I wasn’t foolish enough to think that the first thing the family would do when I arrived was say, ‘Have a look at the art collection first, then get on with cleaning the toilets’. Nor did I think it likely that many of my maid duties would revolve around the galleries or store rooms in which the remarkable collection was housed. But if I saw only a fraction of what they had to offer, then that was enough—I would be seeing works that were usually reserved for academics, visiting dignitaries and the family itself. It would be a thrill, and if doing a bit of vacuuming was the price of that thrill, then it was a price that I was more than willing to pay.
Sarah returned with a bottle of something vodka-based for herself and a tray of shot glasses which spilled as she tottered unsteadily to the table.
“I have come to a decision,” she said.
“Are you replacing your blood with alcohol?” I asked, eyeing the impressive array of drinks as I arched one brow.
“Yes, but that’s more an ongoing project than a decision,” she replied. “I’ve decided that you are going to have fun tonight.”
“I am having fun.”
Sarah shook her head. “Let me rephrase that: you are going to have fun tonight.”
“That’s not rephrasing, that’s just changing the emphasis.”
“Proper fun,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve watched you having fun, Keira. It saddens me to think that you actually think you know what fun is.”
“I do know what it is!”
Sarah shook her head. “Unless you wake up in a place you don’t recognize, naked, sticky and feeling ashamed of yourself but not knowing why, you didn’t have fun. You might not remember it, but you have the satisfaction of knowing that fun was had.”
“I don’t want that kind of fun,” I said.
“You only graduate once, girl!”
“But you do this every weekend!”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.” Sarah winked and downed a shot, then picked up her bottle and turned to the room. “I’m going to find myself a hot guy to dance with. He may not be quite as good-looking tomorrow morning, but in these situations perception is all that matters.”
On this unexpectedly philosophical note, Sarah left the table.
I eyed the shot glasses warily and then looked up at the room. There were some handsome men here, and contrary to what Sarah might have thought, I wasn’t a frigid, stick in the mud who didn’t want or know how to have fun. I simply didn’t like to get absolutely blackout drunk when I went out, because my parents had struggled with alcohol addiction earlier in their lives, and I didn’t want to be like that at any point. Also, I was…well, to tell the truth, I was nervous. The truth was that I envied Sarah more than I cared to admit. The idea of going out, picking up a man, enjoying a night of devastating sex and then walking away without another thought was wholly off-putting to me, and yet also massively exciting and attractive. I didn’t want a one night stand; I didn’t want to be that kind of girl. But at the same time, I really envied the girls who were lucky enough to be that kind of girl. It must be so freeing to not give a crap about what others might think.
Could I do it for just one night? As I’d just noticed, there were some sexy men here at the bar…
But even as I thought it, I knew that it was beyond me. I simply wasn’t the type. And that was fine—I wasn’t horribly unhappy with who I was, and after an adolescence spent fighting against myself, I had finally come to think that being Keira Valencia was not such a bad person to be. It was just a shame that I couldn’t be entirely happy about it.
I watched Sarah dancing with a man whom she’d probably never met before tonight, and I raised my glass to my lips as I mused on what that would be like. For one night it might be nice to be Sarah Keane, but the next morning I would wake up as myself and most likely regret it all. Key to my life philosophy, such as it was, was the belief that somewhere out there, there was something that would make me as happy as Sarah seemed to be all the time. It might be harder to find, but that would just make it all the more worthwhile when I finally found it.
Boy, I hoped I was right about that.
I had no idea what the ‘something’ might be, although a persistent voice at the back of my mind told me that it might be a ‘someone’ rather than a ‘something’. And if God was kind, then it would be a someone who looked as good as the man who’d just approached and sat down at my table…
I drew in a sharp breath as I took him in. He looked around my age, perhaps a couple of years older. From what I’d seen out of the corner of my eye as he approached seconds earlier, he was tall—very tall—and although he was fully clothed, the cut nature of his body was evident, his muscles somehow imposing their presence through the constricting fabric. He reminded me of a sculpture; something strong and perfect carved by the brilliant hands of an ancient artist, aside from the tattoos twining up his upper arms and disappearing under his shirt. Ancient sculptures definitely didn’t have tattoos, and I didn’t need a fine arts degree to know that.