The Complete Private Collection: Private; Invitation Only; Untouchable; Confessions; Inner Circle; Legacy; Ambition; Revelation; Last Christmas; Paradise ... The Book of Spells; Ominous; Vengeance (41 page)

Finally Whittaker paused near a wall and I was able to take a breath. He whispered something to a tall, skinny waiter, who returned momentarily with two drinks on a tray. Whittaker handed me an extremely pink beverage in a frosted martini glass and took the short, dark snifter for himself. I attempted to hold the glass with one hand and sloshed some of the liquid over the side onto the exquisite marble floor. Apparently I needed some practice.

Decision time. Take off the mask or make a complete mess? I tucked my mask under my arm so I could hold the drink with both hands.

“Who lives here?” I asked.

“The Dreskins,” Whittaker said, unfazed as he surveyed the dozens of coutured legacies milling about the great room. “Donald Dreskin, Dee Dee Dreskin, and their parents. They’re good friends of the family.”

“Oh. So you’ve been here before?” I asked.

“On occasion,” he said. “And every year for this. The Dreskins have been hosting the Legacy since before I was born.”

He was so incredibly blasé about the whole thing. As if every day he was whisked up to the two-floor penthouses of Park Avenue
buildings in private elevators that required special keys to work. As if this apartment, which stretched the entire span of the building on both floors and was bigger than my entire house times five, was just another home. So far all I had seen was the wide-open foyer with its story-high Picassos and its deco chandelier, followed by this humongous room with its windows overlooking Central Park—
the
Central Park—and I was ready to faint with awe.

Suddenly there was a distinct murmur throughout the crowd as everyone turned in our direction. I glanced over my shoulder to see what the fuss was about and saw that the two grand doors behind me were opening. The floor on that side of the room was raised three steps, creating a sort of stage.

“Ah. Here we are,” Whittaker said expectantly.

Through the doors stepped a tall man in a tuxedo, wearing a wooden mask of a grotesque, leering clown face. He clasped his hands in front of him and everyone fell silent.

“Welcome one, welcome all,” the man said, his voice only slightly muffled by the mask. “As the master of ceremonies for this year’s Legacy it is my honor, my privilege, to invite each and every one of you into the inner sanctum.” There was a sizzle of anticipation felt even by me, although I had no idea what was going on. The master raised one finger in warning. “But remember, what you see here . . . what you do here . . . who you touch here . . . who you screw here . . .”

Knowing laughter all around.

“
All
will remain here,” he said. “For this is the Legacy, my
friends. You are the chosen. So make your peace now with whomever you worship, and never . . . look . . . back.”

With that, the master stepped aside and everyone moved to the doors at once as if an emergency evacuation had been called.

“What’s in there?” I asked Whittaker as he tugged at my hand. After that speech, I was feeling more than a little wary.

“You’ll see,” Whittaker said with a mischievous smile.

His grip on my hand tightened as we neared the double doors and I wondered, for the first time, if I might have gotten myself in over my head.

Walking through the doors was like going through the looking glass. A tremendous ballroom had been draped from ceiling to floor with swags of red, black, pink, and purple velvet and chiffon. Ropes of sparkling mirrors dangled everywhere, catching the strobe lights and sending prisms over the hundreds of masked faces. Acrobats hung from cloth ropes tied to the ceiling, twirling and whirling over our heads, their barely clad bodies painted in swirls of color. In the center of the room, most of the partygoers were already starting to dance to the deafening beat being laid down by a DJ in the far corner. On a circular stage next to him, a small orchestra played a frenzied song, their music intertwining with the beat to form some seriously eerie, exotic, almost frantic music. Gorgeous women in elaborate costumes circulated around the room, offering drinks and ushering people behind curtained-off areas.

My head spun. There was too much going on around me. Too much mayhem, too much activity. Just too much.

“Reed!”

Kiran appeared out of nowhere and grabbed my hand. “Come dance!” she shouted.

I looked at Whittaker, who waved me off. “Go!”

“I’ll find you!” I said. At the moment he seemed like the one and only solid thing in my life.

“Or I’ll find you,” he promised.

Then, for the hundredth time that night, I let Kiran drag me away. We passed by a large opening like a coat-check room, where a tall woman dressed like an angel was handing out gifts of various sizes, wrapped in white paper. A pack of girls took their gifts and rushed off to an alcove with them.

“What are they doing?” I asked.

“The white gift. The Legacy’s answer to favors,” Kiran said over her shoulder. “Nothing worth less than a thousand.”

“A thousand dollars?” I said, gaping.

“Yeah, but you still never get what you want,” Kiran shouted. “The swap party happens later.”

Unbelievable. This party was unbelievable. Who knew there was this much wealth in the world?

Finally, Kiran somehow found Noelle, Dash, Ariana, Taylor, and Gage on the dance floor and dove right in, twirling me around once before letting me go and leaving me to my own devices. I had never been much of a dancer and for a moment I was self-conscious, until I really took a look around me and saw how everyone else was doing. Suffice it to say, there wasn’t really anyone to impress. I closed my eyes, lifted my arms, and let myself go.

Cathartic. That was the only word to express the feeling. The longer I danced, the more all I had been through, all I anticipated going through, faded into the background. The music was so loud it seemed as if it was coming out of my bones, through my pores, reverberating from my own body and crowding out everything else.

This was perfection. Yes, perfection. Insulated in the center of the dance floor. Insulated from Whittaker and those alcoves and whatever might be going on within them. Insulated from Natasha and her threats, from Constance and her accusations, from Thomas and his betrayal and the worry that surrounded every thought of him. This was my comfort zone. If I could just stay here among my friends for the rest of the night, I would be fine.

“Having fun?” Noelle shouted, twirling over and throwing her arms around my neck. She moved against me, completely sure, completely un-self-conscious. I did my best to mimic her movement, her confidence.

“Definitely.”

“Good. You need this,” Noelle said.

“What?” I asked. I had heard her, but had no idea what she meant.

“You need this!” she repeated, looking me in the eye. “Enjoy it!”

I missed a beat and bumped her hip. She smiled, turned, and shimmied back to Dash. Was it just me, or did her “enjoy it” have a “while you can” implied?

Oh, God. They
were
angry with me for giving in to Natasha’s blackmail. They were going to let me fry. Tonight was some kind of
mercy mission. Some kind of last hurrah. They were letting me see into the very core of their privileged world, into the Legacy, just so that it would be that much more painful when they snatched it all away.

I turned around, feeling suddenly ill, and looked around for a window, a balcony, any place where I might be able to find some air. And that was when I saw him and the entire room tilted beneath me.

Thomas.

“Reed! Reed! Where’re you going!?” Taylor shouted after me.

I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. There was no time. I elbowed my way through the gyrating bodies on the dance floor, stepping on toes and earning shoves and curses along the way. Strobe lights flashed, arms distorted my view, but I kept my eyes trained on him like a sniper on a hostile target. He was standing right there, sipping a drink, with one hand in his pocket. If he turned just slightly to the left, he would be looking right at me.

If he saw me, would he run? Would he approach? Why wouldn’t he look my way?

“Thomas!” I screamed.

I was just arriving at the edge of the dance floor when he turned, lifted one of the dark curtains, and disappeared behind it. I grabbed up my skirt and ran, sidestepping a couple who was making out near one of the bars, ducking as an acrobat came dangerously close to impaling herself on one of my bobby pins. Gasping for breath, I whipped the curtain aside and there he was,
standing with his back to me. I grabbed his shoulder and whipped him around.

“Thomas!” I gasped, barely audible.

It wasn’t Thomas at all. The guy turned his startled brown eyes on me and quickly ducked out of the alcove as if he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He was too tall, his hair too long. He looked nothing like Thomas. How could I have ever mistaken him?

My heart pounded in my chest. I looked up from the floor—my eyes bleary and confused—and instantly all the air whooshed out of my lungs. For the first time I noticed that I was not alone. I noticed the reason the Thomas look-alike had bolted so quickly in obvious guilt.

There, in the corner, with her leg wrapped over another girl’s lap, her hands entangled in another girl’s blond hair, her tongue searching another girl’s mouth, was none other than Natasha Crenshaw.

“Oh, my God,” I said loudly.

Natasha turned around, heaving for breath, and for the first time I saw clearly the face of the girl beneath her—the chubby cheeks, the heavy makeup, the kiss-bruised lips of Leanne Shore.

“Oh, this is just perfect,” Leanne said sourly.

Yep. Just as pleasant as I remembered her.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, backing away. “I thought I saw someone come in here and—”

Natasha swung her legs down and straightened her skirt. She pushed her hands into her knees, took a deep breath, and stood. Her breasts heaved in her straight-cut strapless dress and she yanked it up under her arms to cover a bit more of her cleavage.

“I’ll just go,” I said, feeling threatened.

“Don’t,” Natasha said.

I froze. There were about a hundred thousand places I would have rather been just then, but I couldn’t move.

“You can’t tell anyone about this, Reed,” Natasha said, a plea in her voice. “Please. I know you pretty much hate me, and with good reason, but I’m begging you. Don’t tell a soul.”

I swallowed hard and looked from her to Leanne, who was averting her eyes, her hands flattened on the chaise at her sides.
Was Natasha begging me? Had she really just admitted I had reason to hate her? Natasha “Do-As-I-Say-or-Die” Crenshaw?

“I won’t,” I said. “I swear.”

Natasha sighed and looked at the floor.

“Are you two . . . going out?” I asked.

Natasha and Leanne exchanged a long glance. Finally Natasha sat back down next to Leanne, her crinoline rustling. They stared into each other’s eyes. Outside the music continued to pound.

“Go ahead,” Leanne said finally, deflating. She leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms over her stomach. “Go ahead and tell her. She should know what they’re really about.”

Why did I have a feeling that this was going to make a little
more
sense than I needed it to?

Natasha lifted Leanne’s hand and laced their fingers together. She looked up at me and nodded. “Yes. We’re a couple,” she said flatly. “We’ve been together since sophomore year.”

“That’s why you made me sneak around,” I said, sitting on a bench across from them. “That’s why you wanted Leanne back so badly.”

Natasha tipped her head forward and sighed. “Reed, the blackmail was all a setup. I wasn’t really blackmailing you. Noelle was blackmailing
me.
”

I shook my head slightly as this piece of information attempted to penetrate. “Excuse me. I think I just got whiplash,” I said. “
What
?”

“They
told
me to take those pictures, Reed,” Natasha said, leaning forward. “They told me to blackmail you.”

I felt like one of the acrobats had just swooped in, tossed my feet over my head, and dropped me back down to the floor. I stared at the wall between Natasha and Leanne and tried to suck in a breath. Tiny black dots marred my vision and I closed my eyes against a wave of swirling nausea.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asked.

I placed my cool and clammy hand against my hot-as-fire forehead. “Why? Why? Wh—” It was the only word I could form. I opened my eyes and attempted to focus on Natasha. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Because they threatened to tell everyone about us,” Natasha said, glancing at Leanne.

“So . . . what? You were afraid of being disowned by your Republican parents? Is that it?” I asked.

“No! It wasn’t for me,” Natasha said. “My parents know I’m a lesbian. I’ve been out with them since I was thirteen. They think it’s cool. Like it gives them edge or something.”

“So
why
?” I asked. “I don’t understand.”

“She did it for me, okay?” Leanne shouted. “God, how thick can you be? If my parents found out about us, I would be out on the street like that,” she said, snapping her fingers. “They would not only disown me, they would
destroy
me. I would be lucky to get a job at the freakin’ Gap, okay? She did it for
me.
”

I felt my mouth hanging open. I stared as Natasha leaned back and touched Leanne’s face gently with the back of her hand. Leanne drew in a shaky breath and quickly wiped back a tear.
Then they kissed. Slowly, tenderly, comfortingly. When they pulled away, Natasha touched her forehead to Leanne’s and they both breathed.

This was not just a couple. This was a couple in love.

And as I realized this, I completely forgave Natasha. She had done it all for love, just as I had kept Thomas’s note a secret, just as I had kept alive the hope that I would see him here tonight. Plus she had done it under threat from Noelle, and if there was one thing all three of us knew, it was that Noelle made good on her threats. Natasha, like me, had been given no choice.