The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (40 page)

“Stop whining,” Noelle said. “It doesn’t become you.”

She fastened an earring into her ear and then turned around, regarding me with an almost pitying smile.

“Wait—,” I started to protest.

Noelle brought her hands up to her lips. “Sssshhh,” she said, in an almost comforting way. “Look, just forget about that for right now, okay?” And then she smiled. “Now, did Whittaker ask you to the Legacy or not?” she said.

What the hell did that have to do with anything?

“Yes.”

“Good,” Noelle said. “He gave you the necklace?”

“Yeah. What’s that about?” I asked.

“You have to wear it. It’s your pass to get in,” Noelle said.

Damn. Whoever heard of a party where the proof of invitation was a solid-gold-and-diamond necklace? Who paid for this stuff?

“Let’s do this.” Noelle nodded over my shoulder at Ariana, who reached into her closet and pulled out an incredible, shimmering gold gown in a clear bag. A gold mask with a white feather across
one side hung from the silver hanger. She draped the dress across one arm and brought it over, holding it out to me. The gown took my breath away, even as the rest of me was still reeling from everything else.

“That’s for me?” I said.

“Kiran guessed your measurements,” Ariana explained.

“Girl has a ninety-nine point nine percent success rate,” Noelle said. “It’s a talent.”

“I don’t believe this,” I told them, overwhelmed.

Noelle shrugged. “I called in a favor at Roberto Cavalli. You can’t exactly go to the Legacy in jeans and a T-shirt.” She looked me up and down, amused. “We’ll talk about this later.” She turned around and lifted her thick mane of hair. “Unzip me?”

I hesitated. “You’re getting
un
dressed?”

“It’s not like we sneak off campus in ball gowns, Reed. That would be a little too conspicuous,” she said.

“Oh.”

I reached out and unzipped her dress from the top all the way down her back. She stepped out of the gown, completely naked, and walked slowly over to her closet to slip into her silk robe. As she turned around I caught a glimpse of her angry red stomach scar. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry to hide it—or anything else for that matter.

“Take it,” Ariana said, holding the gold dress up.

“Yeah. Then go see if Kiran has any shoes that will match,” Noelle said, then laughed. “I think it’s safe to assume she does.”

Gingerly, I took the dress from Ariana’s arms. She smiled at me in a proud way. Like she was a mother dressing her little tomboy for the prom. I had no idea what to say. I knew I should thank them, but how was I going to walk out of here with absolutely nothing resolved?

“But—”

“We’ll
talk
about it
later
,” Noelle repeated firmly. “Now go. We only have an hour before it gets dark.”

I had a feeling that one more moment’s hesitation would push her over the edge, and as of now I was getting off relatively easy. So I took the dress and left, just hoping that somehow, some way, all of this would just work itself out.

An hour and a half later, as the Amtrak train zipped through rural and suburban towns, blurring by trees and steeples and schools and parks, I understood what Noelle had meant when she said they hadn’t decided what they were wearing yet. It meant that all the Easton girls who were going were gathered in the back of the train car, slipping in and out of gowns, passing them around, trying them on, giggling and flashing their skimpy underwear for all the men to see. They did this while I sat alone in a double seat in my gold dress, my Legacy necklace securely fastened, avoiding Natasha for dear life, wondering how I had ever gotten here.

“Yeah, baby! Take it off!” Gage shouted toward the back of the car, whooping it up with Dash. A silk thong came flying over and hit him in the face, accompanied by a round of girlish laughter. Dash passed Gage a flask of liquor as Gage pocketed the lingerie. He took a swig of vodka, never taking his lascivious eyes off the show.

“And you didn’t want to take the train,” he said to Dash mockingly.

Dash smirked. “I can admit when I’m wrong.”

“Don’t feel like playing dress-up?”

I looked up to find Josh standing in the aisle, one hand on the back of my seat, one hand on the back of the seat in front of me. He looked adorable in his black tuxedo, his curls as unruly as ever.

“I’m fine with what I have,” I said, lifting the gold mask from my lap by its gold handle. I had changed into my gown in the tiny square of a bathroom the moment I boarded the train and I wasn’t taking it off for anything. Never in my life had I even imagined wearing anything this divine.

“Good. I’m fine with it, too,” he said. I smiled and felt myself blush. “May I?”

“Sure.”

I was all too happy to have Josh sit with me. It would prevent Whittaker from taking the seat when he was done debating the latest Supreme Court debacle with the other guys from his floor. The ones who had either seen all the naked girls they needed to see or who didn’t swing that way.

“So, you don’t get a plus-one?” I asked as he settled in.

“Nope. I’m lucky I’m even here,” he said with a shrug. “I’m third generation. Just made the cut.”

“Ah.”

“But look at you! You bagged one of the few plus-ones in the entire school. You must be so proud,” he teased. “Not that I’m surprised.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, not sure if I should be offended.

“Just that of all the girls in school I’m not surprised Whittaker picked you,” he said.

I flushed with pleasure. So not offended.

“I don’t even know if I’d bring someone if I
had
a plus-one,” Josh said. “Unless I found someone truly worthy, I’d still go stag. That’s just how I roll.”

I laughed and shook my head. “The girls at school would eat you alive.”

“So be it,” he said. “So, how are you, Reed Brennan?”

I took a deep breath. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Convincing,” he said with a facetious nod. “Keep saying that and even you might start to believe it.”

I smiled sadly, snagged. “Do you really think Thomas is going to be at this thing?”

Josh faced forward and blew out a sigh, puffing his cheeks out momentarily. He picked at a slit in the back of the seat in front of him. “I hope so. So I can kick his ass.”

I looked at him quizzically.

“You know, for making us worry,” he said.

“Ah. Right. That tiny offense.”

We looked at each other for a moment and I found myself staring directly into his green eyes—his kind, honest, nothing-to-hide blue eyes. Slowly, Josh smiled, and I found myself smiling too. Then his gaze traveled down and settled, for the briefest of seconds, on my lips.

And just like that, my heart flipped.

Flipped. For Josh Hollis.

I looked away quickly, suddenly warm. Josh instantly did the same. Thomas. I was going to this party to see Thomas. Of course, Whittaker chose that very moment to finally arrive.

My head was spinning.

“Evening, Josh,” he said congenially. “It seems you’re in my seat.”

My stomach clenched with nerves as Josh looked at me. I shrugged with my eyes. “See you later?” Josh said as he stood, Whittaker backing up to make room.

“Yeah.”

Whittaker sat down next to me and slung his heavy arm around my shoulder. “This is going to be an incredible night.”

“Yeah,” I replied, toying with my masquerade mask as I stared at Josh over the top of the seat. He was talking to Gage and Dash now, laughing as if nothing was weird. “Yeah, it definitely is.”

By the time we stepped off the train in Grand Central Station in New York, almost everyone was sufficiently wasted, so I wasn’t that surprised when Kiran and Taylor came up behind me, hooked their arms through mine, and dragged me through the main lobby, laughing and whispering, drunk with absolute freedom. Our voices echoed off the incredible domed ceiling high above as we scurried along, trying not to trip over our gowns. I couldn’t believe I was in New York City, center of the known universe. But even more shocking? I was there with these people, in an exquisite ball gown, earning the curious and awed stares of everyone around us.

I felt like a debutante, a celebrity, someone who was certainly not me.

“Where are we going?” I asked the moment we emerged clumsily onto the sidewalk, a six-legged princess in too-high heels.

The rest of the crowd brought up the rear, gabbing loudly and confidently, not caring who heard or who stared. The cars on the
avenue raced by, honking and veering and slamming their brakes. A hot dog vendor pushed his cart along the curb, cursing at no one and everyone. A pack of kids in Spider-Man and Bratz costumes scurried after a pair of harried-looking moms. Two huge men in black leather jackets screamed insults at each other as they plowed right through our group, causing Rose and Cheyenne to jump out of their way. Five seconds in the city and already I had seen more hustle and bustle than I had during a lifetime in Croton, Pennsylvania.

“You’ll see!” Kiran trilled, dragging me off down the sidewalk.

A pack of college-aged kids in elaborate vampire robes and white powder glided by us, checking us all out. A tall guy in a monkey costume gripped hands with a beautiful girl dressed up like Naomi Watts from
King Kong
and pulled her across the street. Ghouls and goblins shouted out taxi windows and a limo went by with four guys shoved up through the sunroof, each dressed in drag with tremendous boobs, “Woo-wooing” at the top of their lungs.

“Love New York on Halloween,” Noelle said, taking a drink from a flask. “It’s when all the crazies come out.”

We walked a few blocks, making a few turns, until my feet started to throb in Kiran’s wicked-high heels and I began to wonder why these ridiculously rich kids hadn’t hired a limousine or at least hailed a cab. But the longer we walked, and the more passersby stopped in awe, the more I understood. They wanted these people to see and admire them. That was what this walk was all about. It was their walk of fame.

And it was fine by me, pain or no pain, because I got to see the
city. I did my best not to gape as we strolled by swank boutiques and canopied restaurants. Tried so hard not to stare through the brightly lit windows into brownstone mansions, some starkly decorated with white walls and high ceilings, others jam-packed with overflowing bookcases and antique artifacts. Didn’t even flinch when we traipsed past a woman pushing a stroller who might or might not have been Sarah Jessica Parker and who may or may not have paused to admire my gown. But I did take it all in. I took it all in and filed it away and told myself over and over that I belonged here. That I was not going to wake up. That all this was really happening. To me.

We emerged onto a wide avenue with islands down the center that were full of trees and bushes. A middle-aged couple in evening wear glided by us, the woman’s silk skirt swishing behind her as she walked, her humongous diamond-and-ruby earrings sparkling under the streetlights. I surreptitiously glanced at the street sign over my head, trying not to seem too bumpkin, and smiled. We were on Park Avenue.
The
Park Avenue. It actually existed and I, Reed Brennan, was on it.

“This way!” Dash announced, leading the pack across the street.

I passed by an idling Rolls-Royce and tried not to stare at the uniformed driver as Kiran, Taylor, and I fell into a rhythm with our steps. We followed the others up the street as I glanced into each and every lobby, noting the elaborate marble floors, glistening chandeliers, gorgeous flower arrangements. I was completely
dumbstruck by all the opulence, and Kiran and Taylor were having fun listening to the
clip-clop
of our heels—so much fun that we almost walked right by the rest of our friends when they stopped, en masse, in front of a wrought-iron gate. Apparently we had arrived.

Dash hit a buzzer that was built into a gray stone wall, and two seconds later an imposing man in a green doorman’s uniform with gold tassels appeared. He looked us over with disdain, as if we were rabble off the street.

“Can I
help
you?” he said through his nose.

Noelle stepped up, nearly shoving Dash aside. The doorman had the humanity, at least, to appear stunned by the gorgeousness that had appeared in front of him. His eyes trailed down to the spot just above her cleavage, where her own Legacy pendant glimmered.

The man’s thin lips twisted into a smile and he bowed his head. “Welcome.”

He unlocked the gate, which gave an ages-old squeal. Dash flashed his sleeves, showing off a pair of Legacy cuff links—the guys’ version of a pass—and the man bowed to him as well. Whittaker took my hand, detaching me from my friends, and showed his cuff links as we passed. The doorman glanced at my chest and nodded and my skin sizzled with excitement. I was in. My plus-one had been rendered. Now it was time to get to the task at hand.

“This place is unbelievable,” I whispered to Whittaker as we wove our way through the milling guests. His hand was hot and sweaty and practically crushing mine. All I wanted to do was stop and take a look around, but Whittaker was in a rush to get who knew where.

“Come on. We have to get a good spot for the welcome,” he said, hurrying me along.

I held my mask up with my trembling free hand, struggling to see in the candlelight. I would have taken it down, but everyone else seemed intent on wearing theirs, and I didn’t want to look like the gawker I was.

“The welcome?”

Whittaker didn’t reply. It was so dark I could barely make out the faces around me, especially with my line of sight partially impaired by sequins. If the lighting remained this way throughout the party, I would never be able to spot Thomas. Especially not if he was wearing a mask, like everyone else was. My only hope was that Thomas would choose to be different. Not a bad bet, actually.

All around me skirts swished, drinks were sipped, hushed voices murmured. For the party of the century, it was quite tame at the moment. I scanned the crowd and saw no one familiar, not even the people I had come with. Everyone had dispersed the second we stepped off the elevator, disappearing within the sea of hidden faces.