Saturday arrives, and my heart can't stop beating to a faster than normal rhythm. The butterflies in my stomach indicate the level of excitement, anticipation and nervousness I feel since they flutter stronger and stronger as 5:30 p.m. approaches.
Tracy meets me at 9 a.m., and we commence our Saturday morning routine of yoga followed by coffee. I rush home to shower, get my hair and nails done, and Tracy comes over to help me get ready. Our conversation is heightened by my nerves, and she knows I'm more distracted than usual because of the possibilities the night will bring.
Finally, 5:30 rolls around. I take a deep breath, and teetering on my stilettos, I peek out the window. Sure enough, a shiny, sleek Rolls Royce Ghost waits outside my townhouse. Tracy helps me slip on my opera gloves, tucks my phone into my clutch, and reminds me again to text her if I feel uncomfortable at any time. I give her a hug, and we step outside, locking the door behind us.
The chauffeur rounds the vehicle and opens the back passenger door. "Miss," he says as he touches his cap.
"Oh, he's good," I think. I may look younger than my age, but it's been a long time since I could believably be called a Miss. I wink, flash a big smile at Tracy, and get into the car. She watches us pull away as a mix of concern, excitement and I think a dash of jealousy plays across her face.
After about 30 minutes we arrive at a large mansion in the high-rent district of Denver. Lights softly line the walkway and steps to the front door, and I can see shapes moving behind the closed curtains. I quickly pull out my phone and am relieved to see I have strong cell coverage. I check my mask, hair and lipstick in my compact and step out of the opened door thanking the driver and offering a tip which he refuses. I make my way up the steps to the front door and with a bit of trepidation, open it and walk through.
Not surprisingly, the entryway is stunning. High ceilings, beautiful art and decor line the walls along with an extremely large floral arrangement on a table in the foyer. A greeter meets me as I walk in and takes me to a table where event staff are checking names. I give my name but apologize for not RSVPing. The planner smiles, finds my name on her iPad and hands me a long-stemmed red rose. "Welcome, Ms. Beauchamp. Enjoy the ball," she chirps in her effervescent voice.
The mansion is dazzling with lavish decor, expensive furniture, floral arrangements (some with cascading vines down the walls), lush velvet and sheer fabrics, intricate sconces holding flickering candles and beautiful chandeliers casting soft lighting throughout the various rooms. I feel like I've been transported back in time to an era when lavish balls for nobility were the norm.
People dressed elegantly in gorgeous ball gowns and tailored tuxedos mingle throughout the rooms leading off the foyer and hall. Their masks hide their faces, but I can see delight and mischief dancing in their eyes. Servers dressed in black pass hors d'oeuvres and glasses of wine and champagne. I take a glass of champagne from a passing tray and sip nervously. Obviously I don't recognize anyone, but I don't usually have trouble at social engagements and can hold my own at the "booze and schmooze" events my company throws for clients and prospects. I walk up to a foursome chatting nearby when a lag in their conversation provides an opportunity.
We make polite small talk to start, and I quickly learn both men belong to this mysterious brotherhood, and the women are their wives. One, a statuesque blonde, I guess mid-30s, towers over me. I'm about 5'2", and in heels, close to 5'7". She must be at least 5'9" without heels. She has a cool demeanor but isn't unfriendly as she welcomes me and asks if this is my first event with the brotherhood. I smile as I answer and finish the glass of champagne. Almost immediately, a server appears to take my empty glass and offers me a new one which I accept. The first glass has made me a bit giddy, and I realize I should eat something. Bubbles typically go straight to my head, but I love the feeling, and the label being served is quite good. The other woman is older, maybe in her 50s, heavyset and very funny. Her reddish-brown hair is piled on her head in an elegant updo, and her neck, ears, hands and wrists drip with jewels. She's holding a plate of hors d'oeuvres, and I ask her to point me in the direction of the food. She laughs, a great laugh, and says she'll join me; she wants more. I've almost finished my second glass of champagne and am really feeling the effects. Before we can leave our group, a hand grips my elbow. Startled, I turn and am met with a broad chest in an impeccable tux. I slowly move my gaze up and am captivated by the most exquisite eyes I've ever seen accentuated by the black mask hiding his face.
He smiles confidently, and my heart skips a beat. I swallow the last of my champagne and place it on the tray of a server who's once again magically appeared. "Would you like another?" the server asks. I shake my head slowly, my gaze still captivated by those mesmerizing eyes.
The two men I've been conversing with straighten; it seems like a show of respect, so I wonder if this mystery man is an officer in this brotherhood. One of the husbands starts to say something, but mystery man gives him a look, and he stops talking. Mystery man glances to his side and motions me in that direction. I look at the people I've been chatting with and they don't seem concerned. The robust redhead grins at me, and the blonde tosses her hair. I take their lack of concern to mean he's at least somewhat trustworthy so I turn in the direction he motioned. He once again takes my elbow as he steers me out of the room.
"Where are we going?" I ask. He puts a finger to his lips and shakes his head. "You're not going to tell me? Why should I let you take me?" I ask and stop walking. He sighs, and it's somehow familiar, but only my subconscious recognizes that. He puts his finger under my chin and raises my face so I'm once again looking in his eyes. He's tall. Even in killer heels, the top of my head only reaches his shoulder. "I..." I don't finish my sentence before his lips are on mine, firm, insistent, breathtakingly good. Wow. My heart is pounding. I should be outraged. How dare he! But all my mind registers is his heat, his commanding presence, his intoxicating scent, his strong arms as my hands reach out and grab his biceps to steady myself. My lips part at my surprise, and he takes advantage, sliding his tongue along mine, biting my lower lip, kissing me madly, passionately. We're in the middle of a hallway at a swanky masquerade ball acting like teenagers in a make-out session. I break away, trying to catch my breath. I've never been kissed like that. It was incredible. I can't look at him. I know if I do I'll melt into a puddle on the floor and ruin the carpeting.
