Page 54 of Whispers in the Dark
I won’t stay down here all night.
But there’s no way I can go into my bedroom right now.
Not when the smell of her will invade my senses, bringing out a primal need inside me.
And especially not when I know the sound of her sweet voice as it calls out my name in the peak of her pleasure.
I drag a hand down my face and drop into my seat, the worn leather stretching beneath me.
I’m so fucked.
Chapter thirteen
Alina
“No peeking,” Madeleine tells me for the third time as she holds my hand and guides me along what I assume is a sidewalk.
“Why do I have to keep my eyes covered?” I ask, almost tripping on something, before Scarlett grabs my other arm to steady me.
“Because,” Scarlett starts, “if you don’t, then the surprise will be ruined.”
“What surprise?” I pull back on Madeleine’s hand. “You guys said we were just having a small birthday dinner with our husbands…”
“We might have lied,” Madeleine answers casually.
“Why?”
I hear music as a slight breeze skates over me.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Madeleine says.
“You guys know I hate surprises, right?”
“Yes,” they say in unison.
“But you’ll like this one.” Madeleine grips my shoulders to stop me. She steps behind me and begins to tug on the ends of the black silk scarf wrapped around my eyes.
“Happy birthday, Alina,” they both say as the scarf drops, revealing a crowd of familiar faces.
“Surprise,” they all yell as a band in the back begins to play celebratory music.
I smile as I look upon the sea of faces—old friends from high school, newer friends from college, and every Alarie. Mauro stands off to the side with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on me, but it’s the curve of his lips that sends a flutter to my heart.
I still can’t get over the fact that we’re married.
I bite down on my lip as I suddenly note his attire. It’s a three-piece pinstripe suit with a waistcoat, collared shirt, and tie. My eyes travel around the room, taking in the men in similar attire and the women in flapper-style sequined dresses, including Madeleine and Scarlett.
I view them both. “Have we stepped back in time?”
“It’s aGreat Gatsbytheme.” Madeleine loops her arm with mine. “Do you like it?”
I look around. We’re standing in the main room at Red Eleven, the Alarie’s exclusive upscale club in the Hamptons. A venue that caters to the elite who can easily roll out the cash for a membership that costs more than I’ll ever see in my lifetime. People from all over the world come here to see and be seen while sipping on some of the most expensive alcohol to hit the market. Rumor has it, the prince of Sweden was here only days ago, but that can’t be confirmed since discretion is a must if you want to be welcomed here.
But the space, usually one of modern elegance in reds and blacks with sleek furnishings, is completely transformed into what one might see at a speakeasy. Gold and black fabricsare draped across the ceiling; overfilled champagne glasses are stacked in tiers; gold barstools have replaced the simple black ones; and balloons with glitter inside float over the archways.
I stare in awe at the space, which easily offers a roaring twenties vibe.
“Like it? This is amazing!” I exclaim. “I can’t believe you two did all of this for me.”
