The Bride Goes Rogue (The Fifth Avenue Rebels #3)(9)

Fuck you, Preston. You ignored me for months. Don’t try to act like you care.

Forrest’s angry words, uttered during his short stay at Preston’s Adirondack lodge, came roaring back. Preston would need to sell the lodge, because it was now just a bleak reminder of the entire awful experience, his failure to save his friend. “I should’ve tried harder,” he said. “I tried to lock him in and clean him up, but I thought we had more time to get through to him.”

Except there hadn’t been more time. Forrest was too hell-bent on destroying himself, and Preston realized life was far more fleeting than he’d thought. It was fragile, an existence built on matchsticks that might collapse at any moment.

He, of all people, should’ve known this. Hadn’t he spent the last five years rebuilding his father’s lost empire?

“We all thought we had time,” Kit said. “Christ, I was the last one to see him alive. Why did I leave him alone that night? Why didn’t I take him out of that shithole boardinghouse?”

“You didn’t know what was happening. I did. I knew and I still didn’t try hard enough.”

“Dash it, Pres.” Kit rubbed his temples as if he had a blistering headache. “This is not helpful for either of us.”

True, but Preston hadn’t figured out how to ease the grief.

“I apologize,” he said, rising. “I’ve ruined your night. I should’ve gone home after the office.”

“Fuck off, you haven’t ruined a thing. And I think you should stay. If drinking is off the table, we could, I don’t know, raid the kitchen and finish off whatever Alice has left in there.”

Preston collected his derby. “Take your wife home, Kit. Enjoy the rest of your evening. Forget I came by.”

“Preston—”

The concern in Kit’s voice caused Preston to hold up a hand. “I’m fine. Honestly. I’ll go to the French Ball, have a great time and everything will go back to exactly how it was before.”





Chapter Four




Katherine paused and pulled on the hem of her very short skirts. “Do I look ridiculous?”

“Will you stop? You look unbelievably gorgeous.” Nellie grabbed Katherine’s hand and looked her over from head to toe. “The men are going to swallow their tongues. Probably some women, too. Who knew you were hiding such a fabulous set of gams under your skirts?”

They resumed walking toward Madison Square Garden’s entrance. To avoid recognition, they decided to powder their hair and wear masks. Katherine was Madame de Pompadour, with wide but very short skirts and white tights, while Nellie was supposed to be Marie Antoinette. Only, her friend looked more like a Bowery chorus girl with her corset and undergarments showing.

Nellie slipped her arm through Katherine’s and locked their elbows. “How are the plans for the art exhibition coming?”

“Very well, actually. It’s much easier than I thought.”

“Only because you are the most organized person I know. No doubt your love of art helps, as well.”

“I’ve decided to include some unknown local artists, too. I had no idea there were so many.”

“It’s good that you’re helping them. The galleries can be difficult and snooty. The owners generally only want to display the bigger names, the paintings they know will sell for a lot of money.”

Surprised, Katherine glanced over at her friend. “You have a rather keen insight into a struggling artist’s mind.”

“I had an affair with one last year,” Nellie answered. “He was gorgeous but couldn’t paint to save his life. I bought six of his paintings, if you’re interested in seeing them.”

“Six! Goodness, he must have been worth it.”

“He was, actually. Very tender. Had a poet’s soul.”

The crowds thickened as they approached the entrance. Katherine moved closer to Nellie. “I envy you. Most women would never dream of living the life you do.”

A shadow passed over her friend’s expression, a flash of what appeared like regret. “Not all of it has been fun. I’ve made mistakes, too.”

“Still, what stories you’ll have for when you get older.”

Nellie gave their tickets to the man at the door. “Well, starting tonight, you’ll also have stories for when you get older. Come on.”

Music reverberated off the walls inside, a jaunty tune suited to a dance hall. Costumed revelers streamed every which way, many wearing revealing outfits, everything from court jesters and peacocks, to gods and goddesses. A nearly naked Cleopatra and Marc Antony brushed by her on their way to the main floor. Katherine tried not to gape at seeing so much skin on display in public.

“Stop gawking,” Nellie murmured. “Besides, the good stuff supposedly doesn’t happen until after midnight. Let’s go this way.”

They went into the main hall, which was packed with thousands of people, both on the floor and in the stands surrounding them. A one-hundred-piece orchestra was fashioned at the opposite end of the oval, while dancers covered the floor with their twirls and high kicks. Drawers were shown without hesitation, a flash of lace and thigh every way one turned.

“I feel overdressed,” she shouted as her friend tugged her into the throng of dancers.