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The man smiled at Roth, who appeared at her side. “Mr. Roth.”
Roth nodded as the man bowed to excuse himself and rushed to greet someone who pulled up in an SUV. Jasmine ignored the activity around them and the deafening sound of an ambulance as it careened down Fifth Avenue and looked up. The eight-story brick-and-limestone Trentham Mansion was magnificent. Tonight, every single window was lit up for the festivities. Security in long black overcoats and earpieces guarded the entrance while men in white directed traffic and rushed to ensure the esteemed guests didn’t slip as they stepped onto the heated sidewalk.
Roth grasped her hand and led her toward the mansion. Did he have to hand over an invitation or give his name so they could check it off a list? Roth didn’t slow as they climbed the steps. To her surprise, security gave way and inclined their heads respectfully as if they knew him. Even as she wondered how that was possible, she stepped into an entrance hall that transported her to a different era.
CHAPTER 21
Through an arched doorway was a crowd of fashionably dressed people circulating beneath a massive crystal chandelier. Servers in white tuxes moved through the crush, offering flutes of white wine and champagne. The Gilded Age mansion was true to its name, with tons of gold detailing, intricate carvings, yellow marble, and lions flanking the grand staircase. If it weren’t for the modern dresses, Jasmine could be convinced they’d stepped into a time capsule.
A twinkling Christmas tree that had to be at least twelve feet high stood beside an onyx fireplace. A second story landing allowed people to watch the activity from above or admire the life-size statues, silk tapestries, and regal oil paintings that graced the walls in gold frames.
“Jasmine.”
She tore her eyes from the festivities and focused on Roth. A woman with her hair pulled into a severe bun stood at his side wearing a kind smile.
“Your coat, ma’am.”
When she hesitated, Roth handed her clutch to the staff and began to undo the buttons himself. He held her gaze as he slipped the coat off and handed it over. She self-consciously tugged on her neckline even though it would do nothing to cover her back, which had broken out in goose bumps despite the warm air ruffling her curls. If she’d known what the dress looked like, she would have asked for hair extensions instead of getting a trim, which left her with no natural shield.
The door behind them opened, bringing in a cold blast that made her gasp. A distinguished couple in their fifties entered. The woman had a pleasant smile on her face, which disappeared when she spotted Jasmine. The man at her side gave Jasmine a broad smile and a wink.
“Merry Christmas,” he drawled.
She made a wild grab for her coat, but Roth shuffled her aside so the newcomers could hand over their winter gear. When he ushered her forward, she dug in her heels.
“My clutch!” she hissed.
He gave the tiny bag the attendant was holding a cursory glance before he said, “You won’t need it,” and pulled her forward.
Roth didn’t glance into the rooms to their right or left but strode straight into the crowd. Conversation stuttered as he cut through the loose circles without exchanging pleasantries or acknowledging anyone in his path. She squeezed his hand to get his attention, but he didn’t slow down or look back at her. This wasn’t how anyone should enter any event, much less the Trentham Ball, but Roth was doing things his way and there was nothing she could do about it. She pasted on a gracious smile to hide her chagrin. Was it her imagination, or was everyone looking at them?
Roth reached the staircase and navigated around and between those socializing on the steps. Feeling dozens of eyes on them made her tattoo throb as if she’d just been under the needle. She blocked out the intense scrutiny in favor of taking in her incredible surroundings. The old-world details, painted ceiling, candles flickering in gold candelabras, and artwork that belonged in the Met made her writers’ mind take flight. She tried to imprint as much of this as possible into her memory for future reference.
Once they gained the second story, she saw everyone mingling in front of a ballroom unlike any she’d ever seen. The whole room glittered, as did everyone in it. She’d never seen so much gold in one place. It was palatial and appropriately over-the-top like everything else she had seen thus far. People gave way as Roth forged toward the open double doors that led into the ballroom.
“Isn’t she the one who had the affair?”
A woman’s voice rose above the din, obnoxiously loud and sharp, so she couldn’t miss it.
Her enchantment with her surroundings fractured. She had been studiously avoiding making eye contact with anyone, but as her eyes swept the crowd to locate the woman, she found that it wasn’t her imagination. They were the center of attention. People openly stared, gawked, or glared. She recognized some faces—Mrs. Pearson, the wife of her dad’s business partner who lived at 432 Park Avenue, looked outraged. Whether that was due to her dress or her presence, Jasmine wasn’t sure. There was also Jovan Delgado, one of her father’s cronies. His scornful look, so reminiscent of her father, reactivated memories of being mocked and humiliated at functions like this.
People put their heads together, spreading gossip like wildfire. She heard murmurs of their last names and then the inevitable, “Ford Baldwin.”
The shame she swore she wouldn’t allow herself to feel began to spread like a virus, locking up her muscles so it was hard to move. The feeling of impending doom she’d tried to smother throughout the day engulfed her, taking her breath away.
When Roth tried to step into the ballroom, she yanked her hand out of his. He whirled, his expression impatient and grim, but whatever he saw on her face cleared his instantly. He gathered her against him and sank his fingers into her hair.
“Don’t panic,” he ordered gruffly.
She gripped his jacket as she tried to get a hold of herself. Everything she’d suppressed over the past week geysered up, overwhelming her at the worst possible moment. She couldn’t be falling apart at the Trentham Ball in front of all these people. She was supposed to be playing a sophisticated, untouchable bitch. But they weren’t even five minutes into their performance, and she was fucking up.
Roth backed her into a corner and stood in front of her to block everyone’s view. The edges of her vision blurred as her head swam.
He leaned down and butted his face against hers. “Breathe, princess.”
“I-I’m trying,” she gasped.
“Don’t let them get in your head.”
