Page 95 of Mine

We move through the auction items, talking, laughing, flirting. All eyes are on us, yet I don’t feel insecure. Quite the opposite.

Let them whisper, wonder, gossip. Who cares? In a matter of hours, I’ll be screaming Astor’s name in a private jet while they masturbate to his online picture after faking an orgasm with their whiskey-dicked husband.

He’s mine.

The drinks keep coming, one after another. It’s almost as if someone has been assigned to serve only us. Before I know it, I’ve got a heady buzz.

“I need to use the restroom,” I whisper, the moment there is a break in conversation between Astor and the couple he’s speaking to.

“They’re across the room,” the woman offers, eavesdropping. “To the right, down the hall, dear.”

“Excuse me.”

The moment my hand slips away, Astor grabs it back, squeezes, and gives me a hard look.

I know, I know, I subliminally tell him. I’ll be right back.

Fifty-Seven

Sabine

I am drunk.

Like, drunk-drunk.

I didn’t realize it until I almost fall face-first into the bathroom stall door while lowering onto the toilet seat. The champagne has hit me all at once.

“Shit.” Trying to relieve myself around my massive dress is almost impossible. How do people do this?

Mission complete, I wash my hands, squinting at the reflection staring back at me.

For absolutely no reason, I reapply lipstick, eyeliner, and blush, giving myself a clownish appearance. When I turn from the sink, I walk right into a pair of blonds who remind me of the stick figures I used to doodle in elementary school, as does the size of their dresses.

“Your nipple is out,” I slur, pushing my way between them.

“What the?—”

The other gasps in horror. “Oh my freaking G?—”

Grinning, I push out the door, but then I wobble on my heel, which slaps the smartass smirk right off my face.

I’m turned around. Both ends of the hallway disappear into shadows. From which end did I come from?

A young couple is giggling in the distance, so I turn in that direction and sway down the plush carpet. The end leads to another hallway, and another, until I find myself back in the ballroom—on the opposite end from where I left Astor.

I don’t see him anywhere. The lights have dimmed, and the crowd is making their way to the tables.

How long have I been gone?

“Ma’am.”

A tall, attractive man with wavy blond hair rises from a barstool. Of course I wandered to the damn bar.

“Would you like my seat?”

“Uh ...” I scan the crowd, and when I still don’t see Astor, I shrug. He’ll find me, and also, these heels are killing me, so yes I’d love a seat.

“Sure, thanks.”

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