“There’s another place we can dance. Come on.”
He catches my hand and tows me through the hallways, past a rainbow of dresses and suits. There’s a guy in a blue gown, a girl in sequined underwear and a dazzling headdress, a woman with copper skin and a quivering crown of feathers.
“They’re all so beautiful,” I breathe.
“There are some bona fide celebrities here tonight, too. I’ll introduce you later, if you want.”
We round a corner and nearly crash into a cluster of people—Tom, Myrtle, and Catherine. I guess his ban from the premises was a temporary one—that, or he used another name to get into the party tonight. Although it’s not like they check IDs—people just show up, uninvited, in swarms. A dark and sour tide rises in me, and the sound of Tom smacking Myrtle’s face echoes in my head until I can barely hear Jay’s voice. He’s apologizing for charging around the corner and nearly colliding with them.
“It’s fine, really,” Myrtle says, batting at his chest with slick candy-colored fingernails. “You’re such a sweetheart. What’s your name?”
“I’m Jay Gatsby.”
“Oh my god, seriously? Like, the guy who owns all this?” Her blue eyes open very, very wide, and I swear she flutters her lashes.
“Guilty as charged,” Jay answers. “You like the party?”
“Oh my lord, yes!” Her nails travel to something at her neck, right above her ample cleavage, and my heart jerks. She’s rolling an Elsa Peretti open-heart necklace between her fingers. It’s just like the one I keep in a box in the back of my closet. The one Tom gave to me.
He clearly gave her one, too.
Why couldn’t he have chosen a different style, at least?
“It’s a lot, this ‘gala’ of yours.” Tom makes sardonic air quotes. “I mean, a costume theme? Really? What are you, one of those rich chicks from Gossip Girl?”
“We’ve watched a couple episodes together,” says Myrtle proudly. “Tom’s favorite character is Chuck Bass.”
“That makes so much sense.” I give Tom my most baleful glare.
Tom ignores me and offers Gatsby his hand. “So what did you do, Gatsby? Win the lottery? Marry and murder a wealthy widow? Takes a lot of cash to run a big place like this, not to mention the parties.”
“I’m into several things right now. Investments, insurance.” Gatsby clasps the other man’s extended hand.
“Are you involved with that Robin Hood nonsense? Screwing around with stock values?” Tom’s grip tightens on Gatsby’s fingers. It’s a power move of my ex’s, a stupid macho-male thing where he shows off his physical strength instead of shaking hands like a normal person.
“That’s not your business, Tom,” I interject. “Let’s go, Jay.”
“Sure.” But Jay doesn’t extract his hand. His fingers flex as he tightens his own grip—tightens it until Tom pales and winces.
“Sorry, buddy, did I hurt you?” Jay asks softly.
“Not at all, buddy,” Tom retorts, massaging his hand. “How do you know Daisy?”
“We’ve been friends a long time. Knew each other as kids. I guess you could say we were childhood sweethearts.”
My face burns.
“Is that so?” Tom sneers. “I dated Daisy for seven years. We had some really good times.” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Okay, we’re done here. Enjoy the party, you guys.” I hustle Jay past the group and down the hall.
“Be a good girl, Daisy,” Tom responds, and anger flushes hot through my body. I hate that phrase of his. So condescending. So annoying. So fucking misogynistic.
Once we’re clear of them, Jay pulls me toward a large door fitted with a keypad. “Hestia, unlock Dance Room Three,” he says, and the door unlatches with a faint whirr.
“Is that your AI? Hestia?”
“Yes.”
“Nice name. Way classier than ours.”
“What’s yours?”
“Serenity.”
“Of course it is.” He chuckles. “I remember how much your parents loved that show. Here, I’ll give you access, so the house will obey you, too.” He presses the screen a few times, navigating through the menu, and then the house records a sample of my voice.
He’s being impulsive, trusting me with control of his home. Has he given any other girls access? Or do I get special treatment as his childhood sweetheart? The thought of those words being repeated mockingly by Myrtle’s stupid bubble-gum lips and Tom’s sneering mouth makes me so mad I can hardly stand it.
“Now that’s done. You’re one of the admins.” Jay rubs his hands together and grins at me. “Ready to see what’s in here?”
“I can’t wait.” My response is only half-genuine, but Jay doesn’t seem to notice.
He ushers me into a ballroom, smaller and less modern than the main dance hall. With its glossy floor, rich wallpaper, and creamy crown molding, the room feels like something out of a bygone era. Two big chandeliers twinkle from the ceiling, dripping frosty crystals. With the door closed behind us, the sounds of the party are muffled to a mere whisper. It’s a relief to be somewhere so quiet, the eye in the middle of a hurricane.
Jay steps over to a big record player and begins shuffling through the shelves of albums beside it.
“Why’d you tell Tom that? About us being childhood sweethearts?” My cheeks are still burning.
