With the Pearl problem solved—kind of, I hope, please Lord?—Justin and I sneak out of work early on Friday. Even though we’re technically making our debut as a couple this weekend, I’m still weirded out by people at work knowing I’m banging the boss, so I have him pick me up around the block with my bag and snacks for the road.
“Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.”
I force a smile as we get going. Normally there’s nothing that boosts my mood like the prospect of a road trip—good music, the open highway, and, most importantly, car snacks—but today I feel queasy in the front seat of Justin’s Audi—and it’s nothing to do with the butter-smooth drive.
I was up half the night composing an epic list of everything that could potentially go wrong this weekend, and I came up with way too many options for disaster. What if Walter Vanderfleet decides he doesn’t want to invest in the paper after all? What if Lucinda forgets what she’s supposed to be doing altogether and treats us all to her favorite monologue from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof? What if Justin and I find out we hate each other when faced with the prospect of a whole weekend together in such close quarters?
OK, that last one feels unlikely, especially now as I glance over at him in the driver’s seat, taking in his profile as we head for the highway. Strong jawline, delicious mouth . . . It’s all I can do not to tell him to pull over for a quickie right there on the side of the Long Island Expressway.
But still.
Justin glances over at me. “You OK?” he asks over the purr of the engine, and I nod, mustering what I hope is a chill, cheery smile.
“I’m great,” I assure him. “Seriously, what’s to be stressed out about? A weekend in the Hamptons, at a reclusive billionaire’s luxurious estate, with a guy I sort of even like a little?”
“Sort of, a little, huh?” Justin asks with a smirk.
“Maybe,” I say, raising my eyebrows teasingly. “Can’t let you get too cocky.”
“I’d never,” he says, then reaches down and takes my hand. And he doesn’t let go for the rest of the drive.
The Vanderfleet estate is massive, a lavish compound set on fifteen immaculately manicured acres by the shore. I mean, I watch property porn shows with the best of them, but I don’t think I’ve seen anything as epic as this.
“Understated, huh?” I say, my jaw dropping as we wind our way up the neverending driveway, past the rose gardens, and the tennis court, and the Olympic-sized outdoor swimming pool with a perfect view of the ocean.
“I guess Walter doesn’t see any point in hiding his wealth,” Justin comments.
I glance over. “You mean, compared to the restrained, modest style of the Rockfords?” I tease.
He grins. “I mean sure. We only have three guest houses at our place in Kennebunkport.”
I snort with laughter as we approach the main house.
Did I say house? I meant, “fifteen thousand-square-foot castle in the style of a French chateau.”
“Is this place for real?” I breathe as we pull up out front. I did a Google deep dive on Vanderfleet last night and he’s known for never doing anything halfway. This party is a perfect example: the main celebration isn’t until tomorrow night, but already the lawn is studded with dozens of guests in full jazz-age regalia. Waiters in tuxes and tails serve cocktails to croquet players while glamorous couples lounge lazily in Adirondack chairs.
“Welcome.” A valet whisks Justin’s car off to some unseen garage and a dapper old butler in white gloves takes our luggage, offering us a tiny bow. “Mr. Rockford,” he says warmly. “We’ve been expecting you. Please, come right this way.”He leads us through the castle’s grand front entrance and into a massive foyer filled with plush, antique rugs and old furniture . . . along with half a dozen suits of armor and a full-size stuffed black bear with both paws up as if poised to attack. “Mr. Vanderfleet is something of a collector,” he explains as we pass a tall china cabinet full of what appear to be vintage Lego models.
“I . . . see that,” I manage. Justin coughs to cover a laugh.
The butler leads us up a set of wide, carpeted stairs, then down a long hallway and up another staircase before finally unlocking the door to a large, sunny suite. This room, at least, is blessedly free of any bears, or other beasts. “Your home for the weekend,” he says grandly. “On behalf of all of us at Vanderfleet Industries, we hope you enjoy your stay with us. Please don’t hesitate to let us know if there’s anything we can do to make you more comfortable.”
Once we’re alone, Justin and I burst out laughing. “Did he order him from a catalog?” I ask, spluttering. “Wanted: snooty British butler.”
“This is wild,” Justin agrees. His gaze lands on the enormous four poster bed, and he lifts an eyebrow. “You know,” he points out, sliding his hands around my waist. “We don’t have to be downstairs for cocktails for another hour . . .”
“How will we ever fill the time?” I grin.
Justin pulls me down onto the mattress in answer, rolling me onto my back and kissing me hard as he goes to work on the button of my jeans. He peels them down, kissing his way down my body and making me moan in the process. My head falls back against the pillows, and I sigh in bliss as his hands and wicked tongue find my core. Damn, he’s good at that. I stretch my arms above my head, grabbing on to the intricately-carved headboard as he slips two fingers inside me and pulses.
Who knows? Maybe I won’t have so much trouble relaxing this weekend after all.
An hour later—OK, two—we dress in our best ’20s finery and head down for cocktails. I want to be sure to grab Lucinda the minute she steps foot on the property, so I suggest we park ourselves on the front lawn to listen to the band-slash-keep an eye on the new arrivals.
“Look at all the outfits,” I nudge him, wide-eyed. “People have gone all out for this.”
“You’re the most beautiful one here, though,” Justin tells me. I bite back a laugh.
“Thanks, but sure.”
He’s not looking too bad himself. He stopped short of a full-on white tux, but he still looks dapper as all hell in a tailored gray suit, with a blue tie that makes his eyes pop. I cross my ankles in my heeled Mary Janes, smoothing down the fringed dress I found with April at a costume shop in Greenpoint. A sparkly headband holds my hair out of my eyes. People are dressed to the nines, in feathers and jewels and long strings of pearls wrapped around their elegant necks.
I want to relax and take in the view, but I can’t stop scanning the crowd for Lucinda. Justin arranged for a car and driver for her—excuse me, he arranged for a car and driver for Pearl LeFarge—but so far I haven’t spotted her. I’m starting to worry she’s not going to show, when she steps out onto the veranda, the same butler from earlier helping her across the threshold.
“Pearl!” I call, jumping up out of my chair and thrusting my champagne flute at Justin. She’s in full costume, a long flowy caftan embroidered with sparkling stars, and layers upon layers of scarves, multicolored bangle bracelets jangling all the way up her arm. And I’m pretty sure—yup, I confirm with a squint—she’s painted a mole beside her mouth. I take both her hands in mine, barely resisting the urge to fling my arms around her. “You made it! How are you?”
“Oh, simply mahvelous, dahling,” she tells me. “The stars are aligned, the champagne is flowing . . .” She turns to the butler, offering him a flirtatious smile. “Have you met my new friend Clarke?”
I nod. “We met earlier,” I say with a smile.
He nods. “Anything you need at all, ma’am,” he says to Lucinda/Pearl, with what I swear is an admiring sparkle in his eye. “Just you call. Day or night,” he adds.
“Oh, you.” Lucinda fans herself as he leaves us. “What a rascal!” she exclaims, looking delighted.
I glance over my shoulder to make sure no one’s listening, then lower my voice anyway. “So, you’re clear on the mission, right?”
“Obviously, dahling,” Lucinda says breezily, not breaking character. “All the world’s a stage, you know.”
I’m not worried so much about all the world as I am about this particular party, and I’m about to tell her so when Justin lays a hand on my back. “Oh!” I yelp. “Um, hi.” I turn back to Lucinda. “This is Justin Rockford,” I say, giving her a meaningful look. “The new CEO of the Gazette. He’s been dying to meet you. Pearl.”
“Ms. LeFarge,” Justin says warmly, holding a hand out. “It’s a pleasure. I’m a big fan of your column.”
“Oh, the pleasure is mine, dahling.” She turns his hand over, running one blood-red fingernail over the lines on his palm. “Quite the love line, I see.” She looks back and forth between us with a smirk. “Keeping Natalie busy in bed, are you? Now, you look like an Aries to me.”
Justin laughs. “That’s right—the Aries part, at least. How could you tell?”
Besides the fact I told her?
“Oh, it’s all part of my gift,” Lucinda proclaims, waving one hand so her bangles ring out. “Plus, it’s the sign of the bull. Dominant and fiery. Lucky you, Natalie. A man who can take charge is hard to find, if you get my meaning.”
Oh, I do. They could get her meaning from space, she’s laying it on so thickly.
“Pearl!” I say, trying to keep my voice bright even as my whole body blushes bright red. “Will you come with me to find the ladies’ room?”
I yank her into the house: “Lucinda,” I hiss, “you’ve got to tone it down a little here, OK? If we get found out . . .”
Lucinda looks wholly unconcerned. “Oh, trust me, dahling,” she trills—her scarves trailing behind her. “I’m a thespian.” Then, looking over my shoulder: “Oh Clarke!” she calls, heading back down the hall. “How would you like a private reading?”
That worried feeling in my chest? Blossoms into full-on panic.
Just what have I gotten myself into here?
Dinner is served in a massive hall overlooking the gardens, with long tables strewn with greenery and candles flickering in mercury glass holders. I’m listening to the woman on my left talk about her youth-preserving skincare routine, which has something to do with human placenta, when Walter and Suki make their entrance, hand in hand. Walter is trim and spry-looking, though I know he’s well into his seventies—I wonder if maybe he’s been talking to placenta lady—while Suki is about thirty years younger than him, beaming happily and dripping diamonds in her long white gown.
“Here goes nothing,” Justin murmurs, taking a fortifying gulp of his wine. I give his hand a squeeze.
“You’ll be great,” I promise.
We’re seated near the head of the table, right beside them. Suki makes a beeline for Lucinda. “It’s you!” Suki squeals, obviously starstruck. “It’s really you. Oh, Ms. LeFarge, you have no idea how long I’ve been following your career. I’ve been reading your column since I was a teenager. You predicted my wedding to Walter. You predicted my chihuahua getting hit by a Chevy back two years ago!”
My grip on Justin’s hand tightens, but Lucinda just nods beatifically. “I’m very good,” she agrees.
“I want to talk to you about my chart,” Suki continues, reaching for Lucinda’s hand like she might be able to absorb some of her power. “I read that I have a Virgo moon rising, and I’m just so worried about what that means.”
“It’s out of alignment,” Walter explains seriously. Then he winks across the table at us. “Walter Vanderfleet,” he says, holding a hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
We do our introductions, clinking our glasses to Walter and Suki’s twenty years of wedded bliss—and to Lucinda’s alleged celestial wisdom. “Pearl writes one of the most successful columns at the Gazette,” Justin tells Walter. “But you know all about that, don’t you Mrs. Vanderfleet?”
“Oh, yes,” Suki coos, all Marilyn Monroe whisper. “And call me Suki, please. I can tell we’re going to be fast friends. After all, that’s what Pearl said in her column last week.”
I did?
“I did,” Lucinda agrees.
“Of course, the column will be ending if we don’t find another investor for the newspaper,” I add meaningfully.
Suki claps one hand to her ample bosom. “It’s so sad what’s happening! I keep telling Walter there’s no way we can let Pearl LeFarge’s paper go under.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Justin says with a smile. I can tell he’s trying to play it cool, but his entire body has gone alert. “I’d love to talk to you some more about the Gazette this weekend, if we can find a spare moment without interrupting the festivities too much.”
Walter is about to answer when Lucinda interrupts: “Could we possibly get some more wine, darling?” she asks, holding up her empty glass for his inspection. “I find the nectar of the gods helps me . . . penetrate the barrier between this world and the heavens.”
“Oh my God, yes! More wine!” Suki trills. “Is that moonstone?” she asks, peering closer at one of Lucinda’s many crystal necklaces.
“Oh yes,” Lucinda says. “Cleansed under the full moon itself, to magnify its powers.”
Suki gasps. “I love crystals! I’ve been having my massages with extra chakra work. All things in nature are connected, don’t you think?”
“The power of nature is unparalleled,” Lucinda agrees—and downs her wine in one. “Another, dahling?”
I slowly exhale, and I pray to those heavens that nobody gets so sloshed they give the game away.
It’s going to be a long night.