‘Forgive me,’ she said, giving me a look that assured me she’d be frowning if she were physically able. ‘I’m terrible with names. Have we met before?’

‘I don’t think so.’ To my credit, my voice was only slightly squeaky. ‘This is my first time at the ball.’

‘How exciting! Who are you here with?’

‘It’s just me.’ I fanned myself with my cushion cover clutch. ‘I’m here on my own.’

‘Excuse me, ladies.’

It was the security guard. With an audible gulp, I looked around for the quickest route of escape, but there wasn’t one.

‘Would either of you happen to be a Ms de Winter?’

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck.

‘Genevieve Orensen,’ the woman replied, holding out her hand as the security guard looked at me, clearly unsure as to whether he was supposed to shake it, kiss it, or pull her into tango. ‘And this is …’

‘I’m—’ Both of them looked at me expectantly as I realized giving my real name was a terrible idea. ‘Francesca. Anne.’ Why was I such a crappy liar when it actually mattered? Francesca Anne was my literal name. ‘Francesca Anderson,’ I finished finally. ‘I’m Francesca Anderson.’

It was good enough.

‘Have either of you seen Ms de Winter?’ the guard asked, not giving a fig about my clearly nonsense pseudonym.

‘The name isn’t familiar,’ Genevieve replied. ‘And I know everyone. Except you, Francesca dear.’

‘Oh, Genevieve,’ I said, laughing too loudly. ‘You’re always such a card.’

‘Please enjoy your evening,’ the guard said with a small bow and a frustrated huff. Genevieve looked at me, more than a little confused.

‘Well, I must be off,’ I said. ‘Lovely to meet you—’

But before I could escape, a short, slender man with altogether too much hair and a black silk fedora perched precariously on top of it took the guard’s place, scooping up my companion’s hand for a mealy-mouthed kiss.

‘Genevieve, there you are, what an exceptional gown,’ he cooed. ‘Stephen?’

Underneath her dense makeup, Genevieve’s cheeks turned pink. ‘Andrew, you recognize it from Paris,’ she gushed. ‘Have you met Francesca?’

‘Not yet,’ he said, turning his greedy eyes on to me. I balked as he picked up my hand and pressed his dry lips against it, forcing myself to smile in the name of politeness. ‘Andrew Jergens.’

‘Francesca Anderson,’ I said, withdrawing my hand and subtly wiping it against the back of my skirt. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘Anderson, Anderson, Anderson.’ He said my name over and over while he stared up into my face. ‘Are you the one who just married Voss Anderson?’

‘God, no,’ I replied without thinking. ‘Is that even a real name?’

Andrew and Genevieve both burst out laughing.

‘He won’t like that one bit,’ he replied before pulling an obnoxiously large vape pen out of his pocket and taking a heavy drag. ‘So tell us, Francesca Anderson, how did you come to be here this evening? I thought I knew every name on the guest list. You know I helped Carden put it together? We’ve tried to change things up a bit this year.’