The whole suit-and-tie thing is for the rich people here, the out-of-towners who come for ski season and might donate tothis cause if Phina feeds them enough caviar. For me, having to stuff myself into a suit and come out here is a nightmare. For a lot of the others here, it’s a chance to play dress-up, to dig out their nice clothes and enjoy the food.
“I can just tell you’re thinking negative thoughts,” a voice purrs in my ear, and I jump like it’s a tarantula climbing up my arm.
Annette leans against the wall, her arms folded in front of her meager chest, her hair pin-straight and hanging over her shoulders. She’s wearing a blood-red lipstick that makes me feel hunted, and the gleam in her eyes is doubly predatory.
I just don’t understand whatherinterest is inme. I get why my parents want us to pair up—at this point, they’d be happy for me to pair up with anyone.
Well, anyone besides a beta.
“Very perceptive,” I try to joke back with her, but she doesn’t laugh, just leans in closer to me, her eyes dropping from my eyes to my lips.
“I already made my donation,” she says, “so we could get out of here if you want—”
But then, like a bucket of cold water tossed at my face, the smell that’s been lingering in the back of my nose, in the back of my mind, comes suddenly and completely to the forefront.
I cough, suck in a breath of air, and turn away from Annette, who I can tell is asking me what’s wrong, but I can’t hear her.
Because when I straighten up, I’m facing the front doors.
And Maeve Villareal is walking in.
My mouth goes completely dry at the sight of her. Those curves, her ass plush and honestly fuckingbiteable,hugged by an emerald-green dress that puts the other ones in this room to shame. A sort of mesh fabric runs over her arms and down between her breasts, along the two panels that keep her covered. The details shimmer in the light, and her strawberry-blond hair is pinned up, showing off her shoulders and cleavage, the latter of which is presented very nicely by the dress.
It feels like every person in this room is turning to look at her. Maybe it’s just me.
“Hello? Felix, are you okay?”
I blink hard, turning to look at Annette, but it’s like I can’t see her—like I’ve just come inside from staring at the sun, and now I’m stumbling around a dark room.
“Fine,” I say, already thrumming with the urge to go and find Maeve, to talk to her, to make sure she’s real and not simply a figment of my imagination.
But when I look toward the door again, she’s gone. Vanished.
Annette trails me through the place, somehow making it look like we’ve intentionally come here together, which pleases my parents to no end when we stop to talk to them.
“Annette, that dress looks so good on you,” my mother says. “It’s great with your complexion.”
I bite my tongue as I skim the rest of the room to keep myself from blurting out that anyone can wear black, but there are only certain people who can pull off emerald green.
For the next hour, I circle the room, swearing I catch glimpses of Maeve when there’s nothing, her smell against my nose as if I had my face pressed into the nape of her neck. Otherguests stop to chat with me—even Phina and Xeran, who had made it seem like they would be far too busy to hang out with our group.
“Lachlan has to be around here somewhere,” Phina says, her eyes skimming the room. “He'd better not think he can just make a donation and leave.”
“Valerie and the baby are at home,” Xeran says, but Phina waves her hand.
“Valerie knows how to take care of that baby,” she mutters. “We need Lachlanhere. He makes the other rich people feel bad when they don’t donate as much as him. It’s like some sort of sick competition.”
When I start to move on without Annette, Xeran gives me a strange look, but I don’t have time to explain to him that I didn’t come with her, and, in fact, I would give anything to lose her right now. I have the feeling her constant chatter is only making it more difficult to find the person I am really looking for.
Then it occurs to me—Phina and Maeve were friends in high school. Maybe Phina invited her, and maybe she would know if she’s really here, or if I’m just slowly driving myself insane for no reason.
But there’s no way for me to ask her without it seeming weird.
Sure, Maeve and I were friends growing up. But we fell apart when we got to high school. Got into different groups.
I got a lot more concerned about what people thought, and my parents made it clear that I needed to worry about our standing in the pack.
Normally, I try not to think about the mistakes I’ve made. I’m not the kind of guy who likes to reflect or journal about shit. But when I think about high school, I can’t stop myself from wishing I’d spent more time with her. Kept that friendship.
