Page 54 of Heart to Heart
AVERY
Bianca satwith her leg propped up on the chaise lounge, an ice pack draped over her ankle. She hadn’t so much as glanced in my direction the entire time we’d been back. Now that we were all decked out in masks for the masquerade, it would be hard to tell who she was looking at. Still, a “thank you for not being a raging twat, Avery” would have been nice, even if it was said condescendingly.
I looked down at my simple scarlet one-shoulder, floor-length dress; one of my nicer thrift store finds. By some miracle, a black and scarlet mask was available among the ones purchased for the masquerade that matched. A black feather adorned the side, sticking out at an odd angle by my temple, making me look like a chicken with a cowlick.
“Brownies are ready,” Eleanor announced, carrying a serving tray loaded with the batch she’d made. “Thanks for putting them in the oven for me, Juliette.”
“What are you talking about?” Juliette threw her black hair over her shoulder. A pearl barrette held her ringlets back on one side of her head. “I didn’t do anything with them.”
“Then thank you to whoever did.” Eleanor set the tray down on a coffee table, taking one of the delectable squares.
My stomach was too jittery to eat anything, as it always was right before we were set to film, and the thought of consuming a small brick of chocolate was enough to make me hurl right there in the middle of the floor.
Charlie, Jennifer D., and Kennedy had returned from their date an hour ago, complaining about being hot and sweaty and having little time to shower. I didn’t listen when they talked to the others about their rollerblading excursion, instead standing with Sasha who’d been abnormally quiet for Sasha. Her emerald halter dress draped over her curves like a goddess. Her mask, designed to mimic a peacock with shades of greens and blues, fit her face like a glove. There wasn’t a feather out of place on her mask.
“Something bothering you?” I asked.
“Do you believe in soulmates?”
If I’d had to guess what was on her mind, ruminating about soulmates would have been somewhere in the middle ofHow to make the perfect casseroleandWho’s your favorite Jonas brother.
It made me think about my relationship with Guy and how, at one time, I’d believed he and I may have been soulmates. It really had felt that way when things had been good between us. But in hindsight, I knew I’d mistaken what I thought I’d had with him with what I wanted.
“I like to think so,” I said, answering her question. “A while back, I read an article about this couple who broke up back when they were in college and then reunited again, like, ten years later when he was in a car accident and suffered from amnesia. They got married and had a daughter.”
“A real fairytale,” Sasha said without a trace of sarcasm in her voice.
“I mean, I hope something like that doesn’t happen to me, but it is romantic. There must be someone for everyone out there, even if we have to wait for them.
“Or they’re right under your nose.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I suppose. I’m sure many of the women here think Tristan is their soulmate.”
Sasha chuckled. “I guess you’re right.”
“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Kamila appeared from out of nowhere like some ethereal being in their purple corset dress and elaborate deep purple and gold masquerade mask with crystal embellishments, “the man of the hour has arrived and is ready to give each and every one of you some one-on-one time, which I’m sure I don’t need to remind you is absolutely crucial at this point in the competition.”
Brownies that just a minute ago had been the star of the show were discarded quicker than my bra after coming home from work. Sasha and I scurried after the rush of women following Kamila to the ballroom. Even on a bum ankle, Bianca was making good time.
Kamila led us down a hall to a wing of the mansion we hadn’t been to before and to a set of French doors that were opened in a dramatic flourish by two men dressed in tuxedos.
Wait. Was that Jay?
Sasha stiffened next to me in the back of the line of ladies entering the ballroom, taking in the surly driver with the same wide-eyed wonder that I had.
“Damn. He cleans up nicely,” I said in awe of Jay’s slicked-back hair and regal stance that was so out of place for a guy who chugged Red Bulls and who just as soon passed us by while shooting us the middle finger than picked us up for the show.
“Uh huh,” Sasha agreed, seemingly lost for words.
I gave Jay a nod when we reached the entrance, which he returned, his eyes shifting from me to Sasha.
Wait. Was that a smile?
I didn’t have long to ponder the new—and improved?—Jay because my attention became wholly captivated by the tall, dark figure standing in the middle of the dance floor.
“Holy shit,” Sasha said.
“Uh-huh.” My response was nothing short of a feral growl, but as he stood before us, Tristan deserved nothing less.
