Chapter Thirty One

Chapter Thirty One
Bexley

I felt as if we had stepped into a magical time portal that transported us inside a fairy tale realm. It had always been my dream to come here, but I never seemed to find the time. Work always came first; I rarely had the time to play. My mother used to relish all the details to me when I was little, telling me that each year in June, around the summer solstice, the Palace of Versailles hosts a Baroque Masquerade ball. They call it Le Grand Bal Masque de Versailles. It was just like in the old days, when the royals partied, leaving the peasants to starve. It was a disgusting display of wealth and glamour. But these parties went on until the early hours of daylight until the very last guest decided to leave.

The music thumped through the walls, filtering out into the gardens. Hundreds of people had dressed up to the nines, concealing their identities behind each elaborate mask. I felt like a fictional character who was living a fantasy life. The free-flowing champagne and canapes were too tempting to resist, but I needed to focus and not let the ambiance of the evening seduce me of my senses. We had a job to do. I curled my fingers around Emilio’s arm as he led me through the crowd.

I touched my earlobe as a signal to Dominic, hoping he could see me. Emilio brought his fist up to his mouth and cleared his throat. The inside of my ear tickled as Dominic’s voice rumbled through the earpiece.

“We have located the target in the Orangery,” he informed us. “There’s no sign of the Chameleon . . . I mean Susan. Maybe she decided against it now that we’re hot on her tail. Cruz is searching among the guests, just in case she does show. In just a few minutes, everyone will head to the gardens to watch the firework display. Follow them and act like a regular guest. You’ll notice Asher, but do not acknowledge him. He will not make eye-contact with you. If they’re expecting us to crash the party, they’ll be looking for any unusual interactions.”

“Got it,” I replied.

Right at that moment, Braxton approached us carrying a silver platter of canapes.

“Take one, and thank him,” Dominic prompted. “To you, he is a regular server who is just doing his job.”

Treating Braxton like a regular Joe felt unnatural to me. I put my acting skills to great use, thanking him then turning away as if he was a complete stranger. Emilio scrunched his nose at the caviar canape. He sniffed it, then stuck his tongue out to lick it. He looked as if he regretted not choosing the salmon. I watched the way he grimaced as he chewed, then tried not to laugh at him as he swallowed it most reluctantly. He reached out to grab a flute of champagne as another server passed us, and chugged it down in four large gulps. I took one for myself as Emilio swapped his empty glass for another filled with the sweet effervescent liquid.

“How do you eat that stuff?” he complained, then used his tongue to probe the remnants of canape from between his teeth.

I bounced my shoulders in a shrug. “I’m used to it. I don’t particularly like it. It’s like eating oysters. They feel and look gross, but I still eat them because . . . well, just because.”

“Oysters are good,” Emilio replied. “Caviar is so salty, and the aftertaste is like swallowing a mouthful of jizz. I don’t know how anyone can enjoy it.”

He chugged more champagne, and I bounced my gaze to his flute and then back at him.

“Says the bloke who is part of a menage,” I retorted. “I bet you’ve swallowed your fair share of spunk.” Emilio didn’t deny it. “And speaking of enjoyment. Don’t enjoy yourself too much, will you? I don’t want to have to carry you back to the car tonight,” I mentioned, in a humoured tone.

Emilio snorted with amusement. “We’ll see who’s carrying whom by the end of tonight.” His gaze dropped to my heeled sandals and his eyes winced with sympathy.

“Come on, Zorro. Let’s go and watch the fireworks,” I suggested, in a mocking tone as I dragged him through the bustling halls and out into the cool evening air.

They decorated the vast gardens with multicoloured lights. The fountains illuminated with fluctuations of neon pink, majestic purple, golden yellow, and icy blue. I couldn’t spot Asher among the V.I.P area, but I didn’t take the time to look for him, too engrossed by the captivating display. A magnitude of colours glittered through the sky, entrancing us all with a clever display of pyrotechnics. It was over before I knew it, and then the crowd dispersed. People ambled through the grounds to see what else the night had in store.

Emilio tapped my arm. “Look over there,” he urged, flicking his gaze to our right.

I looked and saw a tall male in a black and gold tuxedo. He was wearing one of those Venetian long nose masks in black with a golden trim around the edge. As he lifted it to sip his champagne, it looked like a huge dick was growing from his forehead. It was our target, our very own Home Secretary, Malcolm Lewis. And what a prick he was. I’m not just saying that because he’s an Eaton graduate. I’ve known plenty of men having gone to Eaton who are as humble as can be. This guy climbed his way up the politics ladder and has charmed his way into power. People fall for his silver tongue without realising what a slimeball he truly is. He was busy checking out each female bottom that he passed. I turned to Emilio and he was scowling at the exact same thing that I saw.

“Is that our guy?” Emilio asked; the shock in his voice suggested he hoped that this was a joke.

I nodded with an apologetic grimace. “I know … he’s a massive twat, and I’ve got to get him to dance with me.”

His eyes flashed with uncertainty. “Can’t we just cause a distraction and let Braxton or Cruz to knock him out?”

That made me chuckle. “Not if we want to get home in one piece.” I placed my hand on his shoulder. “Trust me . . . I’ve got this.”

“You better hope so, because he’s heading inside,” Dominic spoke through the earpiece.

We followed him down the dark garden path. The light was fading and gunpowder curled in soft whisps through the air. The footpath glittered like someone sprinkled it with magic dust, and people’s laughter echoed around the grounds. Soft pink and purple lights twinkled around the Orangery; just like Mount Olympus, it was astir with Gods and Goddesses. Warmth greeted us as we stepped into the hall. The ballroom enticed us in with its golden grandeur, elaborate chandeliers, and orchestral music. The air buzzed with excitement. People swayed to the music in their extravagant outfits, giant wigs, their faces hidden behind their masks. There was still no sign of Susan, so I dared to approach Malcolm in the hope that I would capture his lecherous eyes.

Emilio remained at a safe distance, watching and waiting as he sipped on his champagne. From the corner of my eye, I saw Cruz placing a hand on his gun, and then Braxton stopped to loiter nearby. And as I moved closer to Malcolm, Asher stepped from behind a pillar and made his presence known to me. It made me feel safe. Then Dominic whispered encouraging words into my ear, boosting me with confidence.

“Don’t approach him directly. His bodyguards won’t let you get within an inch of him. He has to invite you into his circle. You must capture his attention,” he advised me though the earpiece.

My heart hammered inside my chest, and all the moisture evaporated from my mouth. It was one thing to plan things, but it was another to actually carry them out. I made sure that my pendant remained snugly between my breasts, then continued to move past Malcolm, pretending that I had lost my dancing partner. I rose up on my tiptoes as if I was searching for someone, then sighed with disappointment. It seemed to work. Malcolm stopped mid-conversation and leered my way.

“Hold that thought,” he uttered to one of his guards. “I haven’t had an ounce of fun since I arrived here, and I’m hoping that something better just came up.”