Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 14285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 71(@200wpm)___ 57(@250wpm)___ 48(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14285 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 71(@200wpm)___ 57(@250wpm)___ 48(@300wpm)
Still, it doesn’t matter because everyone turns their heads at the sight of me and Heather entering the wide double doors.
I’ve heard so many things about the Cain matriarch’s parties. They’re always grand, lavish, and often over the top. At one event, they hired the entire Cirque du Soleil. Dad never got an invite because he’s what others call new money. And the Cains? They were millionaires way before my ancestors crossed the Atlantic. In the world of the ultra-rich, the Bishops are at the bottom tier.
Not that I’m complaining.
Besides, when Heather said the party would be held at her Mimi’s mansion, I fully expected a house ten times bigger than mine. My estimate was wrong. This is roughly thirty times grander and bigger. My entire home alone could fit in one of the ballrooms. Yes, one of the ballrooms. Like I said, the Cains love to party.
I adjust my mask—black and red lace that matches Heather’s gown—and look at the goddess beside me. The gown itself is beautiful, but on Heather, she just glows. She’s a vision in the crimson gown.
It’s backless and has a deep V in front, which is pretty much why my eyes have been glued to her from the moment I first saw her tonight. Her bodice is red, with some lace and beading, and the lace overlay forms into long sleeves. From the waist, her gown transitions into a cascade of rich, deep black satin, the skirt flowing beautifully. In a sea of pastels and neutrals, Heather stands out effortlessly. Her black hair is in a neat chignon, and while I like it, I prefer she let her hair down.
Even with her mask on, though, several pairs of eyes stray towards her. I can’t blame them. I’d do the same if I was on the other side and not the man she’s with.
Heather pulls on my arm and leads me to the elderly woman sitting on a winged Queen Anne chair. Mrs. Harriet Cain is a picture of elegance and grace, and she may be eighty but I don’t miss the sharp gaze she casts on me, eyeing me up and down as if gauging if I am worthy to stand beside her granddaughter.
She lifts her hand to me to kiss, and I oblige. I have never felt as awkward and unsure as I do now.
“Mimi, happy birthday!” Heather plants a kiss on both cheeks. “This is my date, Baron Bishop.”
Harriet nods in acknowledgment, her piercing stare never leaving my face. “I would stand, but you look like you have stronger knees.”
“Strong enough to handle Heather’s personality too.”
Heather smacks my arm playfully and glares at me, while Harriet snorts and covers her mouth, her shoulders shaking. “Well, Heather. Looks like you finally found someone worthy of you.” Harriet motions with her hand, beckoning me closer as she whispers, “I like you better than her exes already.”
For some odd reason, that simple compliment pads my ego, and I feel like a much bigger man than when I first entered her home. “That makes two of us. Thank you, Mrs. Cain.”
She waves a hand. “Call me Harriet. Now go get yourself some food. Unlike other parties you’ve been to, I don’t like my guests to go hungry. Now shoo.”
A woman after my own heart. I too don’t like parties sans food and chairs. What’s the point of throwing a party if everyone’s hungry and miserable on their feet? Hors d’oeuvres and wine can only get you so far.
“Mimi has the best caterer,” Heather murmurs and hands me a small plate. She starts filling it with food, telling me what each one is. “Lamb skewer, spring rolls, cheesy crab turnover. And oh, this one’s my favorite.” She pops something into my mouth, and I don’t even know what it is. If it contains cyanide, then I guess at least I won’t die hungry. “Ham and brie pocket pastry.”
My mouth is so full I can only nod and give her a thumbs-up. Heather grins at me before she spots something behind me, and her expression shifts. Her eyes narrow, a subtle tension tightening her jaw. She tries to maintain her composure, but the flicker of annoyance in her gaze is unmistakable.
“Hi, sis! I’d like you to meet my date. Oh wait, you know him.” Corinne’s voice grates at my nerves, and she still hasn’t seen me. “Alex, say hi.”
“Hey, Heather,” Alex says, like the good dog he is.
“Who’s the poor boy you dragged to the party? Hey, you. Turn around. Don’t be shy.” Corinne takes it up a notch by tapping my shoulder.
So I shrug off her hand and turn around, and the shock on both of their faces would be so funny if I didn’t feel Heather stiffening beside me.
“Corinne. And your date—whoever this ‘poor boy’ is.” I purposely don’t mention Alex’s name because I want him to think he’s nothing more than dirt under my shoe. That’s more than he deserves for being part of this.