And just like that, we blow out of there.
Sterling Lake shimmers as the deep blue water winks in the sun.
A large banner hangs across the span of two rolling oaks that reads, welcome to the annual fall wine festival and llama fashion show! And in smaller letters just below that it reads, presented by the Hathaway Foundation.
“Llama fashion show?” I say as Tilly, Regina, and I stand on the rolling green lawn that leads into the event.
Regina sniffs. “It’s just like Opal to leave out a significant detail like that. So much for setting the bar for my fall fashion standards.”
Tilly snorts. “Your fashion standards consist of a little black dress that happens to be easier to take off than it is to put on.”
Regina shakes out her long dark hair. “Everything’s easier to take off when there’s more than one person involved in the effort.” She strides past us. “Excuse me while I find someone suitable to assist me in the matter.”
I lean toward Tilly. “Should we keep an eye out on her in the event she passes out drunk and some billionaire tries to take advantage of her?”
Tilly’s eyes spring wide. “They’ve got billionaires here?” She gives a little hop. “I’d better head in there before it’s slim pickings. You don’t know what Regina’s capable of. She collects men the way I collect bottle caps.”
She stalks off with her shoulders back and that little red dress she’s donned riding up her thighs.
“Bottle caps?” I mumble just as a glass of wine gets thrust my way, and a thick, expensive, scented cologne engulfs me. “Oh!” I jump back a notch before looking up at the handsome courier. “Jackson,” I say as I take the glass of sanguine liquid that some chivalrous grapes had to give their life for.
Not that I can imbibe.
My not-so-sweet supernatural gift likes to have its way with my mind if I just so happen to take a sip.
“Why thank you.” I bat my lashes at him. Not because I’m trying to butter him up for a naughty good time, but because I’m trying to butter him up to help land me in more fortuitous places. “Please—take me to the mistress of ceremonies. I never attend a party without expressing my gratitude to the host first.”
“Not only is she beautiful, but she’s polite, too.” He winks as he holds out his arm and I gladly hook it with mine.
The rolling green lawns at Sterling Lake are artfully lined with trees of every shape and size—maples, beeches, oaks, and ash, most of them with their leaves already turning stunning shades of citrine. The air is crisp, but the sun is still strong enough to warm our shoulders. It’s that strange time between summer and fall where one season blows a kiss to the next as it proudly takes the seasonal helm.
Throngs of elegantly dressed women in tea-length gowns and odd pillbox hats with netting and feathers strut about with laughter in their mouths and a glass of vino in their hands. The men look a bit more casual. Not many suits, but plenty of chinos and chambray dress shirts. A great white tent is set up by the lake, and beneath it it’s teeming with bodies, as the rich and infamous struggle to refill their glasses with every type of glorified grape juice man has to offer.
Jackson touches his lips to my temple and a shiver ripples through me.
“There she is,” he whispers as he points with his wineglass toward the water’s edge.
Sure enough, the redheaded socialite stuns in a pale pink gown, a daring color choice given the fact she’s swilling a glass of red wine. She’s donned a triangular looking hat with what looks like a Christmas ornament hanging from the top. Her hair glows like fire as it cascades down her back while she regales a trio of women before they disband.
“Sophia,” Jackson calls out and she lifts her nose our way.
The redhead chortles our way. “I see you’ve found someone to imbibe with.” She gives me a wink. “Sophia Hathaway. Charmed to meet you.” She holds out her hand and I shake it.
“Actually, we’ve met—the other night at the masquerade,” I say. “I’m Bowie Binx, the manager at the Manor Café. How are you holding up?”
Sophia closes her eyes. “As best as can be expected.” She shoots a wry smile to Jackson. “Maddie had a saying—the show must go on. She was supposed to be hosting this event on behalf of my father’s foundation. And I’m sadly taking her place. Of course, I would have been here regardless, but it’s an honor to step into Maddie’s shoes one last time.” She sighs as she looks to Jackson. “This entire event is officially in her honor. I’ve put a picture of her near the llama pen for those who wish to pay their respects.”
“That’s very…kind of you?” I didn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but I’m not too sure there was any other way.
She nods as she takes a step in. “The llama fashion show was her baby. It’s strictly hats, you know, thus the Kentucky Derby feel.” She points to the triangle sitting on her head with its shiny red ball bouncing back and forth. “This is a Kaminski with a hand-blown bauble that’s set me back a Bentley or two.” She and Jackson share a monstrous laugh and I’d join in, but I get the feeling she’s not kidding.
Jackson wraps an arm around my shoulders.
“Bowie, please pick out a chapeau. It’s on me.” He dots a kiss to the top of my head just as Opal calls to him from a distance. Opal gleams like the punk rock princess she is while standing with a circle of women about her age. I bet those are her friends. I’ll admit, it’s kind of nice seeing Opal in her element for a change.
Jackson bows my way. “Pardon me, ladies. I’m afraid I’m being summoned.”
