I could stand outside the Carini mansion all night, staring at it. For an art history major like me, it doesn’t get any better than the Carini mansion. It is full of architecture and structures that simply aren’t built like this anymore. But, as much as I would love to study every inch of the outside, study how every brick was formed and how every vine grew up the front of the building, it’s what is inside that really has me intrigued.

I got the tour of the mansion only yesterday, two days after we arrived, but there was so much more that I wanted to ingrain in my memory forever. So much more that I wanted to know about the history behind every room, every painting, every person who’d ever lived in the Carini mansion.

The mansion’s history alone would be enough for me to skip out on another lecture about the Italian Renaissance and come to the party here to get a chance to soak it all in. But that isn’t why I’m here.

I’m here to get Arlo to want me.

I see the security guard standing at the door, and I panic. I don’t have an invite. There is no reason he should let me into the party. But then I look down at one of the sexiest dresses I have ever worn. Just act like I belong, and there is no way I won’t get in. I’ve been let into parties and bars, wearing clothing that doesn’t reveal anywhere near as much cleavage as this dress.

I walk up the long flight of stairs that lead up to the entrance. I wink at the security guard and then begin walking through the door.

I freeze. The guard’s hand firmly holds on to my shoulder as I move through the door.

“Let me escort you to your seat, Ms. Young,” the guard says, letting go of my shoulder and holding his arm out to me.

My eyes widen when he says my name. I try to smile and act like I belong, but I can’t help myself. I have to know. “How do you know my name? How do I have a seat? I wasn’t invited.”

The man continues to hold his arm out to me and now smiles calmly instead of the serious look that was on his face a moment before. “It’s my job to know who you are. And, as far as being invited or not goes, it’s irrelevant. Mr. Carini said you would come and saved you a seat at the main table.”

I stop blinking. I stop breathing. This can’t be right. This has to be a mistake.

“Arlo made it perfectly clear that I was not supposed to see him again. You must be mistaken,” I say.

“Are you Nina Young?”

I nod.

“Do you want to attend this party tonight or not?”

“I want to attend,” I say hesitantly.

“Then, I’m not mistaken. Mr. Carini said you would come. He saved you a place at the table. Would you like me to escort you to your seat now?” he asks again, growing impatient.

I stare down at the stranger’s arm and then slowly smile. I must have made an impression on Arlo if he knew I would be coming tonight and then saved me a seat.

I finally loop my arm through the guard’s extended bent arm. “Take me to my seat.”

He nods, and then his smile disappears as he starts guiding me through the large entryway and down a long passageway that is filled with paintings I didn’t get to see on my tour of the mansion. I try to focus on keeping my poise, thinking about what I’m going to say when I see Arlo, but the paintings draw my attention. One of the paintings is of a man dressed in clothing from decades ago who looks a lot like Arlo. The next one resembles someone who could be his grandmother. They are all family members. All share a history that is rich in culture and tradition. They all live in Italy. They all have lived inside these walls. All have kept family jobs that the rest of the town either doesn’t know about or doesn’t talk about. I could learn a lot from the paintings. Or at least, I could learn what the painter thought of the family.

But the guard who is walking me to my seat doesn’t seem to know that he should slow down so that I can get a good look at each painting as we walk by. He is set on his mission, and his mission is to get me to my seat as fast as possible.

We get to the end of the hallway when my escort stops abruptly.

He glances at me. “The dinner has already started. Be prepared,” he says as he reaches for the door.

“Be prepared for what?” I ask.

But, before he answers me, the door swings open, and I have hundreds of eyes staring at me.

I swallow, but I don’t have time to panic as I’m guided into the room. It is so silent, I can hear my own heart thumping in my chest despite all the people in the large dining hall. I stare around at all the men and women who are dressed in clothing that is far fancier than what I am wearing. I thought I would be in the sexiest dress here, easily demanding Arlo’s attention, but the clothes the women are wearing are far more revealing.

What I don’t understand is why everyone is staring at me. I didn’t realize that it was a dinner party.

But so what if it is?

What dinner party with this many people cares if one person shows up late?

I expect the escort to stop at any of the tables toward the back, which have a few empty seats, but that is not where I am led. We walk toward a table at the front of the room, which sits high up on a stage where everyone else can see the people sitting at the table.

I feel my face warm as we walk. I’ve embarrassed myself plenty throughout my life. But I’ve never felt so judged by so many people at once. It seems the entire town has turned up for this party. It’s a rather small town, I’ve learned since coming here. One in which everyone knows everyone else’s business. And I’m sure that this moment will be the talk of the town tomorrow. I’m not supposed to be here, and it appears that everyone knows it.

Finally, my escort stops at an empty seat at the far end of the head table. He pulls out my chair, sliding it across the marble floor, and it makes a high-pitched scrape against the floor. I wince. And then I quickly take my seat, hoping the moment will finally stop.

“Thank you,” I say in barely a whisper, but my escort is already gone.

I feel everyone’s eyes around the room slowly leave me—if for no other reason than these people are rich and used to acting polite, and staring for this long is anything but polite. The noise in the room slowly builds to where I’m sure it was before I entered. Loud. But not obnoxiously so. But, while everyone else has returned to eating, everyone seated at my table is staring at me, waiting for me to say something.

“Sorry I’m late,” I say as I look around at the best-dressed people in the room, all dripping in expensive jewelry that is beyond anything I could ever imagine.

Most of the eyes quickly go back to their food, and they begin eating and chatting again. But three sets of eyes remain on me. A young girl of maybe fifteen or sixteen sitting on my left, an older gentleman in his sixties sitting toward the far end of the table, and Arlo, who is sitting three seats down from me.

His eyes are the only ones I care about. I hope to learn everything from him just by looking at him. But his gaze doesn’t tell me anything. He doesn’t seem surprised that I’m here, nor does he seem happy or upset. Just indifferent.

“You must be Nina,” the young woman to my left says.

I nod and smile weakly.

“I’m Gia. My brother said you would be coming and that you would probably be late due to your classes.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Gia. I’m sorry I’m so late. I didn’t realize that it would cause such a break in the meal.”

Gia laughs. “Don’t apologize. It’s just because everyone has been waiting to see the special guest my brother has invited to sit at the family table for dinner tonight.”

I open my mouth to tell her that he didn’t really invite me, but then I stop as a delicious plate of pasta is placed in front of everyone. I’m sure I missed the first few courses, and for that, I will forever regret being late because just the smell of the pasta is enough for me to forget about anything other than how hungry I am.

I dig in without thinking, shoveling the glorious pasta into my mouth. I moan when the buttery, creamy sauce hits my tongue. It’s the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. I shovel another bite into my mouth and then another after that, not able to get enough.

A throat clears next to me, and I stop. I feel the liquid spill down my lip, but I’m too embarrassed to wipe it away.

I look up and see more than a dozen eyeballs staring at me. I’ve caught the attention of the entire table. Again. I feel my cheeks burn as some of the richest and most powerful people in the city stare at me while Alfredo sauce drips down my face. I quickly grab my napkin, and I wipe my lip and chin before trying to muster a smile onto my face.

I hear Gia giggle softly to my left, and I try to let her joy fill me instead of the disgust that everyone else has on their faces. But her laughter isn’t enough to overcome my own shame.

A few more seconds pass before people at the table return to eating their meals in perfect precision, almost as if they were performing a dance. I finally chance a glance up across the table to see what Arlo thinks of me, only to find him gone. I sink back in my chair even though I know that my bad posture will be enough to get a couple of disgusted looks from others at the table.

“My brother never stays long at these dinners,” Gia says.

“Where did he go?” I ask.

Gia shrugs and then takes another bite of her pasta.

I glance around the room filled with beautiful people, including more than enough handsome men my age who I could spend one night with. But none of them are what I want.

“Excuse me,” I say, getting up from my chair.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

I don’t bother answering her. She seems like a smart girl who is fully capable of figuring out where I’m going. And, if I tell her, all she’s going to do is try to stop me.

I’m sure that everyone’s eyes are on me again as I storm out of the dining hall, but I don’t stop to look. My entire focus is on Arlo. And how I’m going to try to find him despite the fact that I’m sure there are guards throughout the mansion to prevent unwanted guests like me from entering the private spaces. Not to mention, there are over fifty rooms in this house, and it’s either going to take an extreme chance of luck for me to find Arlo or take all night for me to search through all the rooms.

But surely he would want to be found by me? He made sure I had a seat at his table. He wants me.

When we were getting the tour, we were only granted permission to about a dozen or so of the rooms. I’m going to assume he is not in any of those, so when I get back to the hallway that I know leads me toward the main areas of the house, I take a right instead of a left. Down a much darker hallway that isn’t lit up, meant to be as uninviting as possible.

I walk past door after door. I don’t stop to look inside any of the rooms, even the ones that have lights on and voices inside. I take a left and then a right as I feel myself getting closer to Arlo. I don’t know how I know where to go. Call it a sixth sense, intuition, or chance. Maybe it is plain dumb luck. Call it whatever you want, but when my feet stop automatically in front of a set of double wooden doors, I know that Arlo is behind it. Knocking would be the proper thing to do, but I’ve never been about doing the proper thing. And I know my chances with Arlo are slim. This might even be my last chance with him. I need to surprise him, throw him off guard.

I hear music pumping mildly behind the closed doors. It’s not the quiet, classical stuff that was playing downstairs, but it’s not a song I recognize either. Something fast. Pop music with a little bit of rock. I take a deep breath, trying to slow the pounding in my heart that matches the speed of the music, but it does nothing. The music, if anything, entices me further, making me want him more. Making me want to fuck Arlo to this very song.

I grab both handles of the closed doubled doors, push down on the levers, and then swing the doors wide open.

My heart jumps in my chest when I see Arlo. My eyes glow with lust, and I feel my panties soak.

I should be shocked at what I see. I should gasp or blush or run away. But, instead, I’m just incredibly turned on.

Arlo doesn’t widen his eyes or even raise an eyebrow when he sees me. He looks at me like I belong in his doorway. Maybe he put a spell on me that led me directly to his door. He’s sitting in a fancy chair that looks like a throne. His shirt is unbuttoned, letting me see every ripple of muscle on his chest down to the V that hides his cock beneath his tux pants. His eyes are fixated on me. I have no idea how I can be capturing any of his attention when he has three almost naked women around him with their hands all over his body. Their lips kissing and worshipping every inch of him. Their bodies willingly providing a very seductive show, only for him.

I force my eyes to tear from his and really look at the women surrounding him. Two are blondes with fair skin. One rather curvy, the other as thin as a rail. The third woman has jet-black hair and skin darker than night, her curves sitting somewhere in the middle of the other two. It doesn’t seem that he has a type.

None of the women care that I intruded on them. In fact, they act like I’m not even here. One continues kissing Arlo while another dances over his lap, and the third kisses his neck.

They don’t look like strippers or hookers to me. They look happy, like their purpose is to please Arlo.

It’s just a guess though. Arlo could be paying them. But by the jewels on their necks and dripping off their ears, the lace covering their bras, and the fancy dresses draped over various furniture in the room, they seem to come from their own wealth. Or Arlo pays his hookers like queens.

I take a second to decide my next move. No one has kicked me out, but no one has invited me in either. Other than Arlo’s intense gaze still locked on me, I might as well not be here.

But I have to decide. Do I want to turn away and take my chances at getting him alone by myself, or do I join them now and share him with three other women?

Both.

I’ll join in on the fun now and try to get him on my own later.

I take a step forward, and then I close the doors behind me. When I turn back, his eyes are still on me.

This is going to be too easy, I think.

I reach behind me and find the zipper on my dress, quickly pulling it down. I slip my arms out of the straps and let the dress slink down my body. I shimmy it over my hips before it falls to pile on the floor. I step out of the dress and start walking toward Arlo.

I’ve never had a threesome before, let alone a fivesome or whatever this is. But I don’t lack confidence when it comes to my body or sex. And, from the hint of surprise in Arlo’s eyes when I stepped out of the dress, I know that he appreciates my body, too.

I walk forward until I reach the blond, who is still dancing in Arlo’s lap. I grab her hand, and I move my body close to hers until I’m rubbing up against her, dancing with her in front of Arlo. His eyes intensify even more, but he still doesn’t say anything. I turn to the blond and put a finger under her chin. I pull her toward me, off Arlo’s lap so that I can trade places with her. And then I firmly kiss her on the lips, letting our tongues tangle together and then slowly part. I keep my eyes on Arlo, showing him what I plan on doing to him when I get my turn with him.

When I stop the kiss, I see that Arlo is deeply frowning at me. I smile. Maybe he does really want me all to himself. I move from the blond and toward Arlo, facing him as I climb up onto his lap. I hover my lips over his, prepared to tease him first until he’s begging me to kiss him.

A second later though, I feel my body being slammed against the wall across the room with Arlo firmly holding on to my arm with one hand. He holds on to my chin with his other hand as he stares at me, breathing hard.

I bite my lip to keep from smiling.

He wants me all to himself, I think.

“Excuse me, ladies. I have to deal with some business,” Arlo says. Not bothering to look at them as he drags me through another door and into a dark room.

“I knew you wanted me,” I say.

Arlo throws me into the room, releasing my arm as he does. I fall to the cold tiled floor, off-balance from my heels and the force he used to push me inside.

He leaves the lights off, but I can still make him out as he walks back to the door.

“You have no idea what I want,” he says matter-of-factly before shutting the door.

Then, I hear the door lock.

I slowly get off the floor, feeling my hands around until I find cabinets. I pull myself up and find a sink, mirror, shower, and toilet. I move in the dark until I find the door, but the knob doesn’t budge.

That motherfucker locked me in the bathroom with no clothes.

I can already hear him grunting and moaning with the women outside while I’m trapped, listening to him fuck other women. I’m no longer sure that he’s going to come back and fuck me after.

That bastard.