"You look so pretty, Mom," Jordyn told Autumn as they stood in front of the bathroom mirror. Jordyn reached up and brushed an invisible speck of fluff off of her mother's shoulder.

Autumn's mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. "I'm not going to the party to stand out," she reminded her daughter. "I'm there to serve blood cake and cookies to Corbin's rich friends."

Jordyn snorted and fixed one of her mother's ringlets. "Well, you'll look good doing it."

Autumn studied her reflection in the mirror. A maid had brought over the dress a few hours ago, which left little time to make alterations if needed. It was a sleek black number with a slight, off-the-shoulder style, a sweetheart neckline, and a tasteful, ruffled bottom that didn't make Autumn feel like she was trying to relive her teenage years. Simple, elegant, and unassuming—perfect for a woman serving desserts and pastries in a corner.

There was, however, one embellishment—one Autumn was hesitant to put on: a slim, silver chain that looped around her waist. She had a funny feeling that those tiny links were expensive.

"Here," Jordyn said, lifting the chain from its box. Before Autumn could protest, her daughter put it on. "Now, that really makes the dress."

Autumn snorted and shook her head. She'd thank Corbin later, but she had no intention of keeping them. Whatever they had going on, it was too early for these kinds of gifts.

Glancing down at her watch, Autumn noticed that it was time to head up to the mansion. The party didn't start until 8 PM, but she needed to be there by 5 to help the catering staff set up her station.

"Grab my flats, would you?" she asked Jordyn. As the teen darted into Autumn's bedroom to retrieve her shoes, Autumn took one last look in the mirror. Her chestnut hair was gathered over one shoulder at Jordyn's assistance; make-up simple and clean, with no bright lipstick or winged eyeliner.

"Here." Jordyn tossed the shoes at Autumn's feet.

"Thanks," Autumn said, ruffling Jordyn's hair. "Now, remember—"

Jordyn laughed. "Dinner is in the fridge, keep the doors locked and my bedroom door open."

"And make sure you have your phone by you," Autumn added with a semi-serious wag of her finger.

"Yes, Mom."

"C'mere, kid." Autumn reached out and grabbed her daughter, hugging her tight. She kissed the top of her head. "Don't miss me too much."

Jordyn snickered and wrinkled her nose. Grabbing her purse, Autumn slipped on the flats and went downstairs. Locking the cottage door behind her, she slowly walked up the drive to the mansion. Over the last few days, she'd noticed a dozen or more sleek black cars with tinted windows arriving at Corbin's house. On the nights Corbin joined her and Jordyn for dinner and a movie, he appeared increasingly agitated. When Autumn gently inquired about what was bothering him, he flashed a tight grin and said he would only be happy when this whole party was over.

The guests kept mostly to the mansion, but Autumn did catch one or two pausing at the top of the rise and peering down at the cottage. Would you look at that—a poor person! she imagined them saying.

All the lights in the main house were on as Autumn walked up the front steps. Benjamin the footman met her at the door. Large vases filled with white roses, lilies, and tulips graced every flat surface. She was amazed at how quickly the staff had transformed the place. It didn't look like any trace of Corbin's log cabin décor remained.

"This way, Ms Milford," Benjamin said, gesturing towards the left side of the staircase. Across the foyer, Autumn noticed that the ballroom doors were wide open; from what she could see, the theme was apparently red and silver: red table cloths and chairs with silver vases, flowers, and table settings. Appropriate, given the blood she'd baked into their desserts. Staff members hustled back and forth, setting up tables and making last-minute arrangements.

"Right through here," Benjamin said, indicating a tall oak door.

Autumn thanked him and let herself into the kitchen. A team of four cooks, one sous chef, and one head chef were already busy preparing the first course, so she carefully dodged frying pans, sharp knives, and tenderizers to get to the back where her desserts waited on tall, rolling racks. With the help of two servers, Autumn pushed the racks into the ballroom and spent the time leading up to the party carefully arranging every single treat.

The desserts containing blood were placed on the left side of the table, on a towering four-tiered antique silver tray. Cake pops at the top, cookies, slices of red velvet cake, finally chocolate sponge with candied blood orange peel at the bottom. On the right was another four-tiered tray with lemon bars, lemon cookies, blood orange layer cake, and double-chocolate cupcakes with a sweet vanilla center. And finally, out in front were cannolis (regular shells and chocolate ones), chocolate chip cookies, and four kinds of danishes (cherry cheesecake, cheese, blackberry, and apple pie).

Just looking at them all arranged on the table made Autumn feel tired. Days (and nights) of baking, tweaking, and stressing out had led to this moment. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the little stack of hand-written signs Jordyn had created and began labeling each item. Then, finally, she placed a wooden holder with her business cards off to the side—visible, but not intrusive.

All done.

Now all she had to do was head back to the kitchen and wait for dinner to be over—whenever that would be. She had no idea how long this party would last, but Corbin did ask that she stay for the whole event. Technically, she was still on the payroll, so she was obligated to remain. But she was also quite curious about the party that had Corbin so stressed he was practically vibrating.

"Here," said Petra Sadowski, head chef and owner of the catering company Corbin had hired. Autumn looked up from her little seat at the back of the kitchen.

"Oh, thank you," she said as Petra set down a small portion of beef tenderloin with a demi-glace reduction, lemon-roasted carrots, and fragrant jasmine rice. If this was the pauper's portion, she couldn't wait to see what the servers brought the guests.

"There's seltzer in the mini-fridge," Petra told Autumn before returning to her duties.

Autumn thanked her again. Now, all she had to do was wait—and eat. Autumn took her first bite and smiled; gee, waiting wasn't so bad.

------------

Precisely at 8 PM, a bell rang. It was so loud Autumn heard it above the din of the kitchen, with its clanging pots and pans, shouting cooks, and general controlled chaos. Petra heard it too because she started encouraging her staff to finish the first course quickly.

Getting up from her chair by the door, Autumn stood on tip-toes to peer out the small window. About thirty people began filing into the ballroom, each one of them expertly dressed. The men wore sleek, tailored black suits, and the women wore ...well, clothes that were often seen on the red carpet: long, slinky gowns; tight, body-hugging dresses that came to mid-thigh; gowns with capes; and gowns trimmed with fur. There was also no shortage of jewelry on display: tiaras, necklaces, bangles, clunky watches, and earrings. Rich intellectuals, indeed.

But the one person Autumn didn't see was Corbin.

She tried to find him, but with every man in black, it was difficult—especially once everyone was seated. The serving staff entered the kitchen and Autumn was thrust against the far wall as plates began to flow out the door.

And they continued to flow. Autumn couldn't believe her eyes—did every one of Corbin's fellow society members have his appetite? Course after course left the kitchen like ants on a mission; there was so much food that Autumn couldn't take it anymore and pulled out her cell phone to send some long-overdue texts to her best friend Marnie.

At some point during dinner, she heard Corbin speaking, but couldn't quite make out what was being said over the clanging in the kitchen. Her mouth twitched in a small smile. Well, at least he ended up making it to his own party.

Almost two hours later, she felt a tap on her shoulder. "You're up," Petra said, looking positively exhausted.

Autumn didn't blame her. There must have been ten courses.

"Get some rest," Autumn told Petra, standing up and patting her shoulder. Petra flashed a wan smile, pulled off her toque, and trudged out of the kitchen.

After briefly checking her reflection in a silver tray, Autumn brushed off her dress, grabbed her purse, and stepped into the ballroom. Beyond the tiny window, the extravagance on display was incredible. She was almost blinded by the light reflecting off of all the jewelry like a flock of miniature disco balls.

Sliding her purse beneath the table, Autumn pulled on a pair of black plastic gloves, grabbed a pair of tongs ... and waited.

Trying to remain inconspicuous, she let her eyes gradually wander the room. That was when she noticed something she hadn't been able to clearly see from the kitchen window: every single one of the guests was either incredibly handsome or beautiful. The men were movie-star perfect and the women could put the most high-paid model to shame.

Why is everyone here so goddamn good-looking? Autumn wondered, trying to keep her jaw from dropping. Holy shit.

As if sensing her eyes on them, a couple of Corbin's society friends turned in her direction. Autumn immediately lowered her head, fiddled with her gloves, and poked a cannoli with the tip of her tongs. Stay professional, Autumn, she told herself.

Free of the kitchen noise, she caught snatches of their conversations. Just as Corbin had said, they mostly revolved around philosophy, politics, finance, and ... theoretical physics? Autumn just shook her head.

"So, you're the pastry chef."

Autumn glanced up sharply. A short, but graceful woman in her mid-thirties stood in front of her, gloved hands demurely clasped together. Heavy dark blonde hair was piled high on her head and styled with intricate braids; a sapphire and diamond tiara perched among the curls. Her pale blue dress left her flawless shoulders bare.

There was something strangely familiar about this woman, Autumn thought. Why did she feel as if she'd seen her before?

"Hello!" she greeted, turning on a smile and grabbing a plate. "What would you like?"

The woman's pale pink lips pursed as her sharp eyes perused the table. "What do you recommend?"

So, she was Russian. But was she an actress or former figure skater?

"Well, I stand by everything I made," Autumn told her, gesturing with the tongs, "but my personal favorite are the lemon cookies."

"I'll take five lemon cookies and a slice of that chocolate sponge."

Autumn dutifully loaded her plate and reached beneath the table to grab a bowl of extra candied blood orange peel. After sprinkling the candied peel over the sponge cake and placing a fork on the side, she handed the plate over to the woman. "Enjoy."'

The Russian woman lifted an elegant eyebrow, lips pursed. "We shall see." Turning gracefully, she walked across the room, leaving Autumn mentally shaking her head. This was going to be a long night.