Sugar Sweet Sin

The Devil's Party

It took me hours to decide what to wear tonight. I ended up in a cocktail dress of sky blue. And Jack looks impeccable. He probably spent as much time as I did stressing about tonight. Getting in with Dante Fontaine and his celebrity connections will drastically help my friend's career.

We both agreed that there's no reason for Jack to lie about his job—or for either of us to lie about anything except our relationship. The fewer tales we have to spin, the easier it will be to keep everything straight. And I'm not blind to the fact that Jack is doing me a huge favor by going along with this—however much I'd like to tell myself he talked me into it—and if he can make a few useful connections along the way, all the better.

But even my best friend's reassuring hand on my arm doesn't help my nerves as we knock on the door.

It's answered by a man in a white tuxedo jacket. The man politely informs us that refreshments are available on the back patio, but that we should avail ourselves of the entire first floor while we're here.

"Don't mind if I do," Jack says quietly to me as we make our way into the crowd. And crowd is definitely right—when Dante said this would be a small gathering, I expected a couple dozen people at most. But there are at least twice that number here already, and I suspect more will arrive as the night unfolds.

I scan the other guests as Jack and I move toward the patio. I recognize a number of them—actors, pop stars, supermodels, and other celebrities—but my eye doesn't find the one person I'm looking for.

It's strange being back in this house. Stranger still to be here under these circumstances. I've walked through these rooms dozens of times before, but now it feels like I'm a stranger here.

Jack is just as alert as I am, and more than once he squeezes my arm and points out someone famous. I can already see his mind working, planning out how he's going to approach them later. I wonder what they'd say if they knew I once dated Dante—that we'd made love on that sofa by the fireplace, or that he'd taught me delicious things with his tongue on top of that glass table in the dining room? Even now, I hardly believe it happened. Our relationship was so far removed from the outside world that it feels like a dream.

We've reached the patio now, and as we step outside, Jack drops my arm and instead places his hand against my lower back. It's awkward to have my best friend touching me in such a subtle, intimate way, and it's all I can do not to giggle, in spite of the tightness in my stomach.

"You're a terrible actress," Jack mutters, but he's smiling too.

"I never claimed to be a good one," I respond. I've never been good at hiding my emotions, which is probably why it's next to impossible for me to keep any secrets from Jack or Mama Pat or anyone else who's around me regularly. But I'm going to have to do better tonight—at least if I want to keep my dignity.

But a quick scan of the patio reveals that Dante isn't anywhere to be seen. Part of me relaxes, and another part is even tenser than before—I think I'd almost prefer to know exactly where he is. I don't want any surprises.

"How about a drink?" Jack says.

"I've never wanted a drink more in my life."

Dante's patio looks more like something you'd see at a resort than at someone's house. There's a large glass-tiled pool that's lit in shades of violet and red, and twinkling lights hang from the palm trees overhead. Not far from us, there's a large cabana-like structure sheltering a full bar. Only at the home of one of the Fontaines.

Before long, Jack and I are armed with liquid courage—him with a scotch on the rocks and me with a chocolate martini.

"Let's stay out here," I suggest. There's a lovely breeze rolling off the ocean, and my head feels a little clearer away from the crowd inside. Plus, thanks to the huge windows, we have a great view of the party both inside and out. Whenever Dante makes an appearance, I plan on spotting him before he spots me.