Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Yeah?” He smirks. “You have a thing for ringmasters?”
I lean in and whisper into his ear so Victor doesn’t hear me, “You still owe me for that tease before dinner.”
“The night is young. Careful what you wish for.” He weaves his fingers through mine, his gaze dragging down my costume. “You’re not the bearded lady, but this will do.”
I giggle and smooth a hand over the black-and-white-checkered stockings that reach halfway up my thigh and clip to a garter belt. I’m relieved by Merrick’s choice for me. He was right. The second I unzipped the garment bag to reveal the sexy mime costume inside, all bad blood washed away.
“I promised you’d be respectably dressed, didn’t I?”
“Depends on who you ask, I guess.” Mama certainly wouldn’t approve. The frilly little dress is obscenely short, and my breasts have nowhere to hide behind the Lycra material of the bodysuit, but at least it comes with a black bathing suit bottom so I don’t show my underwear when I bend over. Paired with my black stilettos, I know I look good.
“Just a few more cars, sir,” Victor calls out.
“Okay, it’s showtime. Give me your wrist.” Henry clamps a thin bracelet around it. “This is how you get in and how you pay for drinks. Leave your purse here. Don’t worry, Victor will take care of it.”
“What? But I—”
“No phones, no cash, no wallets. Nothing to record or identify anyone in there. Those are the rules.”
I frown as I set aside my little black satchel. What kind of party is this?
“And these stay on at all times unless you’re in a designated area,” he continues, sliding on a white mask that covers his face down to just above his mouth.
I affix a similar mask, except mine has the traditional black markings of a mime.
Our car comes to a jarring halt and a security guard moves in to open our door for us.
“Ready?” I sense a rush of adrenaline in Henry as he slides out.
With a nervous flutter in my stomach, I accept his hand. Am I?
“Okay, this is insane.” Music thrums as we move deeper into the warehouse, my focus unsure where to settle. The space has been transformed into an upscale carnival, canopied by a big top tent, and everywhere I look, there’s something extravagant to see. A pair of acrobats swing high above us. Ahead, a woman in a risqué red dress stands on a dais, juggling flaming torches. To our right, a female mime sits on a stool in lingerie while a half-dressed man with a dramatic, twirly mustache throws knives at a target directly behind her.
Throughout, cigar girls with tight black skirts and nothing but tassels to cover their nipples strut around with trays of shots.
“I think I know why you guys love this night so much.” I give Henry a look that he’s likely not able to decipher behind my mask.
His mouth may be the only thing I can see of his handsome face, but when he smiles, it’s laced with mischief. He leans down to graze my earlobe with his lips. “And you will too.”
A shiver slides down my spine. That sounded like both a threat and a promise.
Taking my hand, he leads me farther in, stopping a girl to get us each a shot of something black that tastes like licorice.
Whoever organized this party hasn’t spared any expense. Stages that look like circus carts line the outer wall of the massive room. Some are dimly lit in anticipation of the coming act while others have carnival characters in racy outfits on display. A carnival games alley waits ahead, with small crowds and plenty of cheers. Beyond, a lit Fun House sign beckons.
“Where are the guys?”
“Somewhere in here.” Henry doesn’t seem too concerned as he guides me deeper in.
“How will you find them?” The guests all wear elaborate costumes, everything from mimes to acrobats to lion tamers. Clowns don’t look like the typical red-nosed, floppy-shoed hobo version. These men are fit and shirtless, save for suspenders. Most masks are like mine—painted white with exaggerated pouts. It’s impossible to tell anyone apart.
“We always seem to find each other.” His lips twist. “And with Margo, trust me, you’ll know when you see her.”
Why am I not surprised? “You said the theme changes?”
“Yes. Last year it was Santa’s Village.”
I grin. “Who were you?”
“Who do you think? Mr. Claus, naturally.”
“Of course.” The circus ringmaster runs the circus; Mr. Claus is the boss of the North Pole. Henry always has to be in charge.
“Then there was the murder mystery year. I was the detective. My favorite year so far has been the Roman Empire. They had a small coliseum, a bathhouse, a market … It was wild.”
“And which Caesar were you?”
“I was Spartacus.”
“A gladiator?” I try to imagine Henry in a loincloth. “Are there pictures?”