I arrive at the sweeping entrance of the country club. The driver opens the door for me, and I step out, sighing internally. This isn't my first time at such elite events, but it's definitely the first time I'm here pretending to be someone's wife. I tuck my hair behind my ear, adjusting the lie I wear as easily as my blue halter dress, and walk into the exclusive club.
I approach the reception desk. The young woman working there smiles, perhaps a little too happily. "Hello, Miss. May I please have your membership card?"
I'm momentarily confused. Membership card? Seeing my reaction, the woman's smile falters slightly. "Oh, perhaps you have a reservation?"
I can only conclude that this is a membership-only type of club. "Yes, I am meeting Mrs. Vastano. Can you please help me?"
The woman's smile disappears completely. "Um, Ma'am, I am sorry, but you would have to call Mrs. Vastano to send someone to pick you up."
I instantly know she's making things difficult for me. Not because she wants to, but because someone else is making her. A quick call must have gone out, a little speed bump planted by an unknown rival. I truly miss my simple life.
"Okay, no problem," I say smoothly. I take out my phone and dial Secretary Seth's number. It's not that I couldn't call Vega. I just don't want to interact with him unless absolutely necessary.
Seth's voice comes through the phone, hesitant and immediately on edge. "Madam, how—how may I help you?"
"I'm at the place," I tell Seth, keeping my voice low and even, "but they won't let me in."
Just then, I hear the sound of someone screaming on the other side of the call. My brows furrow. "Is everything okay there?" I ask, alarmed.
"Ye-yes," Seth stammers out. "It's just the TV."
"Well, tell Vega that if he wants me to do this, he should plan ahead," I snap, feeling the injustice of being stuck at the desk.
Vega's voice suddenly blasts through the receiver, cold and sharp. "Are you saying I'm disorganized?"
I'm startled. I just left him at home! How are those two together right now?
"Next time you have a problem, call me, not Seth," Vega instructs, completely ignoring my confusion. "It's faster to solve problems that way."
"Sure," I reply, but my tone clearly says, You wish.
"Give them the phone."
I hand the device to the young woman at the desk. She's confused at first, but her face begins to turn pale the longer she stays on the call. The color drains completely from her cheeks.
She holds the phone away from her ear. "Yes, Sir," she says, her voice barely a whisper. With the phone still in her hand, she bows her head. "I am so sorry, Mrs. Vastano. I was sadly mistaken," her voice is brittle.
I see the tears welling up in her eyes. "It's okay, no need to apologize," I tell her quickly.
"Yes, Sir," she repeats into the phone and quickly hands it back to me.
I take the phone back and immediately cut the call, not waiting for another word from Vega. The young woman at the desk stares at me, her eyes wide with shock.
"What, what's wrong?" I ask, noticing her stunned expression.
"It's just," she stammers, "Mr. Vastano said to give the phone back to you as he wanted to speak to you."
I wave my hand dismissively. "He probably wanted to say some nonsense."
The woman's shock is quickly replaced by a fleeting, intrigued look. "Please follow me," she says, regaining her composure.
I follow her through grand hallways that whisper of old money and power. We stop in front of massive double doors. She opens the door and stands aside for me to enter. "Thanks," I say, and walk in.
The door shuts behind me, and I'm instantly in awe. The hall is bathed in the soft glow of morning light, and the elegant venue exudes luxury and charm. A grand table takes center stage, adorned with delicate floral arrangements, gleaming teacups, and ornate table settings that whisper refinement.
To one side, side tables brim with an irresistible spread of sweet and savory delights. Macarons in pastel hues, frosted cupcakes, flaky danishes, and bite-sized hors d'oeuvres arranged like edible jewels. The room opens onto sweeping views of the private club's manicured golf course, where a gentle breeze drifts in.
A polished bar stands nearby, stocked and ready to serve. At the main table, six women, poised and radiant, are already seated. Their laughter, sharp and melodic, mingles with the scent of fresh blooms and morning air.
The moment I walk in, they all stop speaking. Six sets of eyes, all assessing, all judging, are focused entirely on me.
I recognize no one here except for the matriarch, Vega's grandmother, who sits regally at the center. This is our first official meeting, and I can feel the weight of their collective scrutiny.
I walk over, forcing a confident stride, and politely greet them. Most of them have on looks of disdain, their noses practically twitching. Others are simply amused, treating me like a spectacle, and the rest are purely snobbish, their posture radiating superiority.
Fuck, I swear internally, wondering exactly what kind of gilded cage I've signed up for. I mostly grew up around men and have certainly never dealt with a group of women who so openly disliked me at first sight. This is going to be a first, and hopefully, a last.
Normally, I would have already turned and walked out. I don't tolerate being somewhere I'm clearly not wanted, but I promised Vega. I smile brightly and start. "I am—"
Vega's grandmother cuts me off, her voice like cracking ice. "Late. That's what you are."
I feel shivers down my spine at that stern voice. My composure cracks. I stammer, "S-sorry. There was an incident along the way."
Vega's grandmother pauses, her lips at the rim of her teacup, her eyes fixed on me. She takes a slow sip, then finally says, "Sit."
"Thank you," I say, putting on the most genuine smile I can master. I sit down on the only empty seat available, placing me next to another older woman and a younger woman who is blatantly sizing me up from head to toe.