Good Game (The System, #1) (57)
Felicity and Chase appear at the foot of the right side staircase. Felicity’s auburn hair is slicked into a high ponytail, a diamond cuff around the base. She is wearing the new Danielle Frankel Nina gown; the basque waist accentuates her slim build, and the white satin highlights her snowy skin. The pleated gown trails behind her as she holds Chase’s arm up the stairs.
I’m not a bitch, I’ll admit that she looks pretty. The issue, however, is she also looks like a freaking bride. I’m ninety percent sure it was designed as a wedding dress, which, in turn, makes it tacky and cringey.
They reach the top of the stairs, and even from down here I can see the way her manicured claws are digging into Chase’s suit jacket. He looks good. His blond hair has been trimmed slightly, and his black suit hugs his body in all the right ways. I’m not ashamed to say that. I didn’t date him for five years because I thought he was unattractive. It’s just that the attraction isn’t the same anymore. I can admire that he is good looking, but my body doesn’t react to him like it used to. I don’t feel that rush of lust. He just looks like every other rich country club kid. Boring.
“Thank you, everyone, for joining us tonight! We hope you love the fun drink Chasey and I came up with,” she leans into him and locks eyes with me. I have to tamper back a laugh. She should just pee on him and stake her territory while she’s at it.
“Please allow the party to commence,” Henry’s voice rings out. “Tonight’s feast is brought to you by Chef Gauthier and his team at House Charles. Hors d’oeuvres are being passed around by waitstaff, and our meal shall commence in the great room at twenty-one hundred hours.”
He could’ve just said nine o’clock.
Henry lifts his champagne and takes a sip. Everyone else follows suit, including myself. I make the conscious decision not to down the first flute all at once. I’ve apparently got two hours until the meal is even served. What a pain.
The crowd starts thinning out as people begin to make their way through the foyer into the rest of the mansion. I can see a patio leading outdoors, where it seems a majority of guests are moving toward. A handful of people are making their way up the staircases, probably to kiss ass with the Taylors. Not something I need to do.
Knowing I need to let my parents know I’ve shown up, I make my way toward the pillar they are still mingling near.
“Having fun yet?”
I twist to my right. Tristan Taylor leans against the wall, foot propped behind him, empty champagne flute dangling from his grip.
“I’m surprised to see you here, seeing as you didn’t make a grand entrance with the rest of your family.”
I file this tidbit of information in my back pocket. There must be some tension between the Taylors and their youngest child.
“Oh, you know me. Thought I would do my family a favor and make my appearance. I just finished my finals, figured I could spare the time to come down from Stanford.”
“How gracious of you.” I go to walk off when he pushes off the wall and comes to stand by me, boyish glint in his eyes.
“What do you think of the happy couple?”
I narrow my eyes. I’m not sure what Tristan’s game is. I never interacted with him much. With him being several years younger, he ran in a different circle than his older sister and myself.
“I wish them the best.”
“Looks more like you hope they choke on the froufrou drink they’re calling a cocktail.”
“Tristan, darling,” I touch his shoulder, giving him a tight smile, “I couldn’t care less about them. They could streak naked around the foyer or announce this is their surprise engagement party. Either way, I’d have no interest.”
“Then let me give you a piece of advice: be careful. You are still a livewire in their relationship, and you don’t want to get electrocuted.” He pointedly looks me up and down. “Have fun, Stephanie. You look amazing.”
He walks away, and I watch him with narrowed eyes.
Another warning.
I’m so sick of warnings.
A glance around the room confirms that my family has moved on. Great. Now I’m going to have to track them down somewhere on this twenty thousand-square-foot property.
I walk through the foyer between the two staircases, heels clacking beneath me, into the open kitchen and living room—well, one of their living rooms, I guess. I make small talk with a few people I cross paths with, asking how they are, if their children are well, what they’ve been up to. Everyone compliments my dress, and each time it feels like a win in my corner. No one has said a word about Chase and me being broken up, so it’s off to a good start at least.
I keep my smile plastered on my face but finish off the rest of my champagne. This is why I stopped coming to these events. They’re no fun when you have no one to hang out with. The few society friends—which is a loose term—that I have are already busy jet-setting across Europe for the summer.
My mind flickers to Tristan for a second, but I dismiss it. I am not spending my evening with an eighteen-year-old boy to survive—that’s just sad.
I shield my eyes as I make my way onto the crowded patio. The setting sun coats everything in a soft light, and I let the rays warm up my skin. It’s a gorgeous backyard, I’ll give the Taylors that. A fire pit sits to my right with two circular couches surrounding it. To my left is an enormous bar area, where I’m guessing the signature cocktail is being served. Stairs in front of me lead down to a large garden surrounding a swimming pool, hot tub, and volleyball court, perfectly tapered bushes lining the way.