Vice (H.S)

CHAPTER 6 - SECRETS

3 MONTHS LATER

Growing up, I was always envious of my parents. Getting dressed up in colorful silks and expensive jewels, clouds of exotic perfume and spicy aftershave trailing behind them as they walked out to meet our driver.

So grown-up and magical. It seemed like they had something going on every weekend: charity events, hospital benefits, wildlife galas, cocktail parties, silent auctions, and symposiums.

I wanted to be them so badly. I wanted to sip father's drinks — dark amber liquid, orange peel, sugar cube, and maraschino cherry. I wanted to wear mother's lipstick, waltz around the room in her satin heels. I remember sitting at the windowsill for hours, falling asleep against the cool glass, waiting for their return. The crunch of gravel beneath tires woke me well past midnight each time, signaling their arrival and I would meet them at the door, begging to hear stories of the evening.

Now that I'm older, these events are a routine part of my life. And they're not nearly as glamorous as I once imagined. Rooms filled with fake laughter and society gossip, indulgence, gambling veiled behind cigar smoke.

Tonight's fundraiser is benefitting the VA hospital downtown. Wounded, limbless soldiers sipping whiskey and brushing shoulders with the Hollywood elite. It's a strange crowd of misfits. The fortunate and the misfortunate.

The whole thing is so insincere. Come tomorrow, no one will care about these veterans. My options are:

A) spend the evening as a guilty millionaire, giving away all my money and feeling sorry for the vets; or

B) pretend to be oblivious to everyone else's problems, drink myself silly while somehow retaining my composure, and bragging about the designer wedding dress that's being sewn for me in Paris.

I arrived on the arm of my fiancé, but he left my side to go off in search of better company. Networking, El, he says. I need to talk to voters.

Normally I find myself glued to Peggy at the hip at these sorts of things; we walk the perimeter of the room, sharing hushed whispers about the sloppy drinkers, the overly-rouged cheeks, the scandalously short skirts. But she's in New York for a few weeks visiting family. When Peggy's gone, I'm all alone. And when Niall leaves me in search of his constituents... I'm even lonelier. By myself, tucked into the corner of the room, watching the night unfold. Alone.

Except—

Across the room. A familiar face. It's not him. He wouldn't be here.

But he is. It's him.

His gaze meets mine and I watch as his lips turn up in a grin, the smile slowly spreading to his bright green eyes. He ends his conversation without another word, taking long strides across the ballroom towards me.

I look around for someone, anyone to busy myself with, bury myself in mindless conversation. He can't be here. Why is he here?

But he is. And he's in front of me before I can find an escape.

"Hello."

His voice is deep, crisp and cool as he runs a hand through his short, dark hair, a single curl falling across his forehead. A casual, beautiful mess.

Maybe he doesn't remember me. I plead to the universe, to God, to anyone listening. His eyes flicker to mine and I search for something, anything. But he gives away nothing. A nervous chill runs down my spine and, beneath the thick velvet of my dress, my pulse races in double time.

"You look so familiar." He cocks his head to the side and I can feel the slow pull as he drags his eyes over me. "Tell me, have we had the pleasure of meeting?"