Page 1 of Wild Elite

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Tatum

‘There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable.’

Mark Twain

December 2nd, 2017

Eight months, fourteen days, nineteen hours, and twenty-two minutes.

That was precisely how long it had been since The Incident, as I had quietly come to refer to the events of March this year. Not that I was supposed to refer to it as anything at all—I had been instructed by everyone I knew to move on and forget it as much as possible.

Unfortunately, The Incident had occurred in a place not too dissimilar to the enormous stone Georgian mansion I was currently standing outside with my best friend Katie, and I wasn’t sure if I could go in without choking.

I felt fine at Katie’s house earlier when we were getting ready, but as we drove into Greenwich twenty minutes ago, a pit formed in my stomach, and the foreboding feeling only grew stronger as we drew closer to our destination.

Each house in this area seemed larger than the last, like every extra wing and terrace was added to reflect the owners’ swollen egos. They were all set far back from the road, surrounded by wide swathes of white snow which covered what was undoubtedly perfectly-manicured green grass in the spring and summer. Even the richest people on the planet couldn’t control the winter, as much as they might like to.

The closer we got to the place we’d been invited to tonight, the more my throat seemed to close up. Now that we were actually here, it took every ounce of willpower I had to make myself breathe.

“Tatum? You okay?” Katie took her black and silver Venetian mask off and looked back at me, a pucker between her thick brows. Her camel wrap coat hung open loosely, displaying the black satin dress beneath. It clung to her curves in gorgeous lines and her glossy auburn hair hung in artfully-tousled waves, making her look every inch the dazzling socialite she was pretending to be tonight. She truly looked like she belonged here amongst all the glitz and glamor.

Me? Not so much. No matter how much primping I did, I would always feel out of place around people and houses like this. It was a feeling deep in my bones, a creeping sentient vine that wound its way through every inch of my mind, constantly letting me know one thing and one thing only: You don’t belong.

I avoided Katie’s inquisitive gaze for as long as I could and stared at the mansion before us, forcing myself to take a deep breath. It was nearly dark outside now, the sun dipping far below the horizon, but all the lights were on, glittering in the gloom and letting every detail stand out.

Thick ivy had crept up the stone walls of the place over the years, lending it a mysterious, old-world air despite the fact it was only built around a decade ago when dot-com billionaire Chuck Van der Veer bought the expansive spot of land and bulldozed whatever used to be here. I knew all about it because of my dad, who owned a struggling land surveying business here in Connecticut. This particular property had practically been the only thing he talked about for months when I was about eight or nine, as a business rival of his had managed to snatch the Van der Veer contract from under him at the last minute.

Because of my father’s line of work, I also had a vague idea of how much this sort of real estate cost. Boasting three stories with wide balconies and ornately carved stone details everywhere—along with a prime location on Connecticut’s Gold Coast—I would be genuinely shocked if this house was built for under forty million.

It was the sort of place where members of America’s elite could thrive on their power and success, living and playing well away from the general rabble of society. Just like in medieval times in Europe, when royalty sequestered themselves from the unwashed masses in their enormous palaces. Anything could happen beyond those seemingly impenetrable walls; all sorts of astonishing, mysterious things, well beyond the wildest dreams of common folk.

“Tatum?” Katie repeated. There was a brief flash of concern in her eyes.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “This house just reminds me a bit of… you know….” I let my sentence trail off, and understanding finally dawned on my friend’s sweet face.

She sighed and touched her hand to my right arm, gently patting me. “The counselor you spoke with said not to think about that party anymore, remember? You have no reason to feel guilty.”

Didn’t I?

I swallowed thickly, nervously.

“….and that’s all it does to you when you think about it,” Katie went on. “You’ve gotta put it out of your mind and put yourself back into the world. It’ll help.”

I looked down at my cheap black pumps and wrapped my thick wool coat tighter around myself. Dread and uncertainty were still gnawing at my insides, but deep down, I knew Katie was right. It was a good idea to put myself out and about in the world again, especially as we’d been so kindly invited to this gala despite our decidedly non-elite status in society.

Katie’s mother had worked for the Van der Veers for years, and during that time, Katie had struck up a friendship with their daughter, a pretty blonde named Willa. Despite coming from astounding wealth and therefore given every opportunity to be a vicious elitist snob, Willa was fairly down to earth and a genuinely nice person. She’d always invited Katie to her parties, and occasionally, other one-percenter’s parties as well. By proxy, that meant I was invited to quite a few of them as well, but I hadn’t been to one in a long time.

Eight months, fifteen days, nineteen hours, and twenty-three minutes.

Katie held up a hand. “We can leave. Honestly, if that’s what you—”

Guilt sliced right through me as she spoke, and I cut her off abruptly. “No, you’re right. It’ll be good for me. Let’s go in.” I forced a brave smile. I couldn’t ruin her night. She’d been looking forward to this party for weeks.

She beamed. “Awesome!” She hooked her arm in mine and led me toward the enormous front doors. Loud music spilled out into the night as two other guests entered a moment before us.

My heart beat even faster as we finally stepped inside. The interior of the mansion practically screamed ‘money’. We were in a two story entry hall with a soaring ceiling, intricate crown moldings, and marble mosaic-tiled floors leading to a grand double staircase with curved banisters.

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