift to the end of the bar. “Georgina Walters?”

I gulp down half of my drink, needing something to take off the edge. I was wound tightly, like a coil. Every comment, every curious question, each invading gaze, winding me up further until it felt like I wanted to burst out of my skin.

My new gorgeous acquaintance shrugs. “Nope, that name doesn’t ring a bell. Does she work at the Top Hat?”

I snort, almost spitting out my drink. Did she ask if my mother worked at a gentlemen's club? I mean, anyone who was anyone in Newtown knew it was a brothel, but that wasn’t the official bottom line. Why would she think my mother was an escort?

“No…she used to do a lot with the Lutwidge Trust but she died a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The woman nods, patting my shoulder for a moment before her grin is back. I smile in return. Part of me appreciates how she doesn’t linger on my loss.

She holds up the bottle and shakes it a little. “Want to share this with me? My husband’s family has way too much money, so I’ve made it my mission to drink away at least a quarter of it before I die.”

I make a soft hum of agreement. “Life is too short for cheap champagne.”

“Exactly!” She tops up both of our glasses and we stand there for a little while, rating everyone else’s outfits and dissecting tonight's guest list.

We’re talking about a man who’d chosen a purple velvet suit for the evening, loving his choices when the sound system crackles into life. At the front of the room, Warren Rothchild takes the microphone to tell us that the auction will begin soon.

“Oh, it looks like it’s time to take our seats,” my new friend says, nudging me gently. “I’ll come and find you after dinner.”

As she vanishes into the moving crowd, I realize I hadn’t asked her name.

When I arrive at my table, my father is already seated. His eyes narrow as he looks at my outfit for this evening, probably looking for something to criticize.

As I sit and pour myself a glass of champagne from the bottle on the table, he leans in.

“Where on earth have you been?” He hisses, too low for anyone else to hear while the room settles. “I can smell the alcohol on your breath. Did you forget who you’re representing this evening?”

Straightening, I whisper, “No, father.”

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