Page 1 of Reckless Games

1

Lakeyn

Ifitwasn’tforthe snow painting an ethereal scene, I’d swear this manor is haunted. The moon hangs low over the tree line, casting a cool glow on the gothic façade. It’s more of a monument than a home, which I suppose is fitting considering the instructions on the crimson invitation in my hand.

Every year on Christmas Day, the Midnight Manor opens its doors for the rich and elite to indulge their fantasies. And once you step through the gate, there’s no leaving until the clock strikes midnight on New Year’s Eve.

And here I stand, a fraud. Holding an invite not meant for me and accepting the challenge to be reckless for once in my life.

I’m not sure how I let Ivy talk me into this. She’s the exciting twin, the globe-trotter. She knows how to mingle with billionaires and party with actresses. Ivy is spontaneous, while I prefer my small town, scheduled events, and going places where I know what to expect.

I should never have let her convince me to take her place at this week-long escape when her invitation landed on my doorstep by accident.

“What’s the Midnight Manor, and why does it sound like you just got invited to a holiday sex party?”

Ivy laughs on the other end of the line. “I didn’t think that was real. The Midnight Manor is like the Bermuda Triangle. No one knows where it is or what really happens there. I always figured it was a rumor.”

“Well, this rumor is not only real, but your invite just landed on my doorstep.” I flip the invitation over, where there’s a silver foil “I” scrawled in beautiful calligraphy.

I balance my phone between my ear and shoulder to open the invitation again. “I’ve never even heard of the Midnight Manor.”

“That’s why it’s so exclusive,” Ivy says, and even if I can’t see her, I sense her eyes rolling from her tone.

“Well, you got invited, so I guess you’re exclusive,” I say. “But I’m not sure how they mixed up our addresses.”

We might look identical, but we couldn’t lead more different lives.

I run my fingers over the silver lettering on the red velvet invitation. Everything about it screams money, status—all the things important to my sister—things I’ve never bothered with.

“Too bad I’m in Ibiza this Christmas, so I’m not going to be able to make it.” She hums, and I sense her disappointment, even if she’s probably going to have just as much fun and debauchery there. “But…”

She drags out the word, and it might be a twin thing or a sister thing, but I can imagine the devious smile lighting her face without having to see her.

“What are you thinking? And don’t lie and try to tell me it’s nothing.”

“You could go.” Ivy practically squeals in excitement.

“To some billionaire’s holiday sex retreat? Pass.”

“Oh, come on, Lake.” Ivy huffs. “When’s the last time you did something for you?”

Never.

“Never, exactly,” she says, and sometimes I swear she reads my mind. “Your shop closes for two weeks at Christmas, so you can’t even lie to me and tell me you need to work. It’s perfect. Besides, we both know you don’t have Christmas or New Year's plans.”

“I might,” I lie, as if she’ll believe me.

“Binging Hallmark movies and drowning in ice cream doesn’t count. If you stay there, you’ll just sit around wallowing over your breakup with Josh.”

“It’s fresh.”

“It’s been a year.”

“We were together for four.”

I pull my phone away from my ear and put the call on speaker so I can close my apps. Like somehow Ivy will sense how pathetic I am for having his Instagram account open because I was obsessing over him and his perfect new girlfriend right before she called.

“Lake.” Ivy’s tone is stern. “You need this. Live a little for once in your life.”

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