Betty laughed and held up her hand for a high five. “Attagirl.”
“You know,” Joss started, “it’s just that we love you, Stella. And we don’t think Dex does.”
“I appreciate you guys. I do. But I’m not being mistreated. I agreed to his terms.”
“They’re bullshit terms,” Zeke said.
“Maybe for you. But if I agreed to them, can’t you respect that? If I’m happy, isn’t that enough?”
At first, no one answered.
“I want you to do something,” Betty finally said. “I want you to think about three things that are absolute musts in relationships. Three things that, if not found, are dealbreakers. And please, try to be objective and not think about Dex.”
My mind emptied under the pressure. Dex popped into my head. And I realized how hard this would be.
I also realized she was right to make me do it.
“I’ll see what I can come up with,” I promised with my nose just an eensy bit in the air. Because deep down, I knew I wasn’t going to like what I found. But I smiled. “And in the meantime, we have a party to plan.”
3
Truth Hurts
I stepped out of the white RollsRoyce and into a fantasy.
The winter had been unseasonably warm, and thankfully, Christmas had slipped into New Year’s in a pleasant range of temperature that made our outdoor party not only possible, but the perfect way to ring in the New Year—under the full moon.
The raised dance floor had been set up in an alcove surrounded by bare apple trees wrapped in fairy lights, the only artificial light at the party. Everything else was kissed by moonlight, reflecting off the square in the center of the space where people in all white danced. Even the DJ, tucked back in an inconspicuous corner, had dressed in white, one hand on white headphones and the other on a white turntable as he played electronic music created around loops that were straight out of a time long before us. It was electro-swing, the song floating through the crisp air, informing us that it didn’t mean a thing, not if it didn’t have that swing.
Dex offered his arm, and I took it blindly. Z, Roman, Betty, and Joss and their dates were on our heels, the lot of us awestruck and smiling as we drifted into the party like moths to the moon.
I’d hired an event planner—straight out of college and unaffiliated with any firm—to help me, and Genie handled it like a seasoned pro. I did everything remotely so no one would know who set up the party. Genie was my eyes and ears—an actual genie, if I was being honest. I set up a business—Cecelia Beaton—in Delaware, a state where business records were sealed. A business account was created, funded by one of my offshore accounts. My accountant had taken care of nearly all of it, primarily to release me of personal liability in case someone drowned in champagne.
And the secret had driven my friends mad.
The mystery and anticipation was so far beyond what I’d imagined. People hated not knowing a secret, and the squirming speculation was all anyone could talk about. The group’s social media accounts exploded with pictures of their invitations. Their costumes. Today alone, there were hundreds of posts and reposts of everyone getting ready, of the champagne and jewelry, satin gloves and feathered fascinators. The inside of their cars as they headed here. And the buzz had spread so far, I had a suspicion it might go viral.
Insane. Insane and incredible. And I’d done it all.
Their happiness filled my heart to the brim, so full, my ribs ached from trying to contain it all.
The second we stepped onto the white dance floor, glowing with moonlight, our friends opened up and dragged us in to join them. Waiters with stiff backs, wearing white tails, carried around trays of champagne, and for a long time, all we did was dance. A jumping beat came on that had us all bouncing and pretending we knew how to do things like the Charleston and the fox trot. And by the time the song ended, we were all winded.
White blankets were spread at intervals in the grass around the dance floor, and breathlessly, we sat under the cloudless night sky. Within seconds, we were supplied with champagne, and for a little while, we just watched our friends dance. Dex stretched out next to me, leaning on his elbow, and I lay next to him on my back, counting stars.
“You’ve outdone yourself, Stell,” he said so no one else could hear, smiling down at me.
“Why, thank you.”
“I still can’t figure out how you did it all. I don’t think I could have even imagined a party like this, never mind putting it together.”
“Well, I’m not the one with commitment issues, am I?” I teased, nudging him with my satin-gloved palm.
“Ha, ha,” he answered with a smirk.
“It was the most fun I’ve had since the Victory Party. Think anyone will figure out it’s me?”
“Nah. That’s all anyone’s talking about—who is Cecelia Beaton? They don’t even have a clue. I mean, there’s speculation, but more people think it’s Z than you, and there are another ten names on that list everyone’s certain did it. Are you going to do a big reveal?”
“I kind of want them to sweat it out.” A mischievous smile tugged at my lips. “Maybe we can do it every year. Our mysterious Bright Young Things parties, thrown by the illustrious Cecelia Beaton.”
“That’s a tradition I can get behind.” He leaned down to kiss me and broke it with a sigh. “I’m gonna hit the bar. If I drink any more champagne, I’m gonna get myself into trouble.”
“Oh, so something new?”
A laugh, his head kicked back to expose his Adam’s apple. “You know me too well, Stella Spencer.”
“That, I do. Go on. Bring me back a whiskey, would you?”
“Your wish is my command.”
Swiftly, he kissed me again and headed toward the bar. And I sat, tucking my legs and turning to my friends, wishing that were true.
Z and Roman had just gotten up and were trotting hand in hand toward the tree line to do exactly what anyone would think they were doing. Betty’s and Joss’s dates extended their hands to get back on the dance floor.
Betty’s brows clicked together. “You okay?”
I smiled and nodded. “Go on. I’ll wait for Dex.”
“If you must,” she said on a sigh, taking her date’s hand and heading toward the fun.
Leaving me alone.
But I didn’t feel lonely. I watched over the party with pride and joy, basking in my accomplishment and the fulfillment of my desire for togetherness. For connection. We were all here, all of us living in this moment, a moment I’d created simply for the joy of it.
For the stretch of a song, I imagined a host of New Year’s parties, sad I’d have to wait a whole year to throw one. But themes rolled through my mind like a parade, and I watched them go by with appreciation and excitement.
Until I saw Dominique heading straight for me.
Her dress was incredible, a white satin affair that clung to every curve, draping at the neckline. It was the only thing she wore besides shoes and accessories—the fabric was such that I could see the divot of her belly button and make out the exact shape of her ass, which was, by all standards, perfect. The sparkling band around her crown held a white ostrich feather, her neck dripping with diamonds. But her lips were red as sin, smiling at me shrewdly.