Day, Sylvia - Bared to You - A Crossfire Novel

“Cary”—my lips quirked—“you can wear anything.” It was true. Cary could pul any look off, a benefit of having a sculpted rangy body and a face that could make angels weep.

I set my hand over his restless fingers. “Are you nervous?”

“Trey didn’t cal last night,” he muttered. “He said he would.”

I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just one missed cal , Cary. I’m sure it doesn’t mean anything serious.”

“He could’ve cal ed this morning,” he argued. “Trey’s not flakey like the others I’ve dated. He wouldn’t have forgotten to cal , which means he just doesn’t want to.”

“The rat bastard. I’l be sure to take lots of pictures of you having a great time looking sexy, classy, and cool to torment him with on Monday.”

His mouth twitched. “Ah, the deviousness of the female mind. It’s a shame Cross won’t see you today. I think I got a semi when you came out of your room in that dress.”

“Eww!” I smacked his shoulder and mock-glared when he laughed.

The dress had seemed perfect to both of us when we’d found it. It was cut in a classic garden party style

—fitted bodice with a knee-length skirt that flared out from the waist. It was even white with flowers. But that’s where the tea-and-crumpets style ended.

The edginess came from the strapless form, the alternating layers of black and crimson satin underskirts that gave it volume, and the black leather flowers that looked like wicked pinwheels. Cary had picked the red Jimmy Choo peep-toe pumps out of my closet and the ruby drop earrings to give it al the finishing touch. We’d decided to leave my hair loose around my shoulders, in case we arrived and learned that hats were required. Al in al , I felt pretty and confident.

Clancy drove us through an imposing set of monogrammed gates and turned into a circular driveway, fol owing the direction of a valet. Cary and I got out by the entrance, and he took my arm as my heels sank into blue-gray gravel on the walk to the house.

Upon entering the Vidal’s sprawling Tudor-style mansion, we were warmly greeted by Gideon’s family in

a

receiving

line—his

mother,

stepfather,

Christopher, and their sister.

I took in the sight, thinking the Vidal family could only look more perfect if Gideon was lined up with them.

His mother and sister had his coloring, both women boasting the same glossy obsidian hair and thickly-lashed blue eyes. They were both beautiful in a finely wrought way.

“Eva!” Gideon’s mother drew me toward her, then air-kissed both of my cheeks. “I’m so pleased to final y meet you. What a gorgeous girl you are! And your dress. I love it.”

“Thank you.”

Her hands brushed over my hair, cupped my face, and then slid down my arms. It was hard for me to bear it, because touching was sometimes an anxiety trigger for me when the person was a stranger. “Your hair, is it natural y blond?”

“Yes,” I replied, startled and confused by the question. Who asked a question like that of a stranger?

“How fascinating. Wel , welcome. I hope you have a wonderful time. We’re so glad you could make it.” Feeling strangely unsettled, I was grateful when her attention moved to Cary and zeroed in.

“And you must be Cary,” she crooned. “Here I’d been certain my two boys were the most attractive in the world. I see I was wrong about that. You are simply divine, young man.”

Cary flashed his megawatt smile. “Ah, I think I’m in love, Mrs. Vidal.”

She laughed with throaty delight. “Please. Cal me Elizabeth. Or Lizzie, if you’re brave enough.” Looking away, I found my hand clasped by Christopher Vidal Senior. In many ways, he reminded me of his son, with his slate green eyes and boyish smile. In others, he was a pleasant surprise. Dressed in khakis, loafers, and a cashmere cardigan, he looked more like a col ege professor than a music company executive.

“Eva. May I cal you Eva?”

“Please do.”

“Cal me Chris. It makes it a little easier to distinguish between me and Christopher.” His head tilted to the side as he contemplated me through quirky brass spectacles. “I can see why Gideon is so taken with you. Your eyes are a stormy gray, yet they’re so clear and direct. Quite the most beautiful eyes I think I’ve ever seen, aside from my wife’s.”

I flushed. “Thank you.”

“Is Gideon coming?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Why didn’t his parents know the answer to that question?

“We always hope.” He gestured at a waiting servant.

“Please head back to the gardens and make yourself at home.”

Christopher greeted me with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, while Gideon’s sister Ireland sized me up in a sulky way that only a teenager could pul off. “You’re a blonde,” she said.

Jeez. Was Gideon’s preference for dark-haired women a damn law or something? “And you’re a very lovely brunette.”

Cary offered me his arm and I accepted it grateful y.

As we walked away, he asked me quietly, “Were they what you expected?”

“His mom, maybe. His stepdad, no.” I looked back over my shoulder, taking in the elegant floor-length cream sheath dress that clung to Elizabeth Vidal’s svelte figure. I thought of what little I knew about Gideon’s family. “How does a boy grow up to be a businessman who takes over his stepfather’s family business?”

“Cross owns shares in Vidal Records?”

“Control ing interest.”

“Hmm. Maybe it was a bailout?” he offered. “A helping hand during a trying time for the music industry?”

“Why not just give him the money?” I wondered.

“Because he’s a shrewd businessman?”

With a sharp exhalation, I waved the question away and cleared my mind. I was attending the party for Cary, not Gideon, and I was going to keep that first and foremost in my thoughts.

Once we’d moved outside, we found a large, elaborately decorated marquee erected in the rear garden. Although the day was beautiful enough to stay out in the sun, I found a seat at a circular table covered in white damask instead.

Cary patted my shoulder. “You relax. I’l network.”

“Go get ’em.”

He moved away, intent on his agenda.

I sipped champagne and chatted with everyone who stopped by to strike up a conversation. There were a lot of recording artists at the party whose work I listened to, and I watched them covertly, a bit starstruck. For al the elegance of the surroundings and the endless number of servants, the overal vibe was casual and relaxed.

I was starting to enjoy myself when someone I’d hoped never to see again stepped out of the house onto

the

terrace:

Magdalene

Perez,

looking

phenomenal in a rose-hued chiffon gown that floated around her knees.

A hand settled on my shoulder and squeezed, setting my heart racing because it reminded me of the night Cary and I had gone to Gideon’s club. But the figure that rounded me this time was Christopher.

“Hey, Eva.” He took the chair next to mine and set his elbows on his knees, leaning toward me. “Are you having fun? You’re not mingling much.”

“I’m having a great time.” At least I had been. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming. My parents are stoked you’re here. Me, too, of course.” His grin made me smile, as did his tie, which had cartoon vinyl records al over it. “Are you hungry? The crab cakes are great.

Grab one when the tray comes by.”

“I’l do that.”

“Let me know if you need anything. And save a dance for me.” He winked, and then hopped up and away.

Ireland took his seat, arranging herself with the practiced grace of a finishing school graduate. Her hair fel in a single length to her waist and her beautiful eyes were direct in a way I could appreciate. She looked worldlier than her seventeen years. “Hi.”