One: Laila

“You may now kiss the bride,” the minister declared over the thunderous applause. I watched my mother plant one on her newest husband while struggling to keep her thousand-pound bouquet from crushing me. Gregory Sinclair was a good guy, compared the last three men she married. He was the CEO of some major conglomerate, making him the richest man to have fallen for my mother, the esteemed-designer, Elisabeth St. James.

Elisabeth turned to me, beaming as she reached for her white-rose cinderblock. “Thank you, Laila-love,” she gushed as she took Greg’s arm and made her way back down the aisle. I only referred to her as “Mom” or “Mother” to her face; otherwise, she was just the flighty, albeit talented Elisabeth. Besides, she was more of a best friend than a mother since ninety percent of her time was spent in her studio or fashion weeks.

I brushed flower crap off my dress and absently took the arm that was offered to me by the best man—and my new step-brother, Paris Sinclair. Tall, dark, and beyond handsome, Paris was the epitome of fuckable, to put it bluntly. Unless he spoke to you. Paris wasn’t honest; he was borderline cruel. He didn’t believe in sugar-coating anything, and while a girl could try and say she would look past that to be his girlfriend, the fact that Paris didn’t believe in relationships made sure he was going to be the guy no girl on this planet could get.

“Was that as excruciating for you as it was for me?” he asked as we followed our parents down the aisle. I plucked stray petals from the bodice of the custom-made gown, designed by Elisabeth, made by her lackeys.

“You weren’t the one holding the rosebush,” I replied glancing up at him. “I think the florists filled the damn thing with lead.” Paris chuckled as we met up with the newlyweds in the foyer of the Palace Hotel. Naturally, they couldn’t keep their hands off of each other, which was just about enough to ruin my vision for the next fifty years.

Paris cleared his throat, just as nauseated. “We’d like to be able to enjoy the food at the reception,” he told them as he unbuttoned his jacket.

Elisabeth giggled before stepping away slightly. “Sorry, Paris-precious. I guess we’re that much in love.”

I snorted. “I think that’s what people call lust, Mom.”

She waved my comment away. “Same thing in my book.”

“That’s why you’ve had four husbands,” I muttered under my breath. “If you want to make it to the reception on time, you better get changed,” I reminded her, tossing my dinky bouquet of flowers onto the nearest table. I stretched before plopping down into an armchair.

Elisabeth clicked her tongue, shuffling over to me in her elaborate wedding gown and pulling me back up. “You have to change, too,” she told me. “Don’t think I forgot to make my baby a fun and flirty dress for the reception!”

I groaned as the woman dragged me back to the hotel suite. It would have been an understatement to say that I was the more practical woman in the family. At seventeen, I was at least two decades ahead of Elisabeth in maturity.

“Tell me I’m going to be able to breathe in this one,” I pleaded as she handed me a garment bag. “The last reception dress you made me shrunk my ribcage.”

Elisabeth rolled her eyes. “Stop being so dramatic. Corsets were the height of fashion that time.”

“Breathing has been at the top since the beginning of time,” I retorted as I plucked at the laces of the bodice. My fingers struggled to loose the knot that Elisabeth had tied when she laced me up in the gown, my mood getting darker as I tried.

“Here, let me.” I looked over my shoulder and saw my best friend since preschool, Madeleine Grey, enter the room. “Paris told me you two were up here. I figured you could use some help.”

I smiled at her. “Have I told you I love you?”

Madeleine winked. “Only once or twice today.” I felt my ribs expand as the bodice was finally freed of the ribbons. “There you go.”

I shimmied out of the fashionable trap as Madeleine went to help Elisabeth out of her more complicated creation and opened the garment bag. The dress looked harmless enough; nothing but violet chiffon from what I could see. I pulled the dress out of the constricting bag for further inspection and still found nothing that would make it an uncomfortable article of clothing.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, just put the dress on, Laila,” Elisabeth told me as Madeleine was lacing her into a more dramatic ivory gown.

“Excuse me if you’re prone to surprises,” I mumbled as I slipped the dress on. It was strapless, except for some off-the-shoulder loops of chiffon and gold beads on either side. The high waist was defined by gold beading below the bust, while the split satin bodice allowed gold brocade to peek through and add more dimension to my lacking rack. Through a few layers of violet chiffon in the skirt, the gold of the silk lining shimmered in the light. The dress was long, sweeping the floor as I moved and pooling elegantly when I stood still. One of the best reception dresses I had been stuck in, easily.

“Oh, don’t forget your accessories, Laila-love,”Elisabeth chirped, waving at the bag again. “They’re at the bottom. That dress looks stunning! I’ve got to say, I’m good.”

I ignored her self-flattery and fished around the garment bag to find what she was talking about. I pulled out a pair of gold heels, which were thankfully just two-inch heels, and a baggie of jewelry. I slipped into the shoes and put on the new pair of earrings and bracelet, not bothering with the clunky necklace. I touched the gold heart that I wore everyday and looked at myself briefly in the mirror. I was never one to lavish praise on my already egotistical mother, but she was right; she did good.

“Laila, why aren’t you wearing the mask?” Elisabeth asked as she swooped down on me, bumping me gently from in front of the mirror.

“Mask?” I asked, skeptical. “There wasn’t a mask in the bag.”

I knew this was too plain to be Elisabeth St. James. Elisabeth frowned and dug through the bag. Finding nothing, she moved on to her luggage.

“Aha!”

She returned to me, sticking a matching mask on my face and tying it tightly to my head. It was only a half-mask, covering my forehead and cheekbones. The base was violet, like the dress, but it was heavily decked out in gold trimmings.

“Let me guess,” Madeleine speculated as she pinned the ribbon to my updo, “you forgot that the reception was a masquerade-theme?”

I glowered at my mother’s reflection. “No, I never knew to begin with.”

Elisabeth blinked at my reflection in innocent surprise. “I didn’t tell you? I could have sworn…”

“Yeah, yeah. You didn’t tell me because you knew I wouldn’t go along with it. I’m not stupid,” I muttered, picking up my skirt and gliding to the door. “I’m going to be downstairs when you’re ready.”

I ignored the curious expressions as I made my way into the hotel lobby, looking for Greg and Paris. I found them seated in a corner, chatting and fiddling with their own ornate masks. Paris glanced at me, his dark eyes glittering with mild amusement—probably at my aggravated expression.

“Someone looks happy,” he commented from his seat. I sat down in the free chair between the two, glowering in the direction from which I came.

“Would someone like to tell me what exactly is going on at the reception?” I asked tersely. Greg, much like his son, looked at me with a smile.

“The guests will all be handed a unisex mask at the door of the reception,” he explained. “They’ll be asked to keep it on for the festivities, but it won’t be required. It’ll add some mystery to the dancing and mingling.”

I snorted. “It’s a recipe for disaster.”

Paris regarded me for a moment. “I thought all girls dreamed of being swept off their feet at a ball by a masked man.”

I shot him a glare. “It wouldn’t be such a problem if I had just been aware of it in the first place. Now I look like some kind of princess in a mask that costs about the same as my school tuition.”

“You’re really just worked up because your mother didn’t tell you?”

“Why else would I be upset?”

“Oh, I don’t know, the fact that the wedding party is required to keep the masks on for the sake of maintaining the party atmosphere.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I hissed as Elisabeth and Madeleine made their way over. Greg stood up immediately, taking my mother’s arm and leading her out towards the waiting car. I grabbed Madeleine’s arm, tugging her along to keep me from assaulting Elisabeth while she was weighed down in satin and jewels.

“I think that woman is out to humiliate me for life,” I grumbled as Paris, Madeleine, and I slid into the back of a separate limo.

“Would you stop being so dramatic?” Paris asked. “You aren’t going to be like this for the remainder of our sibling-hood, are you?”

Madeleine patted my hand. “It’ll be okay, Laila,” she comforted me. “I heard that a lot of kids from school are going to be there with their families. I’m pretty sure the Michaels are going to be there!”

I perked up a little. Xavier Michaels, the only child of two of Manhattan’s elite, was the most popular boy at our private boarding school, the St. Thomas Academy for Exceptional Youth. Blessed with dark brown curls and beautiful blue eyes, Xavier had the heart of every girl at St. Thomas. He was the captain of the basketball team, fluent in four languages, a member of Student Government, and various other associations. As far as anyone knew, he was single and looking, which gave me a chance to finally act on the crush I’ve had since fifth grade.

“You can’t seriously be attracted to Xavier Michaels, can you?” Paris asked incredulously. “There’s nothing going on in that head of his that makes him remotely attractive.”

Madeleine and I stared at him.

“He’s a guy, we can’t judge him,” she whispered.

I nodded. “We know he isn’t gay, I suppose.”

Paris rolled his eyes and went back to his iPhone. “Thank God I’m not going to be stuck with the pair of you for the rest of the night.”

I glowered at him. “Nope, you’re just stuck with me for the duration of our parents’ marriage.”

“That’s torture enough.”

I suddenly wanted to hit him. Madeleine grabbed my hands, forcing a smile.

“Do you think we’re going to get a table next to him?” she asked. “Xavier, I mean.”

My attention drifted away from Paris the Ass. “If I remember the table arrangements, he’ll be two tables to our left.”

“I wonder if he’ll ask you to dance,” Madeleine mused. I blushed a little.

“I doubt he will. He doesn’t really know who I am.”

Madeleine shot me a look. “You’re the most involved student at St. Thomas. There’s no way he doesn’t know who you are, especially after you organized the entire Winter Ball after Hilary George got admitted into rehab again.”

Paris looked at me. “You were the one who did that?”

I couldn’t tell whether he was going to take a jab at my managing skills or subtly attempt to praise my efforts, so I just nodded and returned my attention to Madeleine.

“Just because I’m involved doesn’t mean he pays attention,” I told her. “Besides, I’m stuck in this stupid mask all night, so he probably won’t even know it’s me.”

Paris shifted in his seat. “You really should be an actress, you’ve got the drama factor down pat.”

I picked up my clutch purse and pelted it at his head. He dodged it.

“Do me a favor. Shut up!” I snapped as the limo pulled to a stop and let the three of us out.

“I will if you will,” he countered, tugging at his jacket as we stood waiting for our parents.

Madeleine let go of my hands. “Behave, okay? I’m going to head inside and find out table.”

I mumbled my agreement and stood with Paris, who was holding my purse hostage. The phrase “awkward silence” didn’t cover the kind of silence that hung between us. It was a good thing Elisabeth didn’t have a great track record with husbands.

“You don’t think the two of them are…” Paris let his sentence fade, looking at me pointedly. Disgusting images rose into my mind and a little bit of vomit shot from my stomach into my throat.

“Thank you for effectively ruining my appetite,” I mumbled as I struggled to erase the thoughts of a nine-month anniversary present being conceived as we waited.

Not a minute later, the limo pulled up to the curb. Our parents stepped out, not appearing to have gotten as frisky as we feared. I let out a tiny sigh of relief as Elisabeth ushered us into the building.

“Hurry up! We don’t want to keep the guests waiting!” she chirped. Paris and I followed her into the building, amazed at how quick she managed to move under that much fabric. When she finally stopped outside the doors of the rented ballroom, Paris offered me his arm while handing me my purse.

“Keep it to yourself, hm?” I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Be nice and you have a deal,” I countered.

Paris smirked. “Not possible.”

I smirked back. “You’ll be good target practice.”

The doors opened, revealing chandeliers dimly lighting the ornate ballroom. Guests were seated at the large round tables, simple white masks making nearly impossible to tell who was who. Apparently the masquerade gag was popular with this crowd.

Paris snorted. “This feels like some kind of horror movie,” he murmured.

“With Elisabeth, it’s bound to be,” I replied as we moved into the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom! Mr. and Mrs. Gregory Sinclair!” exclaimed the deejay. “And their gorgeous children, the charming Paris Sinclair and the gorgeous Laila St. James!”

Elisabeth and Greg headed up to the elevated table reserved for them, while Paris and I headed over to our own private table with our friends. I didn’t know who he had invited, but from the looks of things, he invited every friend he could. Four boys crowded the table, leaving two seats open between Madeleine and a masked face.

“Thanks for making me look like I have no friends,” I hissed as Paris pulled my chair out for me.

“You have friends?” he replied innocently. After he seated himself beside me, I jammed the heel of my shoe into his foot.

Paris grimaced and glared at me. “Don’t forget, you and I have a couple dances yet. Don’t do anything you’re going to regret on the dance floor.”

I met his glare.

“You don’t scare me, Paris-precious,” I sneered, using Elisabeth’s sickening nickname for him.

“Not yet, Laila-love.”

This was going to be fun.