Uncovering Love

The Winthorp's

IVY WINTHORP'S P.O.V.

When the Winthorp family gets together, you can bet that there will be good food, wine and tons of drugs. Not from our business, though, we're 100% legitimate gold mine owners. The drugs come from the people that end up showing up. Why do they show up? Because everyone knows that Winthorp means royal, and when everyone reunites, which happens only at Christmas and tonight (our dead great-great-great-grandfather's birthday), they know shit's about to be epic.

I sip from my champagne glass, do a few lines, reapply my lipstick and check myself in the vanity mirror. My hazel eyes are smokey and contoured in black eyeliner. My black, wavy hair cascades around my shoulders. The strappy, silver dress I'm wearing tonight hugs my body perfectly, and I feel too high for a second. I guess I shouldn't have done that last line of cocaine.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Instantly, scenes from the night I want to forget invade my mind and I curse myself. I don't know what else I can do to make it go away. My breath turns shaky, but I don't even have time to overthink because my phone rings.

"Where are you?" Amalia shouts over the music, "your uncle Jeff is about to do his speech!"

Amalia Yakarof's been my best friend since junior year. She's loud, strawberry blond, 4 inches taller than me and a professional cinematographer. The Yakarof's were the founders of Hollywood Machine, one of the biggest distributors of television media in the world.

"I'm upstairs. I had to fix my face because of Abe," I check myself in the mirror again. Almost done.

She groans, "not again! Ivy!"

I giggle softly to myself, "you know how it is. He was just...there," I shrug.

Abraham Lockwood is two years older than me. Tall and broad, tanned with honey blond, curly hair. His family owns half of Las Vegas' clubs and casinos. Almost all of Boston's clubs are his as well. He's usually a very laid back guy, but he can be explosive when provoked. Whenever he's in town and not in Vegas, we hang out by his place or club. He's a phenomenal kisser.

"I swear to God, you better not leave me alone at Blaze later tonight," she sighs. Blaze is the coolest club in town. And Abe's.

"Join us?" I smile.

"Oh, fuck off. Just come down already," she hangs up.

I shake my head at her and put my phone down on the white, marble counter. I adjust my cleavage and get on my feet, walking out of my ensuite bathroom. My bedroom has classic architecture but there's also modern elements here and there. The colors white and pink cover the room like a wedding veil. I grab my small, black, leather purse and throw it over my shoulder.

The music gets louder and louder with each step I take, climbing down the stairs. The hall of my house is wide and big, making way to the huge, glass sliding doors to the backyard, where the party is being held. Waiters dressed in black tuxedos walk back and forth from the party, with empty glasses, plates and champagne bottles.

I approach Amalia's table and sit down on the empty seat next to her. There's at least 50 round tables scattered around the pool. Yellow, warm lights are hanging from the decorative installations, along with huge flower walls and centerpieces. My uncle Jeff is up on stage, in the middle of the pool, starting his annual speech.

If there's one thing you should know about my family is that we don't like being on the spot. We hate being part of this society. As my father would say, "just nod and smile. You never know when a deal can come in handy." I guess I kind of adopted that mindset for myself. I don't have any enemies. I usually am very socially pleasant and kind.