Margie with their eyes. “We can go into the party now that your inhibitions are all lowered,” Margie said, wiggling her fingers at the men.
“What? No!” Chantal slapped her friend’s hand down, something she wouldn’t have done if she was sober. “I can’t go in there. I want to go home and eat my Moo Shu pork which is now cold.”
Margie snorted before throwing her head back in a laugh. “No way, lady. We’re going into that masquerade, and we’re going to have a good time.”
“You’re too bossy. That’s not what I want.”
“Well, it’s what I want. I didn’t think we would actually get to stay, but Kristoff and Oleg want to hang out.” Margie eyed her companions hungrily. “I’d say you can have one, but I think I’m about to get myself into an interesting situation.” She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and Chantal blushed so fiercely, she felt her face heating.
“Go on without me?” That was breaking the friend code, she knew, but Chantal definitely felt out of place.
“No way! You look amazing, and you never do anything fun. You create all these cool dresses for other people to live it up. Tonight is your turn.” Margie hooked her arm in Chantal’s and walked her over to Kristoff and Oleg. “Come on, boys. Let’s party!”
It wasn’t fair.
As soon as they crossed into the ballroom, Margie went off with her pair of suitors, leaving Chantal alone.
That’s not what wasn’t fair.
Nope.
What had her all up in a tizzy was the very intense party she had walked into. People were making out and possibly doing other things in every darkened corner of the room. Chantal wasn’t a prude, but she also didn’t fully understand what she had walked into. Jeremy’s explanations of these parties didn’t entirely cover everything.
On a whim, and to cut through the awkwardness, she grabbed a drink from one of the passing waiters and downed the champagne in a gulp.
It wasn’t her best idea, but the buzz from the first two glasses had quickly worn off when she had seen what kind of masquerade she had walked into. Chantal slid along the back wall, looking for a quiet place to gather her thoughts. She couldn’t leave Margie alone, even though her best friend seemed to be enjoying herself immensely. Both of the men took turns spinning her around the room while Margie giggled like a schoolgirl.
What would that be like, Chantal wondered. Not only to be desired and pursued, but to be so wholly carefree? To let her whims carry her through? Pursuing a career as a designer was whimsical, but it was hard work. Chantal couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t been bogged down by her own dream’s self-doubts.
It was all so damn crippling. Chantal watched Margie and wished something she would never say out loud. She wanted to be desired and spun around. She wanted to be carefree and playful for once.
She knew she was unlikely to ever get the chance.
Gwen had been right. There was a severe lack of hope in her life. She hoped for a career and success, but never for more. Paolo had done a number on her, she surmised, sipping at her champagne.
Chantal pressed herself into the wall. She was planning on rushing to Margie with an emergency as soon as the song ended. Margie could choose to stay, but Chantal had to get the hell away.
Then her attention was taken by Gwen, who was making a grand entrance into the ballroom. The white of the dress and the sequins made her shine like a star in the room. The reaction was immediate. Conversations ended, the music sputtered for one tiny second, and a man rushed toward her.
Chantal watched how the dress's material flowed across the dance floor. Gwen was led into a waltz by, no doubt, Rocco, the would-be fiancé. Seeing the dress move through the dance sparked something inside her. Her fingers twitched for a notepad where she could sketch out a dress. She didn’t want to look away for fear of losing her inspiration.
It wasn’t just one gown that had popped into her head, but a whole line. Her spine and brain were lit up with creative energy that she simply didn’t want to lose. It was more dizzying than champagne, but twice as much fun.
In her head, Chantal planned out the dresses and the materials and embellishment she would use. Suddenly, the sighs of pleasure and couples in the throes of passion didn’t bother her. If this