Mask Me (An Empyrean Novel)- The Atlas Collection- Book 1

Part 4

The limo makes its way through traffic. The evening lights reflecting across the calm Potomac waters as we make our way over the 14th Street Bridge into the Capital Area. Adam deftly moving in-between other vehicles. His eyes glancing in the rear view mirror often enough to cause me to shift uncomfortably in my seat under his scrutiny, creating a desire to raise the tinted screen. My fingers slide restlessly over the button, but I don't apply the pressure to make it move.

"Have you ever crashed a gala?" Samantha says casually, looking out the window, the short, stout Washington skyline coming into view.

Silence stretches between us like an awkward presence, its long fingers wrapping around my throat filling me with an anxiety that seemed to stall my beating heart.

Samantha turns to look at me, "My god Atlas, you're white. What on Earth is wrong?" Her hands cover mine, stroking them slowly, with her face full of worry.

"I've never "crashed" anything before," I whisper. The whole concept of being caught, kicked out and reprimanded leaves me cold inside.

Concern transforms to amusement on her face.

"You really have such an innocent streak. It's so hard to remember when I know what you see, do and write about." Her hand continues to stroke mine softly, willing courage through them somehow.

"We've got tickets," she pulls the papers from her bag. "One of our clients thought we could use some 'networking' time, so he sent them over this morning."

I glance at the logo emblazon across the top of the ticket.

"Those tickets go for $1,000 a piece. It's supposed to be THE event of the season. The who's who of the DC political, philanthropical and social circles show up to give over three million dollars in charity. Why in the world would he send a pair of tickets to us?"

"He bought a table sponsorship for his company, which gave him ten tickets. Two of the people couldn't make it, and we've done work for him in the past, so he thought he'd toss us tickets."

"So why didn't you tell me this morning?", the accusation clear in my tone.

"Simple, would you have come if I had?"

"No."

"And there we have it," Samantha smiles. "So," she continues, as my simple answer explained the entire mystery of the day, "the theme this year is an exotic paradise with the name- Midnight Oasis. Exotic-themed dancers, vibrant fabrics and best of all- Masks!" She hands me a black satin bag. The delicate scroll and lettering proclaims the maker to be Italian.

Hesitantly, I open the bag and pull out the delicate metal mask. The elegant lines provide the outline of a face, adding the feeling of lace painted across the features when placed across the eyes. In the dimming sunlight, the crystals catch the smallest amount of rays, casting rainbows and sparkles across the dark black ceiling of the limo, the effect of hundreds of stars twinkling above our heads. My fingers caress the delicate scroll work, imagining the hours needed to create this luxurious piece of art.

"Put it on," she prompts me softly.

Placing the mask to my face, I suddenly feel hidden in plain sight. It gives me an odd sense of daring, sensuality and confidence. The metal conforms easily to every contour on my face, the left side sweeping up high above my temple before curling back down toward my eye, giving an air of subtle power.

I see Samantha's face looking back at me in her own mask. The bright Swarovski crystals adorn the silver metal, giving way to a set of ornate silver chains just under her eyes, creating a refined elegance and sensual mystery. The combination draws me straight to her face where her eyes are now staring back at me with intense anticipation.