Page 51 of XX Love Affair
Delia had been twenty-one. Like Helena was now.
She wondered if there was something to that.
When Helena excused herself to powder her nose, Delia’s brain was in overdrive. She thought of that quaint list, full of Helena’s innermost sexual fantasies. She thought of her list, one that she had been mentally compiling since meeting a girl who made her consider things from new angles. Including her wants, needs, and fantasies. What do I want to experience before the energy slowly drains from my body? God willing that was decades away. But in case it wasn’t…
She glanced at the photo she had taken of Helena’s list. More than one thing stood out, including something Helena had talked about back when they first met.
Delia left behind their dirty dishes as she hunted down a waiter who looked like he had some lay of the land. “I’ve got a hundred dollars,” she told him when he had a moment to listen. “Where’s the best place to ensure my girlfriend and I are not disturbed around here?”
At first, he looked at her as if she had lost her mind. It wasn’t until he saw the Benjamin Franklin in her hand that he realized she was serious, and that meant he was serious too.
Helena wandered through the crowd of guests, reacquainted with the euphonic melody of floral scents tingling her nostrils and pairing nicely with her off-the-shoulder dress. For every person attempting to talk to her, another was giving her the kind of look that said she should look elsewhere for conversation.
Within two hours of arriving, word had spread about her social net worth. If Delia wasn’t with her, and if someone didn’t want to talk to Delia, then Helena was useless. Which only made her blend into the crowd better.
Look at them all. She was in a world unlike any other. Nobody she knew back home, least of all her classmates, could say that this was their life now. They weren’t rubbing shoulders with the wealthy elite of this corner of New England. They weren’t sharing a heiress’s bed, let alone after a long-term thing with a husband and wife out of San Bernardino. They didn’t have such a perfect fake ID that they were living it up in some of the most exclusive clubs that looked the other way because she was young, hot, and followed the rules. Helena Pierce was good for business. She made people happy with her looks, her body, her dry and humorous conversation. She had learned more in the past year than any college or summer job back home could have.
It was slipping through her fingers. In four months, she’d be moving back to Washington, facing mundanity.
She may have new, expensive clothes. She may know the difference between two varieties of expensive wine. She may even step into a lounge in Seattle and instantly recognize half the people in the room.
But none of it meant anything if life passed her by. If she couldn’t shake the events that had been haunting her since she was fifteen, learning things about herself that no other adult liked to hear.
None except one. And he was gone now.
Keep your mouth shut. Be their favorite doll. Have a good time. Go to your grave with those stories.
Delia was the first person to learn about her bucket list and not be disgusted. She had yet to question Helena’s experiences or her burgeoning kinks that led her to places like The Dark Hour, and not only because she could find a wealthy benefactor there.
She could find release. The Elysian fields of coming into her own.
So when these people ignored her, scoffed at her, and pretended she was lower than the dirt on the bottoms of their shoes, Helena did not give a shit. She weaved through them, smelling the flowers, taking pictures of elegant table settings, and committing everything to memory before that was all it was.
When she raised her phone to take a selfie in front of the jasmine wall, she received a text from Delia. She waited until the camera shutter clicked before reading the text.
“You should see the fresh cut flowers on display inside. Stimulating.”
Was that sarcasm? Delia was full of it, but Helena couldn’t always be sure. Probably best that she heeds the suggestion that she make her way back inside.
A waiter was soon in her way.
“Sorry, Miss,” he softly apologized while gesturing down a narrow hallway. “There’s some broken glass we’re cleaning up. I suggest you go around the long way.”
“Thanks.” When the waiter continued to block her path, Helena turned left, heading down an unfamiliar hallway that looked like only the wait staff used. Not even the artwork hanging on the wall was inspiring, let alone the half-hearted views of the enclosed courtyard garden.
Weird.
That was the last thought she had before one of the nondescript doors opened and a hand roughly pulled her inside.
Chapter 17
As adrenaline spiked through her body, Helena was pushed against the wall of a forgotten coat closet, one hand over her mouth and another already moving her skirt out of the way.
Her eyes registered Delia’s presence before the rest of her. Helena was blinded by the shock and titillation of the situation. Because while she realized what was going on, there was still that primal part of her that was convinced she was in danger, that she should fight, that she should scream before her life flashed before her eyes.
None of that was necessary around Delia, but things happened so quickly that Helena was helpless. This was wrong. This wasn’t how these things happened at elegant garden parties.
And, oh boy, I don’t care.