Page 13 of Wicked Games

Ignoring Jane’s questioning look as we passed, I allowed Richard to escort me to the cast party.

The party was being held at The Brewery. It was right next to the Barbican Center so we walked the short distance. As soon as the tan brick building was in view, Richard guided me to a separate private entrance.

He had rented out the Sugar Rooms for our event. The Brewery restaurant is on the site of what was once one of the oldest breweries in England. The Sugar Rooms were where they used to store the sugar to make the beer. Now it was a beautiful space with vaulted ceilings, polished oak floors, and large Georgian windows that overlooked the courtyard.

For tonight’s cast party, it was obvious Richard had spared no expense. The room was flooded with green and pink lighting, the colors from the poster for The Lady Protests. Each table was covered in gold linens with large arrangements of white roses.

Most cast parties were ad hoc affairs at a nearby bar where we passed a hat to collect money for the cheapest pitchers of beer we could get and platters of communal food like wings and pizza.

It was obvious this was an elegant affair put on not only for the cast but also investors, the press, and the board of the Barbican.

Begrudgingly, I was pleased I was wearing such a stunning designer gown instead of my department store sales rack number. I wanted to continue acting in London and perhaps even have a secondary career as a costume designer and for that to happen I needed to be noticed. Arriving at the party on Richard’s arm in this gown certainly got me noticed.

Deliberately putting his kiss out of my mind, I decided to set a more professional tone. Perhaps send him the signal that I considered this a working relationship and nothing more.

“The room looks gorgeous,” I offered. My voice sounded high and strained like I was trying too hard to sound normal… which I was.

“Thank you. I will pass along your compliments to the event planner.”

Awkward silence. I looked about the room for someone to save me.

None of my friends approached, no doubt put off by Richard’s presence by my side. I could tell we were attracting quite a few stares, probably compliments of Jane telling everyone about Richard’s sudden interest in me.

Richard leaned down to whisper in my ear, “You look stunning in that gown. I’m pleased you decided to wear it for me.”

Like I had a choice!

Swallowing my biting reply, I said instead, “You look very nice in your suit as well. Is it a Brunello Cuccinelli?” I asked, naming a famous designer whose fall collection I had recently studied in school.

The dark gray wool suit with a hint of a purple pinstripe fitted his large, strong frame expertly, emphasizing his broad shoulders and lean hips.

“Harry Poole,” he answered smoothly.

I bit my lip. Once again, I looked like an idiot in front of him. I had learned in class that Harry Poole tailors were considered the founders of Savile Row. The area of London where all the best bespoke tailors in the world had shops. He is considered the creator of the modern dinner jacket. Anyone who was anyone had a suit from Savile Row but only the especially wealthy had access to Harry Poole’s services.

Thankfully at that moment, a server walked by with a tray of canapés.

“May I offer you a lemon mille feulle with toasted meringue and candied lemon?”

I had no idea what any of that was but it looked like a cute little lemon meringue pie so I reached for one. As I took a bite and let the tart sweetness soothe my tattered nerves, another server approached.

“Good evening, Your Grace. May I offer you and your guest a cocktail?”

Before I could respond with my usual order of a Cosmo martini with extra cranberry, Richard spoke. “The lady will have a small glass of champagne. I will have a glass of the 2016 Lafite. I believe a bottle has been decanted for my use.”

Pouting like a petulant child, I at least waited till the server bowed and departed before turning on him. “I wanted a martini.”

“That is all well and good but you are getting a discreet glass of champagne,” he said darkly in that composed tone that screamed authority.

With a huff, I turned back to the party. Snatching up what I was told by the server was a smoked haddock croquette with crispy capers and a chive emulsion, I took an angry bite.

Once he was spotted there was an endless stream of people who lined up to speak to Richard. Several times I tried to inch away but each time I was prevented by a possessive arm around my waist. Setting the empty flute of the champagne I didn’t even want on a passing tray, I waited for my moment.

A server brought Richard a fresh glass of wine just as someone reached out to shake his hand. With both of his hands occupied, I used that moment to bolt deeper into the crowded room.

Risking a glance over my shoulder, I could see his angry scowl but I knew I was safe with so many witnesses… at least for now.

Making my way through the crowd, I found Jane talking with Jack Hutley, our director.

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