Chapter 207
Cecilia’s pov
I slowed my steps, caught in an internal tug-of-war–should I get involved in whatever scheme was unfolding… or just mind my business and walk away?
While I hesitated, a woman in a champagne-colored gown bustled out from a side room, her face practically melting with anticipation as she zeroed in on the Real VIP.
The smile stretched across her face was so forced, it looked like it hurt to maintain.
The pair exchanged pleasantries as they drifted toward what looked like a small side room lined with masks–just steps away from the ballroom entrance.
The Real VIP’s gaze flicked past her companion and landed on me. Her brows lifted slightly, curiosity sparking. “And you are p>
“Oh! She’s one of our guests,” the woman in the champagne gown said quickly, cutting in with a laugh that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just arrived, I believe p>
Trapped under both their gazes, I sighed inwardly.
So much for staying out of it.
I stepped forward with practiced ease, wearing my most socially polished smile.
“Good evening p>
The Real VIP extended her hand with easy warmth, her eyes briefly scanning my face beneath the mask.
Before I could introduce myself, the woman in the champagne gown jumped in again, her voice dipped in sugar.
“It is a masquerade, after all,” she said lightly. “The whole point is to leave our names at the door and let the mystery do the mingling p>
The Real VIP gave a polite nod. Then she turned toward me, her smile curious and just a touch amused.
“Your mask is quite memorable p>
I returned her smile with practiced ease.
“Would you like help selecting yours?” I offered smoothly, shifting my gaze toward her as if we were already co-conspirators.
Lucky for you I happened to be standing right here, huh?
She chuckled softly, clearly entertained.
“That would be lovely. You younger women always have such a better eye for these things p>
Though visibly displeased, the woman in the champagne gown offered a brittle smile. “Yes, let’s see what we can find together p>
Inside the mask room, the walls were lined with an impressive array of ornate disguises–velvet, feathers, sequins, crystals.
It was less masquerade and more haute couture showroom.
The Real VIP scanned the collection, visibly intrigued but a little dazed.”So many options… it’s a bit much, isn’t it p>
“Actually,” the woman in the champagne gown leaned in conspiratorially–though not nearly quietly enough–“I had something specially made just for you p>
I pretended not to hear, turning my attention to a display of feathered masks like I was deeply invested in texture.
When a server appeared, carrying a gold-encrusted mask dripping in diamonds, even I had to admit–it was a showstopper.
“Exquisite,” the Real VIP murmured, her gaze lingering. But then, with polite restraint, she turned to me.
“What do you think p>
“It’s certainly glamorous,” I said, head slightly tilted in mock consideration, “but maybe a little… loud? It might steal attention from your own elegance instead of elevating it p>
I gestured toward a soft lavender mask nestled in the corner, edged with delicate amethysts and just the right amount of shimmer.
“This one feels like confidence, not competition p>
Her hand, mid-reach toward the gold mask, froze.
Being praised for her elegance–especially by someone younger–clearly struck a chord.
Her posture softened; her eyes brightened.
“I’ll take the lavender one,” she decided.
“But–” the woman in the champagne gown nearly choked, “young people rarely understand true luxury. The gold would pair perfectly with your gown p>
I let out a soft chuckle.
“Gold and black? I hate to say it, but that combo’s a little I wrinkled my nose just enough to be playful 2005 Met Gala. You deserve better p>
The Real VIP laughed–a real one this time.
“Definitely the lavender,” she said, pointing with finality at the amethyst-adorned mask.
The woman in the champagne gown looked like she might snap a molar from clenching her jaw, but she had no choice except to help the Real VIP fasten the lavender mask.
Her fingers fumbled ever so slightly–just enough to betray her frustration–but she still managed to secure the ribbons with practiced grace.
When the woman straightened and caught her own reflection in the mirror, she plastered on a brittle smile.
“It’s certainly… unique p>
“You look ten years younger,” I said, tone light but sincere.
The Real VIP laughed softly, the corners of her eyes crinkling in amusement. “My goodness, you do know how to flatter p>
I suppressed a smile.
Complimenting a well-dressed woman of a certain age by telling her she looks younger? Still the most reliable trick in the social playbook.
“As the hostess, you really shouldn’t devote all your attention to just one guest,” the Real VIP added gently, turning to the woman in the champagne gown.
That word–“hostess”–landed with the weight of a revelation.
So this was Mrs. Dahlia herself. Queen bee in satin.
As for the Real VIP–the woman Dahlia was bending over backward to impress–that was still a mystery worth solving.
“I should get back to my friends,” I said, seizing the first clean exit I could find.
I’d already stirred the pot enough for one night. No need to keep hovering and risk becoming the next item on the small-town gossip circuit.
But before I could step away, the Real VIP gently looped her arm through mine.
“Let’s walk together p>
Well. Damn.
I couldn’t exactly say no to that.
“It would be my pleasure p>
We moved through the corridor at an unhurried pace, her arm warm against mine, her perfume something expensive and subtle–floral, but grounded.
I could feel her watching me from the corner of her eye.
Then, in a voice just above a whisper: just like Rebecca p>
I turned to look at her, puzzled.
“Something about you in that mint-green dress,” she said, catching herself mid-thought. “You remind me of an old friend p>
She gave a wistful little shake of her head. “Forgive me. Nostalgia tends to sneak up on you when you least expect it p>
Then, with casual curiosity, the kind that was anything but casual:
“If you don’t mind my asking–what family are you from? I might know your parents p>