Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Unfortunately, I had to use heaven’s back door. Security was heaviest at events like these. Armed men patrolled the perimeter of the property, keeping certain criminals out and others in. The main house was off-limits.
I took cover in the garden between the house and ballroom, crouching behind a fountain with a statue of Poseidon.
Your curiosity is an affliction, my father had often said to me. And there’s no cure, I’d teased him. Being forbidden from the party was like being sent from the dinner table as a girl when conversations had turned to business. Or like when my father had put up a fence in our backyard to keep me from exploring the grounds beyond the trees. Most of the time, finding ways around the blockades was more fun than whatever lay on the other side.
Once one of the guards had turned back the way he’d come, I hurried through the courtyard. Intricate, lifelike butterfly wings, strapped over a black bodysuit, flapped at my back. My best friend, Pilar, had been too skittish to sneak in with me, but I’d convinced her to help me make an elaborate black-and-orange eye mask with feathers and glitter before streaking blonde extensions through my hair. She’d then clipped handmade, delicate monarch butterflies throughout my curls.
Full costume required. It’d been printed there on the invitation, and from what I’d heard and glimpsed of these parties, anything less than an extravagant, costly costume, and I’d stick out.
“Alto,” I heard behind me. I stopped and turned as a guard approached. “¿Qué hace?”
I swallowed and disguised my voice with my best North American accent. “¿Hablas inglés?”
“You are not permitted here,” he said in broken English. “¿Invitación?”
I pulled a sharp-cornered card from my pocket and handed it over. I’d looked at the guest list earlier to forge an invite with the names of one of the few attending couples from the States.
“Señor Matthewson?” the guard asked.
“Husband.” I flashed a small diamond ring one of my uncles had gifted me at my quinceañera. “Inside. Waiting.”
He picked up his two-way radio, but as he was about to speak, a voice came through asking for security at the front. He handed me back the invitation. “Adelante. Quédate en la fiesta.”
Stay in the party. I continued around the side of the house. A Playboy bunny with red lipstick and a cigarette held open the door for me on her way out, and I entered the hall to “Walk Like an Egyptian.” As my eyes adjusted to the glittering affair, waiters circled with trays, passing between rooms. To my right, disco music vibrated the chandeliers that looked as if they’d been dipped in gold and crystals and hung to dry.
Belly dancers rippled through the crowd. Walking toward the main hall, I crossed the imported Moroccan tile Mamá had bought on a trip to Africa, hypnotized as a heavyset man took the stage for an emotional aria.
Partygoers showed off their costumes—a black vinyl catsuit that hugged every curve. Cleopatra in a metallic leotard with layers upon layers of necklaces over her breasts, her nipples poking through. A bare-chested Tarzan with nothing but a cloth covering his genitals. Marie Antoinette walked in on the arm of Two-Face. Even some of the security guards wore painted masks or had gold-plated machine guns.
A waiter stopped and lowered his tray for me. It wasn’t canapes or mini quiche as I would’ve thought but an assortment of pills and powder. Growing up in the world of drugs, I had little interest in them, so I opted for a fizzing drink instead. With a sip, bubbles tickled my mouth and made me smile.
This wasn’t the ballroom in which I’d grown up playing hide-and-seek or had taken piano lessons, but an opulent show come to life. I walked into the next room, my heels solid on the floor even as music muted them. On a balconette overlooking a dancefloor, a row of women in lace corsets, bejeweled thigh-high stockings, and vibrant feather boas kicked slender legs for the can-can. A man in an open-collared suit and gold chains stood beneath them, likely hoping for a glimpse of heaven. I turned in a circle, taking in the spinning dancers. Men wore women’s clothing, ladies dressed as animals, and caged birds sang. In one corner, a tiger paced its gilded pen for partygoers’ amusement. Nearby, a woman in black leather also wore a leash.
The affair lived up to its tales of opulence and extravagance. I could hardly believe all this had been happening a hundred meters from my bedroom.
Glancing up, I spotted Diego in a long-sleeved denim shirt, a brown suede vest, and a cowboy hat. He surveyed the room from behind a second-floor railing. When our eyes met, he narrowed his. I bit my bottom lip as recognition crossed his features. He shook his head at me to signal his disapproval but tipped his hat with a small smile. After a quick scan of the room, he started down to the ground floor, but a security guard stopped him to speak in his ear. Diego looked at me, checked his watch, then turned back up the stairs.