“I’m sure Mr. Troyan assumed as much when I called ahead to make sure that you and your friend would be well treated while in the city,” Morpheus murmurs, his eyes still on the invitation. “This is a charity event at one of their hotels.” He huffs and sets it down. “It wouldn’t look right not to go after they took such good care of you.”
It’s hard work to hide my smile. If only he knew just how well Paris Troyan takes care of me as a friend.
“It’s a masquerade,” I say, holding up the card. Paris is a fucking genius. A masquerade will definitely ensure that Morpheus doesn’t spot the guys while we’re there. It’s almost too good to be true. My heart thumps a rapid beat in my chest even as a nervous sweat begins to collect at the base of my spine.
“Then you’ll have to get fitted for a mask,” is all Morpheus says. “I’m sure your friend, Kel—or whatever her name is—can go with you.”
“The charity ball is this weekend,” I tell him. “Is that enough time?”
Careful, Juliet,I warn myself.Don’t seem too eager.
Morpheus huffs and reaches for his drink, lifting it to his lips for a long swallow. “It’s a bit late notice, but nothing is out of reach if you have enough money,” he says once he’s done. “I’ve given you a card, use it. Murphy and Hughes will, of course, be going with you.”
The scowl that comes to my lips is the first expression I haven’t faked in the last fifteen minutes. I stab a bite of something on my plate with my fork. “Of course,” I snap back.
Thankfully, though, Morpheus doesn’t criticize my tone and other than a bit of stank eye from Stuart as he stands behind his boss, no one says anything more. Once breakfast is over, I go upstairs to finish whatever online curriculum is needed to stay on track for graduation and only come down well after lunch when Morpheus is away at the office and Stuart is ready to announce that Roquel is there.
“Hey, I heard we’re going shopping!” Roquel’s face is bright and there’s no sign of any hangover from the weekend. In fact, her cheeks are a bit flushed and her eyes glassy.
I slow as I approach her, tilting my head to the side. “Yeah, there’s a charity thing I have to go to,” I say. “I need to get a mask since it’s a masquerade.”
Her lips part. “A masquerade? Oh, that sounds like so much fun!” She squeals and pounces on me, jumping up and down. “Can I come with you?”
I grimace as I put a hand on her arm. “I’m sorry,” I tell her, “but it’s not one of my uncle’s. We were invited and they didn’t say if we could bring guests.”
Roquel’s face falls immediately and her hands slip away from my arm. “Oh, I guess that makes sense.” Guilt gnaws at me, but before I can do or say anything to cheer her back up, she seems to shake off the hurt and then smiles brightly again. “So, shopping then? I still get to go to all of the fancy places with you, right? I can help you pick out a dress.”
“Yeah.” Soon enough, we’re ushered outside and into a waiting sedan, driven by—of course—Murphy with Hughes riding shotgun. I glare at the backs of their heads, but Roquel is too excited and chatty to let me brood at them for long.
“Hey, by the way, how’s Mads?” I ask as we arrive at one of the boutiques I used to frequent on the north side when I still went to the prep school. Hughes gets out and walks with us inside as Murphy takes the car away.
“Mads?” Roquel chuckles. “Oh, she’s fine. Super busy with the winter formal. I only really see her in passing.” She waves a hand and bounds forward, stepping into the warm interior of the small shop. I shiver and tighten my coat around me as the door closes behind us.
One of the attendants comes around a glass countertop and makes a beeline straight in our direction. “Welcome! Miss Donovan, we’ve been expecting you. Come, we have a line of gowns and masks waiting for you in the back.”
“What? They already picked everything out?” Roquel rounds on me, eyes wide.
With a shrug, I follow the slender woman in front of us with a halo of tight curls cut close to her scalp and big dangling earringsnearly grazing her shoulders. “I think my uncle’s assistant called ahead,” I say.
“Yes,” the woman agrees. “We’ve got all of your sizes as well, so everything should fit perfectly.” She stops us at an alcove with two large chairs and a small table between. Hughes takes up residence against the back wall with his hands behind his back and his eyes locked on every exit and entrance to the area.
Roquel gapes at the bucket of ice with a champagne bottle sitting regally center stage. “Is that for us?” she whispers to me, leaning close.
“Help yourself,” I tell her before turning to the attendant. “Where’s the dressing room?”
“Right here,” she says, gesturing across from the little alcove to a closed door. Unlike a lot of shops or department stores, there’s no number engraved on the wood. It’s just a door like any other. She steps forward and opens it, revealing the room about the size of a regular bedroom with curtains tacked to the walls and flowing down in long, clean lines to form an almost tent-like atmosphere.
“We’ve selected several dresses for you to try on,” the woman tells me. “Once you’ve made your selection, let an attendant know and they’ll take the measurements of your face to design a mask that will match. Everything will be delivered the morning of the event.”
“Thank you,” I say, and the woman disappears out of the door, leaving me alone.
The first dress is a mixture of too loose tulle and an unflattering satin material that never makes it out of the dressing room. The second is a black sheath dress that arches up my throat, but leaves my back completely bare. Roquel takes one look at it and puts a thumbs-down in my direction as she throws back another glass of champagne.
The third dress is tight and red with a slit that cuts almost up to my pussy. Roquel loves it, clapping her hands and demanding to borrow it when I’m done with it. I wrinkle my nose and tell her honestly that it’s not for me.
It takes longer than an hour with how many times I end up calling for help to get a dress buttoned or zipped right, but by the time I’m done at the boutique, I’ve settled on something that a year ago, I would’ve never even tried on. It’s made of a transparent material that flows down the length of my back and between my breasts with straps so thin they practically disappear, making it appear as if the top corset is held up by little more than gauze and a prayer.
It’s beautiful. It’s daring. It’s going to be the perfect distraction.
