Promise

Chapter 16: Paint Me In

Christian

Far be it from my sister to just have a simple birthday party. She was turning 28 and by the look of her house, you'd think it was the royal wedding.

Enormous garlands of flowers, shimmering lights, and glittering banners hung from the massive house, full with a red carpet trailing up the stone staircases that rounded the fountain that was lit up like a billboard. The entire event was shiny and ostentatious, just like my sister liked it.

Bella wasn't conceited; I knew my sister donated tons of money all the time and constantly arranged charity events I'd been dragged to more than a few times in which she raised money for all kinds of foundations, especially cancer and child abuse. But, if anyone knew how to throw a party, it was her as well. She was a people person, a magnet for attention, and while Ariadne cowered from it, and I could fake comfort well enough, Bella owned it like a queen. I loved her for it.

Of course, Bella's party was a suit and tie event. I came straight from work, stopping at home to change briefly before I pulled up to the Duval residence. Damon and Robyn's cars were parked in the front already and people were streaming in and out of the house, clutching flutes of champagne as bowtie clad waiters walked around with platters of blini with caviar and grilled prosciutto-wrapped figs with blue cheese and pecans.

I rolled my eyes as I stepped out of my car and shut the door behind me. As I breezed through the doors, the room visibly stopped moving for a split second. I tried hard not to notice.

Did people not expect to see me at my own sister's birthday party?

Eyes were trained on me as if I stood in the middle of the room naked. Adjusting my cufflinks, I checked that everything was in place. Yep. Five-thousand-dollar Bella Ryder approved Brioni suit fully intact.

Paying no attention to anyone at all, I made my way straight to the bar for a drink, knowing I would find Francis there because he hated people and parties. Unfortunately, he was married to the biggest social butterfly in the East Coast.

The chatter quickly resumed, just as I noticed my best friend had an Old Fashioned already waiting for me at the bar.

"How'd you know I was here?" I asked, grabbing the tumbler and taking a desperate, prolonged sip.

He eyed me like I was an idiot. Francis knew everything. "I saw a couple women drop their underwear and realized you'd arrived," he drawled.

"You kiss my sister with that mouth?"

"My wife," he corrected with a self satisfied smirk.

Ignoring his comment, I threw the entire glass back in one gulp.

"Rough day?" Damon's voice said from behind me as he clapped my shoulder and shrugged past me to pour himself a drink as well. How the three of us—arguably the most unsocial people ever—ended up at Manhattan's social event of the year was beyond me.

"Always," I said nonchalantly. "Where's the birthday girl?"

"In the living room, last time I saw her."

My journey to said living room was punctuated frequently, making mundane conversation and passing curt greetings as if I knew anyone around. Women with fake smiles and faker breasts pushed up against me, batting their long eyelashes and pouting their lips. In turn, I responded to all of it calmly, the uninterested manner I normally dished out on autopilot.

When I finally got to the living room, I actually stopped in my tracks. My sisters were standing by the fireplace in elegant gowns, shining brighter than anyone else in the room.