Right. I nod at her and move on, weaving around draped compartments in search of the bar. A few people sit on the stools, but it's mostly empty.
Tristan's not here either.
Had he already disappeared into one of the private rooms? The party has barely begun.
I sit down by the bar and cross my legs, intimately aware of how the red fabric slides up. My gaze skims over people walking in various stages of undress, women in lingerie mixed with men in suits. An attendant in the corner in a silken loincloth gives me a cursory glance, and I smile. Security, just like Tristan had pointed out.
If only he was here.
Half an hour later, I motion the waiter for another glass of champagne. I repeat the motion forty minutes later.
Still no Tristan. And with no phone, there's nothing to do but watch the increasingly lascivious performance on stage. In a way, I can only applaud them, because there's no way I could do what they do. Being pleasured while suspended naked from the ceiling in silk, with dozens and dozens of people watching… Nope.
But no Tristan.
The shirtless bartender pushes a drink across the bar to me. He rests on his arms, giving me a grin. "Your first time here?"
I must look pathetic. "My second, actually."
There's a kind look in his eyes. "I see. You're hoping to see a special someone."
I frown. "That obvious?"
"Just because I've seen it before, darling. Second-timers are often set on repeating their first night. But guests change, and change changes the guests. Many come here in search of new partners… not to repeat the old ones."
"He said he would be here, though." But even as I say it, I hear the thinness of my words. I sound like someone who's been stood up at a bar. I'd assumed that Tristan had gotten me the invitation, that he'd been as excited to repeat this as me… but he's not here. Or if he is, he's already busy, distracted with someone else.
I glance down at my glass. "You're right," I tell the bartender. "I'm probably a textbook second-timer."
His smile widens. "Don't beat yourself up about it. There are plenty of people here who'd love to have fun."
"I'm sure there are," I say, thinking about the several interested looks I'd received from men already. None had come up to talk to me-the first rule of the Gilded Room in action. I slide off the high barstool. "Thanks for the pep talk."
"Anytime, gorgeous." He waves me away. "Have fun."
I give the room one last walk-around, tossing back the contents of the drink he'd given me. The gin and tonic burns as it goes down my throat. I discard it on a table, ignoring the couple furiously making out next to it, and head to the corridors beyond.
One open door reveals… oh God. No, no, why did I think I could do this? If Tristan is behind any of these, I don't want to see him. It would kill me. My painful high-heeled shoes steer me directly toward the exit. A few seconds later and I have my phone and my coat, hurrying to the elevator.
A pipe dream, that's what this was. Even if he was here… what then? He's still my boss. The CEO of Exciteur, older, more experienced, rich. A father. Someone who frequents a club like this. And I spent last night on my bed, watching old re-runs of Gilmore Girls and making s'mores by heating up chocolate and marshmallows in the microwave.
What was I thinking?
Arriving back in my tiny apartment feels like coming home for the first time since I'd moved in. Shutting out the city beyond, the temptations, the disappointments. I kick off my shoes and tug, tug, tug at the tight red dress. Slip into my sweatpants and old T-shirt. I've just sat down on my bed, my head in my hands, when my phone dings with a text.
There's just one thought in my head.
It's Tristan, asking where I was. Tristan, explaining that he couldn't come.
It's not.
Luke: Hey, team leader. Want to grab a coffee one of these days and let me show you New York?
My fingers tremble only slightly as I write back the response. I'm not afraid, I tell myself. I just know my lane. And it's with guys my age, perhaps a trainee in a different department, and not with the head of the company.
Freddie: I'd love to! How about tomorrow?
The coffee is bitter and too hot, burning my throat. It does nothing to counteract the pit of jealousy in my stomach. It's a feeling I have no right to, not to mention no reason to feel, and I hate things that have no purpose.
But I hate things I can't control even more.
Yesterday's snow hadn't settled, but a light dusting of it remains on the trees in Central Park. Joshua and I spent an hour in the park earlier with an obligatory stop at Larry's. In our household, it's never too cold for ice cream. And the entire time I'd been debating the wisdom of calling Frederica.
Had she gone to the Gilded Room last night?
My hand tightens around the coffee cup. And what could I do about it if she had? I'd pulled a favor to get her a personal invite, and it hadn't been so she could get close and personal with some smarmy Wall Street banker. No, I'd planned on being there.
Joshua was supposed to spend the night at his godmother's. But one of her kids had gotten mono, so the playdate was cancelled. And with Linda scheduled, I'd already given both my housekeeper and the nanny the weekend off. Which meant there was no one left standing but me.
"Dad?"
I swallow the bitterness. I'd had an evening with my kid instead, ordering pizza and playing cards, and it had been great. "Yes?"
Joshua bounces past the grand piano and comes to stand beside me by the windows. The piano had been my sister's. Joshua doesn't like his weekly piano lessons, but I haven't let him quit yet. Jenny hated hers when she was his age too.
"Guess what?" he asks.
"What?"
"Marianne is making lasagna tonight."
I grin, ruffling his hair. "Did you ask her nicely?"
"I didn't have to ask." He does a little dance in his whale-print sweatpants, a gift from his grandmother. "She offered. I think she knows I have a test in school tomorrow."
"Your schedule is on the refrigerator, so she knows. And you're going to do great, kid."
"I know," he says, a little too quickly. "We've been practicing a lot."
"We sure have. Do you want to run through it again?"
"No."
"All right. We'll do it one final time after dinner, then." I follow him into his bedroom, glancing at the giant world map above his bed. That had been a birthday present from me. Together, we'd scratched out the places we've visited and circled the places that are still on the bucket list.
Between me and my sister, Jenny had been the worldly one. The one who jumped at the chance of an exchange year in Sydney, who went against our parents' wishes to backpack in Southeast Asia for five months. I'd had my head in numbers and school, and then, in business. No time for travel or frivolity.
That's changed. Joshua will have seen the world by the time he's eighteen, if I have a say in it, including the places his mother had loved.