Page 56 of Eye Candy

“I’m Elena. I’m the manager of the chalet. Chase Sanford asked me to show you to your rooms. I’ll send someone for your bags.”

“Oh, don’t worry?—”

“It’s not a problem.” Elena gestured to an extremely built masc person wearing an all-black event staff uniform. “Angus could bench-press a bear.”

“No, I mean I don’t have any bags.” I pointed to my wheeled carry-on. “This is it.”

Elena blinked. “Right. Well, Angus, do you want to take that?—?”

He tugged the dress box from under my arm and gingerly picked up my carry-on, which had a sticker of Bettie Page riding a tube of red lipstick on the side. My luggage looked like a doll’s suitcase in his massive hands.

“Angus will show you to your rooms.” Elena smiled. “It’s lovely to have you with us at Amisfield Estate, Caroline.”

The room was beautiful, of course. Orrooms. The one Angus let me into connected to another just like it. I knew immediately that this was Chase’s way of ensuring I didn’t feel he expected anything from me, even though Iwantedexpectations from him. Really, it was why I was here. I wanted to goad him until that careful control broke and he called me a brat again, and I wantedto revisit his heated promise from Lueur to turn my ass red if I didn’t behave. Maybe if I played my cards right…

Chase was out with his friend Gerry—they were at a whisky tasting or something—and guests were due to start arriving in an hour, which meant I had at least two to get ready. Unlike Chase, I never arrived at a party on time.

For a man who only ever wore one thing and hated buying new clothes, the significance of Chase’s buying me a fancy dress for this party was not lost on me. He’d picked perfectly. The sparkly white dress was stretchy, made to cling to every curve, and it glistened as I moved. The neckline was low and square, offering excellent Jane Mansfield–spilling-out-of-her-dress-while–Sophia Loren–glared potential, but the delicately gathered fabric extended down over my knees, making me look sophisticated too.

The second Lyssa saw the logo on the box, she’d tugged it out of the delivery person’s hands. “Holy crap Caroline! Do you know whose this is?!”

“Mine?”

Apparently, she meant the designer, and apparently it was someone important. She lifted the dress out of the box, gushing. “Please do a soft pink lip with this,” Lyssa had begged. “If you compete with the pearlescence of the dress, you’ll ruin the whole look.”

At Amisfield, when I applied some pale pink lipstick and stepped back to survey myself in the mirror, I sent a mental thanks to Lyssa. As always, she was right. The soft glitter of the dress, the pastel of my hair, and the subtle lip made me look like a vixen. I felt good. I felt likeme.

I was glad I’d bitten the bullet and trusted Chase enough to come here.

The scene downstairswas nothing likeI expected.

Guests in white gowns and black tuxedos dotted the ballroom. Chandeliers dangled from high ceilings, casting light onto floors furnished with rugs so hideous they must have been expensive. Partygoers sprawled over plush velvet furniture as 18th-century figures watched from gilded frames. The sounds of happy chatter and clinking glassware filled the air.

But it was the hired entertainers’ attire that stopped me in my tracks. They were all in gold: some in floor-length gowns, others in follies lingerie. One person was naked except for head-to-toe gold body paint.

As a performer in a lamé cape turned pirouettes on a small platform, a drag king dressed as Rocky fromRocky Horror—shiny gold shorts, abs, vacant grin—offered me an hors d’oeuvre. Off his bicep.

This wasn’t anything like the stuffy New York social scene. This kind of party was aCarolineparty, and therefore the last place in the world I would have expected to encounter Chase Sanford. I’d been a performer at lush parties like this before but never a guest.

The crowd was small for the space, maybe forty people, which made sense. I’d noticed that Chase didn’t like to be in large crowds.

Scanning the room for my Mr. Moral, I didn’t see the Thor look-alike in a gold helmet passing out champagne flutes until it was too late. I turned because I thought I saw Chase’s blond head, and when I whipped around, I crashed into Thor. His tray flew up and glasses plummeted. Some broke instantly and others held until they hit the floor, but all of them smashed loudly, coating us in sticky humiliation. It took a lifetime for everything to stop smashing.

“I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine.” Thor gave me a tight smile, but it was not fine. Obviously. There was champagne all over him, all over me, and broken glass everywhere.

A few guests cast us unimpressed looks, but most just steppedaway from the mess and carried on their conversations. Thor and I dropped to our knees and began collecting what we could.

“Is there a broom?” I asked worriedly.

“I’ve got it. You don’t need to help.”

I shook my head and reached for more glass, suddenly fighting tears.

I’d looked so pretty in my fancy dress, and now it was ruined. The champagne would probably stain, the smell would cling, and I’d made a fool of myself in front of Chase’s friends.

He hadn’t even seen me in the dress before I’d ruined it! I’d wanted to show him I could fit in here as me, as Caroline. But two minutes into the party, I was drenched in champagne and on my knees, cleaning.

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