“They’re all so polite,” Lane marveled. She had nothing to worry about, after all.
Realizing that the other had been deceived by the guests’ glamorous appearance, Julieta started to tell Lane the truth but changed her mind the last second.
Chi ama me, ama il mio cane, Julieta thought. Love me, love my dog, and like it or not, all of this was now an integral part of who Angelo Valencia was.
Julieta didn’t really like it, but then she didn’t have to.
She wasn’t the one in love with her boss.
Several long tables had been set up in the basement, layers of gold and blue silk covering their surfaces. The dinnerware was a mix of porcelain plates and black utensils, complemented by miniature Sphinx centerpieces.
“The staff did a great job, didn’t they?” Lane beamed proudly.
“Yup,” Julieta said unhappily. The world-famous band, Minuit Rouge, had come up on stage, and as they began to play, Julieta knew their music officially signaled the start of the party’s first phase of revelry.
Dylan started to sing, and the guests clapped enthusiastically.
Oh, joy. Julieta quickly crossed herself, hoping God would understand that she was not a willful accomplice of Angelo Valencia.
Julieta was staring hard at the screen. Try as she might, she just couldn’t figure out what was wrong in the picture, but her instincts told her that she was missing something. With Angelo supervising backstage for Dylan and his band members, she knew she had nothing to worry about on that front – for now.
But was this really it?
His party was more like a political fundraiser, so what was so dangerous—
A strange sound reached her, and she jerked in her seat.
Surely, that wasn’t—
She strained her ears, but when she couldn’t hear anything, she pressed the rewind button.
Lane listened harder.
And there it was!
Her eyes widened. It had been a moan, coming from the pretty blonde seated at the end of Table 4. Why was she moaning? And if she had managed to hear it, shouldn’t the others have heard it, too?
She replayed the scene and slowed it down as well, and this time, everything became clear.
The blonde’s date was doing something to her under the table—
Something like—
Oh my gosh, he was making her come!
Her gaze flew to Julieta.
At Lane’s horrified gaze, the other girl said flatly, “That’s Phase 1. See no evil.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s a challenge for the couples to make out or even have sex, just as long as no one sees what they’re doing.”
Her gaze flew back to the screen. “You mean…everyone’s doing it under the table?”
Julieta pointed to a vacant seat. “See that? Her boyfriend’s under the table, giving her the time of her life.”
“What?”
“Yup.”
“But why would they agree—”
“Because,” Julieta said patiently, “it’s what they both want.”
As Julieta’s gaze bored through her, the penny finally dropped, and Lane realized that all the couples in the basement were sadists and masochists like Angelo…and her.
She gulped.
And this was the party she wanted to attend?
This was what she was fighting to be a part of?
An hour passed, and Lane was confused to see a new set of guests arrive while most of the first batch of guests left together with the band. “What’s happening?” The few guests who were staying went back up to the receiving area and put on their masks.
“This is the party’s second phase,” Julieta informed her.
“And that means…what?” Staff started distributing masks by the door, and the second batch of guests put them on right away, as polite and charming as the first set.
Seeing Lane’s expression of wonder, Julieta explained, “Signor V is strict about how the staff is to be treated. Anyone playing the diva or acting like a shithead is immediately blacklisted.” She flashed Lane an evil grin. “Permanently.”
Oh. No wonder everyone was being so nice.
As the guests enjoyed cocktails in Angelo’s receiving area, the staff quickly went to work in the basement, clearing out the tables and replacing them with chaise lounges, love seats, and sofa beds, all of them also designed with Egyptian accents.
All of those were big enough to fit couples, Lane thought, and she felt her stomach drop at the realization.
Staff radioed that the basement party were ready, and Lane’s eyes widened when tuxedo-clad men and women in black gowns seemingly appeared out of nowhere in the receiving area. Weaving so gracefully through the crowd it was almost like they were dancing, they ushered the guests efficiently to the red carpet without making it seem like they were in a hurry to do so.