“I’d like to. It’s complicated, though.” I take a breath. “My parents are determined to have me take over the family business.”
“Can’t really blame them,” Charlie murmurs absently. “VALENT is valued at nearly a billion, as of last quarter. If it goes public, the projections are off the charts…”
All three of us turn to stare at him.
He has the good grace to blush. “Sorry,” he says apologetically. “I’m a bit of a finance junkie. When I found out I was going to the prom with the daughter of Vincent and Blair Valentine, I figured I’d better brush up on my knowledge about the company.”
“So you’re a cyber-stalker,” I murmur teasingly.
“Guilty as charged.” He gives a light laugh that doesn’t quite cover up his eagerness. “Your parents are fascinating. The work they’ve done is literally changing the world. I can’t imagine what it was like to grow up in the same house as them. It must’ve been like… being raised by gods, or something.”
I take a very large swig of my champagne. “They’re mortals, trust me.”
It’s always fascinating to hear other people talk about my parents — especially those who’ve been denied the pleasure of actually meeting them. Without the benefit of personal experience to temper your expectations, it’s easy to assume Vincent and Blair Valentine are earthbound angels. On paper, they make Mother Theresa and the Dalai Lama look like slackers.
Perhaps sensing my stiffness, Charlie reaches onto the seat beside him and retrieves a plastic container. “Here… I got this for you.”
“Oh!” My eyes widen on the corsage as he lifts it free of its case. “That’s very sweet of you.”
“Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl.”
I study the corsage as he slides it around my wrist. It’s beautiful — pale blue blossoms surrounding a stunning white orchid. I notice he’s got a boutonnière with identical blooms pinned against the lapel of his dark navy suit.
“Thank you.” I smile, rotating my wrist to study it from all sides. “Now we’re coordinated.”
His hand lands on my thigh, just north of the slit that runs up the right side of my dress, exposing a good stretch of leg. He runs a finger across the sensitive skin of my kneecap.
I fight the urge to squirm away.
“A perfect match,” he whispers, leaning over to kiss my cheek.
We drive down the highway, heading for the ferry port, drinking more champagne and sharing more than a few laughs. My date is everything a girl could possibly hope for — charming, thoughtful, well-mannered, easy on the eyes. And, for some unknown reason, he seems to like me.
I should be over the moon.
I should be with someone else.
Pushing aside the intrusive thought, I do my best to have fun. I laugh and I chit-chat and I play my part with surprising poise. But no matter how brightly I smile, I have a feeling it doesn’t reach my eyes.
I know for a fact it doesn’t reach my heart.
* * *
The ridefrom Cormorant House to Gloucester Harbor takes under twenty minutes on a normal night. With the Hummer limo, it takes nearly twice that — in no small part because the twins keep asking our driver to pull over so they can pose for pictures in scenic spots along the way.
By the time we reach the cruise-port, the ship is blowing its departure horn. A uniformed attendant collects our tickets at the bottom of the gangplank that leads onto the elegant vessel.
“Cutting it close,” he says with a smile. “Have fun, kids.”
Laughing breathlessly, the six of us dart aboard. Our high heels and dress shoes clatter like a small stampede across the metal. The boat itself is beautiful — a luxury cruise liner, built specifically for private parties and corporate functions. With two sprawling decks and an exposed veranda area strung with lights, there’s more than enough room to accommodate the entire senior class.
Charlie’s hand intertwines firmly with mine as he leads me toward the cabin. A crush of voices spills out a pair of double doors.
Inside, nearly a hundred people are spread across a dimly-lit ballroom, making small talk as appetizers circulate on lofted cater-waiter trays. Floor to ceiling windows offer a panoramic view from every angle.
Still, it feels somewhat stuffy. This opulent barge sits so heavily in the water, it’s barely stirred by the waves. I barely feel like I’m at sea at all. I much prefer the open-aired freedom of my small Alerion.
My eyes sweep around the room, taking it all in. There are dresses of every shade, length, and style. I catalogue them in my mind, noting the more interesting designs. Some of the gowns in this room are one-of-a-kind creations from the top fashion minds in the world, specially commissioned for this event by the daughter’s of billionaires.