Entry-Level Mistress - By Sabrina Darby Page 0,45

questions,” he reminded me. “Especially tonight.”

Of course, like Gretchen, people would be curious about anything Daniel Hartmann did, anyone with whom he was involved. They would ask questions about his relationship. That made me want to ask Daniel those same questions. To ask myself them. Because I wasn’t sure what we were doing. I knew I was supposed to put those kinds of thoughts aside. Just as we had put the past aside. I was supposed to let this be a weekend away, apart, where we simply enjoyed each other’s company. But I was enjoying his company too much.

“One moment,” he said softly and I moved to let him get up. He moved cautiously but efficiently around the boat. Trimming the sails? I struggled to remember the vocabulary of sailing even as I admired the lean length of his legs, his bare ankles between khakis and boat shoes. Studying his body gave me a pleasure similar to creating a new piece of art. I could lose myself in him.

Quicksand.

Leanna’s advice had been to seize it all, to let it be what it needed to be, to not put any false limits on the relationship because I was moving to upstate New York in August. The idea that this thing between us might be something more than a fling was terrifying.

But it couldn’t be more. Even if I wanted it to … once my father found out … Once I told him.

Yet, what if? For an instant possibility blossomed in my mind. A high society life of two successful people, a private life of passion and intensity. Built on confusion, opacity. Lies.

Daniel lowered himself back down beside me. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, refusing to think. The only thing that mattered was right now: the wind in my hair, the sound of the waves, and the feel of his skin against mine.

Chapter 13

The estate stretched along several acres of beach. At the gate, a security guard asked for names, and then waved us through. Laughter, conversation, and the hum of engines filled a large cobblestone courtyard where a valet station teemed with cars, guests and staff in red vests. We crossed the white marble threshold into a foyer larger than a living room. This mansion had been built to meld with the beach and the large living room/ballroom—I wasn’t entirely certain what to call it—opened out onto the dark night, lit up by tiki torches. I felt as if I were walking through a resortwear issue of Vogue. The furniture was long and low, Italian modern and organized into mini spaces. Cater-waiters in their white shirts, black vests and pants crisscrossed the room with silver trays of appetizers.

Was I the heroine of Cinderella … or Pretty Woman? I hated the way I thought sometimes. Why did I always have to put a label on everything, try to fit my life into predefined little slots? It was the stupidest tendency because, at the same time, I had always gravitated toward doing things my own way, toward not giving in to everyone’s expectations.

Yet, there were patterns to life. That was simply a truth, one that I had recognized at a young age, had grasped onto as a steadying force even as my world spun around me. There was chaos and then there were patterns, and even chaos was part of a grander plan.

This moment, this weekend in the middle of this strange summer, was chaos. My feelings for Daniel—chaos.

But the pattern? The grander plan?

“Daniel!” A leggy, breezy blonde in a nearly diaphanous layer of turquoise cotton approached us, her hands outstretched. Daniel let her take his as they exchanged cheek-to-cheek air kisses. “When Gretchen told me you were coming, I hardly believed it. But then Adele had her housekeeper confirm.”

“Should you really be admitting the lengths you go to for information, Stacia?” Daniel chided with a laugh, pulling away. “But here, let me introduce you to—”

“Ah, the sculptress!” Stacia exclaimed, reaching for my hands. “Gretchen warned me that Daniel would have a date.” I noticed that these words were said for Daniel’s benefit as Stacia was glancing at him flirtatiously out of the corners of her eyes.

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Stacia,” I said, stepping back from the kisses. “I’m Emily. You have a lovely home.”

Stacia laughed. “Yes, well, that’s why I am trying to keep it. Maybe Daniel can convince my soon–to-be ex-husband to stop being a cheapskate on top of a philandering ass. Anyway, I’m so glad