An Invitation

by Jasmine Hill

  “Not long now,” the driver spoke. “We’ll be arriving shortly.”

  Bree fished in her handbag for her mobile phone, her fingers shaking as she clicked on her map app, but there was nothing. She had no service. She speared the driver’s gaze in the rear-view mirror.

  “Your phone won’t work here,” he explained. “There are no towers nearby.” He paused. “We find the use of mobile phones disrupts the festivities. Such technology has no place when we’re socializing.”

  She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been somewhere where there was no reception. Probably when she’d been travelling through the outback, through thousands of kilometers of desert…

  Panic settled in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was the fact that she’d be incommunicado with her social media accounts and friends, or the fact that she’d be out of touch, period. And no one has any idea where I am.

  Chapter Three

  Vincent watched from the shadows as the parade of cars started to arrive. His position upstairs gave him a perfect vantage point to watch the guests alight from the cars with their luggage, their nervous laughter floating to him on the early evening air. It never ceased to amaze him how many people they drew in each year for the Valentine’s Day Gala. He supposed it was the mystique and intrigue that was the draw card. And the potential for meeting someone on Valentine’s Day. The romance and the theater of the weekend tended to loosen up even the most strait-laced of guests. Most people led relatively dull, mundane lives and couldn’t ignore a chance at something exciting and mysterious, no matter that they didn’t know the host or the location of the event.

  He leaned closer to the window. He hadn’t seen her arrive, didn’t even know if she would. He hadn’t thought about what he’d do if she failed to turn up. It was possible, of course—even probable, given the lack of information on the invitation. It was always organized that way. They didn’t ever include anything but the barest of facts to the invited guests. It was part of the fun, seeing how many they could entice with just a few small details and how many would put their trust in those minimal specifics.

  He was in two minds about her attendance. He wanted her there. It was the perfect opportunity to formally introduce himself, but her presence would put her in danger. He’d need to watch her carefully.

  The cavalcade of cars continued to drop guests and their luggage at the foot of the wide staircase in a seemingly never-ending parade of women and men. They came from all walks of life and varying ethnicities. The event always promoted an equal opportunities guest list.

  A sleek town car pulled to a stop at the stairs and Vincent scrutinized the driver. It was Edgar, the driver he’d specially singled out to pick her up. A moment later she slipped out of the car. His breath stopped at the sight of her. He exhaled, not realizing how desperately he’d been hoping she’d turn up. He’d told himself her boldness and self-assuredness would overcome any qualms she may have felt towards the ambiguous invitation, but he hadn’t known for sure that she’d throw caution to the wind.

  He gazed down at her as she waited for Edgar to retrieve her luggage. She looked fitter than the last time he’d seen her, more toned and supple. Her long golden hair sparkled under the fairy lights that adorned the front steps. She’d draped a silky wrap around her shoulders to ward off the cooler climate of the elevated level. Her long legs were encased in slim jeans, her tiny feet in low-heeled sandals. She exuded elegance and beauty, confidence and grace. She didn’t laugh nervously but stopped and looked up, seeming to contemplate the massive mansion before her. Her green gaze appeared to zero in on him even though he knew she couldn’t see him.

  He grinned triumphantly. She’d arrived. “Bree.”

  Bree had never seen such an exquisite building. The mansion loomed huge and dazzling before her. Lights burned invitingly in the many windows and the reassuring resonance of laughter and excited chatter drifted to her through the double doorway. Gold-colored fairy lights twinkled along the grand steps and a banner above the arched entrance read Happy Valentine’s Day.

  She breathed a sigh of relief. Though she still didn’t know where she was or who had invited her, at least by the sound of the people inside, she wasn’t alone in this crazy excursion. She turned as two cars pulled to a stop and deposited a couple more guests, both of them looking dazed and bemused.

  Bree gripped her suitcase and walked inside and away from the doorway. The foyer looked just as impressive and luxurious as the outside suggested it would. She would have assumed it was a luxury hotel, but for the lack of signage and general hotel features. Glittering crystal chandeliers hung from the tall, vaulted ceilings and two majestic staircases spiraled either side of the foyer into the many floors above. People mingled, holding flutes of champagne, and waiters moved through the crowd offering platters piled high with various canapés.

  A string quartet played chamber music on a small stage in the corner of the room, and bunches of long-stemmed red roses arranged in crystal vases were positioned throughout, their heady floral sweetness perfuming the air with the scent of romance. Helium-filled balloons emblazoned with Happy Valentine’s Day bobbed around the room and ensured all the guests remembered the occasion to be celebrated.

  Just as Bree was wondering if she needed to inform someone of her arrival, a tall elegant woman, her hair styled in a tight chignon, stopped in front of her. She held a clipboard in her left hand and a pen in her right.

  “Your name?” she asked, her voice clipped.

  “Bree Regina Lewis.”

  The woman marked her name off the list. “You’ve been assigned room 400. It’s on one of the upper floors. It’s a corner suite.” She handed Bree an envelope, an image of Cupid on the front. “This is your Cupid pairing. Everyone is assigned one. Consider this your partner for the weekend.” She shrugged. “And, of course, you’re free to ditch your Cupid pairing if the choice doesn’t suit.”

  Bree stared at the impish cherub on the envelope, not sure what to make of the ‘pairing’ situation. But she supposed it was a good thing. It meant that she wouldn’t be alone this mysterious Valentine’s weekend, even if she had to rely on a complete stranger for company.

  The woman gestured to a staff member hovering nearby. “David will assist you with your luggage. You can freshen up then join the welcome cocktail party. A light supper will be served later this evening.” She handed Bree a red satin bag. “A welcome gift.”

  Before Bree could ask any questions, the woman had moved past her and on to ticking another guest off the list.

  Bree followed David and her bags towards the staircase. “Who is that woman?” she asked him.

  “That’s Eleanor. Her role is to welcome the guests.”

  Bree thought that Eleanor could do with some pointers on customer relations, but she kept the thought to herself.

  “The elevators can be a little temperamental,” David explained, “so I think we’ll take the stairs.”

  Bree smiled. “Fine with me. I enjoy the climb.” At any rate, she preferred to study their surroundings, which seemed to be in a Victorian Gothic style. She appreciated the opulence and the rich jewel-tones of the décor, which gave the mansion a luxurious period feel. She stopped to study one of the ancient-looking paintings that peppered the stairwell, a portrait of a beautiful woman, her black hair coiled intricately on top of her head and her ample décolletage dipping into an elaborate emerald-green dress. There was something forlorn about the woman. It was her eyes, Bree decided. They gave the viewer the impression of deep sadness.

  “Who is this woman?” Bree called to David.

  He paused and glanced back. “I believe she was the first wife of the man who built this residence.”

  “Unhappy-looking lady,” Bree mumbled, and hurried to catch up with David, who had stopped on a landing.

  “This is level four. Your suite is at the end.”

  A long hallway stretched before them. Old paintings dotted each wall with ornate antique-l
ooking tables interspersed between them, all holding shallow bowls of fresh flowers. A massive grandfather clock ticked their progress loudly as they made their way over the thick carpet to Room 400.

  David inserted a clunky key into the lock of the door and swung it wide.

  “I hope your stay is comfortable,” he murmured. “Please help yourself to anything in the room.” He gave her a little bow then disappeared back the way they’d come.

  Too late, Bree realized she hadn’t asked the most important question—where, in fact, were they? She’d been too busy checking out the furnishings and the paintings to think about it. Surely she’d know of such a grand residence?

  She dragged her luggage into the room and looked around. Like the rest of the mansion, it was furnished in Victorian Gothic style, or at least what she suspected was Victorian Gothic-inspired. The scent of fresh roses hung heavy in the air, giving the room a welcoming touch.

  Opposite the entry door were double lancet-style windows that led onto a Juliette balcony, filmy black drapes obscuring the outside view. The right wall was taken up almost entirely by a brick fireplace, a low fire providing a soft glow. A reproduction of Goya’s Saturn Devouring His Son hung over the mantelpiece. Bree couldn’t understand how anyone would choose such a disturbing image for a bedroom, particularly to hang opposite the bed. Yet another vase of roses adorned the mantelpiece, looking somewhat incongruous positioned under such a macabre painting.

  To the left of the fireplace sat an ornate wooden desk, on which a bottle of sparkling water and glasses rested on a silver tray. An armchair with a small table next to it was positioned in front of the fire. A bottle of champagne nestled in an ice bucket on the table, with a heart-shaped box of chocolates propped against it.

  “No expense spared,” Bree muttered, overwhelmed at the generosity of the hosts. She couldn’t begin to guess the cost of the abundance of flowers, let alone all of the French champagne.

  The king-size four-poster bed stood in the middle of the room with a heavy teak trunk at its foot. Matching side tables held lamps, an old-fashioned clock and a small stack of classic-looking books. She studied the spines. Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, a collection of poems by Edgar Allan Poe, Othello and Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. Certainly, an eclectic selection that would give her reading material if she needed some downtime, particularly given the weekend’s Valentine theme. She supposed she didn’t need to read happy stories.

  Through a door to her left was a dressing-sitting room that led to a timeworn but functional bathroom.

  Bree shivered. The suite was clean and serviceable, but the furnishings unnerved her, and the general lack of warmth sent goosebumps flaring across her skin. She rubbed her arms and turned on both table lamps, trying to add some coziness to the room. She’d almost forgotten about the gift bag hanging loosely in her left hand. She upended it on the bed and studied the contents. A red lace thong from Victoria’s Secret, a bath bomb in the shape of a love heart, a small jar of heart-shaped candies and some luxury travel-sized body products. Oddly, there was also a wrist corsage of a simple red camellia. An impressive gift bag, its Valentine’s Day theme was unmistakable. Someone had clearly put a lot of thought into the entire weekend. It gave her confidence that the event wasn’t some type of elaborate hoax.

  Her gaze landed on the envelope, Cupid’s cheeky grin seeming to taunt her. She opened the envelope and withdrew a plain white card that read Vincent in elegant script and bore an image of a red camellia. No other information, but at least she now understood the relevance of the corsage.

  She hung her garment bag in the dressing room then rummaged through her suitcase for something to wear to the cocktail party. She’d packed a slinky black dress and low black heels. The sandal straps crisscrossed up her calves and gave her an edgy look, and they were comfortable enough to stand in for a lengthy period.

  She stilled suddenly and looked around the room. There was something missing. Something that she’d expect to see in a hotel room or at least in a room designed to be like a hotel room—there was no phone. Why, when mobile phones didn’t work, would the host not provide a simple land line? She could only hope there’d be one somewhere in the vast residence. She wouldn’t feel completely at ease until she could call Nell, at least. She couldn’t forget that no one had any idea where she was.

  Chapter Four

  Vincent hovered in the shadows on the balcony above the entrance hall. It was crowded now, the guests’ laughter and chatter almost drowning out the string quartet. The alcohol was flowing freely, providing an easy lubricant to everyone’s conversation. He noticed Soren and Alexander on the periphery of the crowd. They were deep in conversation but drawing a lot of attention from the women in the group. Alexander tossed his yellow-gold mane and winked at a woman nearby who giggled girlishly. Vincent’s gaze moved to Soren, who wore his usual grim expression. His elegantly handsome countenance couldn’t detract from his perpetually downturned mouth. In fact, Vincent couldn’t remember ever seeing the man smile. There was only one reason he was at the event at all—and it wasn’t for the alcohol and women.

  Vincent scanned the crowd further, waiting for the arrival of the only woman he wanted to see. A moment later, he spotted her descending the staircase. She held herself like a queen, tall and proud. She exuded confidence and poise and her beauty shone luminously. She’d gathered her hair into a messy knot on top of her head, accentuating her long neck and elegant profile. He scanned her body, his cock growing hard and insistent in his suit pants. The crisscross of her sandal straps up her calves gave her a sexy edge and the little black dress she’d poured her body into outlined her figure perfectly. He couldn’t miss the appreciative stares of the men who saw her entering the crowd and he had to stop himself from leaping over the balcony. He had to wait for his moment. The right moment.

  Forfeiting his position in the shadows, he leaned over the balustrade to watch her progress. Men from all sides jostled to get close to her. She’d no sooner taken a glass of champagne than three men crowded around her, introducing themselves and standing too close. It was too much. He’d thought of her as his for a long time now. He had to stop the flood of men and go to her. My Bree.

  Bree accepted a glass of champagne and introduced herself to some of the other guests. The crowd had obviously been drinking for a while, if the atmosphere was anything to go by. The laughter and conversation had grown louder since she’d first arrived, and people mingled in groups chatting as if they’d known each other for years.

  “Do you know where we are?” she asked a young man who’d introduced himself as Craig. “I didn’t recognize any of the scenery on our way up here.”

  He shook his head and took a swallow of his beer. “No idea.” He grinned. “But it sure is starting out to be a great weekend.” He looked at her wrist. “Well, I guess I’m not your Cupid pairing.” He frowned. “Shame.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you?” Bree continued. “I mean, the invitation was unorthodox, to say the least.”

  “I figured, if things looked a little hinky, I’d just high tail it out.” He shrugged. “Besides it seems to me that some bored old rich dude was behind the invite and I’d have a weekend of free booze and have some fun.” He spread an arm wide. “And look at the number of people here. Everyone I’ve spoken to received the same invitation. As I said, it’ll be some eccentric dude with too much time and money on his hands.”

  Bree had pretty much been thinking the same thing. And at least there were lots of people present who all looked to be in the same situation as her. She took another sip of champagne and gazed around, trying to determine who the host could be.

  “This is Tyler.” Craig slapped another young man on the back. “We met when we first arrived.”

  Bree smiled. “Nice to meet you.”

  “I’d ask if you are here alone, but I already know the answer to that.” Tyler grinned. “It appears that the invitations were only sent to single people.” He pointed to the tuli
p in his jacket lapel. “And I’m looking for a lady who has the same flower attached to her wrist.”

  “What is this? Some kind of enforced blind date Valentine’s weekend?” Bree asked. “And how do they know that my preferred partner wouldn’t be a woman?”

  Both men chuckled. “I think that would have been on account of social media,” Tyler responded. He waved a hand around the crowd. “I’m willing to bet that everyone here has at least two social media profiles. An easy way to determine your sexual orientation.”

  Bree supposed that was exactly what the organizers had done. Tyler was right. Social media pretty much put everything out there. The guys seemed to be pleasant enough, but Bree wanted to walk around a bit and get a feel for the place. Perhaps she would see the woman who’d greeted her, Eleanor, and she could ask her about a phone.

  A waiter stopped at her elbow and she replaced her empty champagne glass with a full one. She’d have to be careful or the bubbles would go to her head. She accepted a tomato and feta tartlet and popped it into her mouth. At least the constant supply of canapés would help to soak up the alcohol.

  Both Craig and Tyler had stepped closer to her, Tyler putting his hand on her arm as he leaned in to speak against her ear. “We can find somewhere quieter if you prefer. I saw a bar area off this entrance hall that looked comfortable.”

  Bree took a step back. “Thank you, but I’m going to take a walk around. I haven’t had a chance to take much of anything in yet.” She smiled and held up her wrist. “And I have to find my Cupid pairing.”

  Tyler grinned and lifted his glass. “Find us if you want someone to talk to.”

  Bree nodded, turned and ran straight into the man of her dreams.

  Chapter Five

  Bree stood stock-still as the air left her lungs. It couldn’t be him. The man she’d been dreaming about was just that—a dream, a fantasy. He wasn’t real. But here he was in the flesh, standing in front of her. She scrutinized his tall frame from head to toe. His hair, the color of ebony, hung to his collar in unruly waves. His patrician features were so symmetrical, so striking as to seem otherworldly. His broad shoulders tapered to a lean waist. And she could tell even under his shirt and perfectly tailored suit that his abs were strong and defined. When he slipped his hands into his pockets, his abdomen rippled and undulated under his white dress shirt. Her gaze zeroed in on his lapel and she started, hardly daring to believe her eyes at the red camellia in the buttonhole of his dark jacket.