Page 3 of Taken By Taurus

Quan rolls out a mirror and beams at me, clapping their hands. “I’m an actual genius,” they say.

The dress is elaborate and sexy, with twists of fabric where it cinches at the waist. The neckline dips to show more cleavage than I ever have in my life before, and it clings to my hips. I imagine winking at my friends when I walk off the plane in that dress.

The makeup emphasizes real cheekbones that look healthy and flushed. And my tits have been weaponized.

I look hot. And it only took four hours, I think wryly. The newly confident part of me slaps that down. I haven’t had a good look at myself for years, and my friends were right - I needed a makeover. When this is over, I’m going to keep some of these grooming tips, and hopefully some of this self esteem.

Tears sting my eyes as Quan comes over and waves their hands at me. “No crying. Your mascara will run. Suck it up, princess.” They blow air into my eyes and I open them wide. Then they hand me a champagne-colored masquerade mask and some sparkling flats.

“The final touches,” they say, and they help me tie the mask on as I slip into the flats. The mask is surprisingly comfortable. Any doubts about who organized this are gone - my friends know I hate heels.

Quan waits until I’m done, then snaps an ‘after’ picture. They show me the picture and swipe back to the ‘before’ shot. It’s strange, now I’ve seen the result, I don’t think I look so bad in the before shot.

“This is going to blow up,” they say. “But only with your permission?” They look at me with wide eyes and I nod a yes, and give them a hug, trying not to smudge my makeup. It’s the least I can do to thank them.

I’m led back to the seat across from Kent Edwards for touch down. His eyes widen when he looks at me, and I notice his gaze doesn’t stray as I strap in. It’s pretty firmly glued to my cleavage.

He whistles. “You clean up nice,” he drawls, and I’m shocked that he sounds sleazy. My stomach tumbles with excitement, but I don’t blush - I’m remembering Tamara’s words.

I’m not the smart-mouthed sidekick tonight. I’m the main event. Besides, the new me is still too celebrity struck to hope at decent conversation, so I go for the quiet and mysterious type.

I smile at him politely and gaze out the window to get a look at the island we’re fast approaching. I can’t wait until my friends see me.

Chapter three

The Maze

My brother and friends aren’t there when I step off the plane. The weather is beautiful - warm, but with a fresh, ocean breeze. The sun is low, but it’s not quite sunset. My phone says it’s 5pm.

We’re at a private landing strip, a short drive from the main house. If you can call it a house - it’s more like a hotel, with rolling grounds I can’t see the end of.

The grounds throw up more questions. My brother would have had to come into a lot of money for this to happen.

Kent and I are ushered into the back of a spacious limousine together. The flight attendant tells me the staff from the plane will meet me at the house later.

I’m so nervous at being crushed into the car with Kent I stare out the window. He takes his guitar out and strums it, crooning one of my favorite songs softly. The sound gets under my skin, causing me tingles.

I swallow, and my gaze drifts over to him. He’s staring right at me, singing “She was everything I’d ever dreamed…” I hold my breath, and he smiles. “You must be something special to be the honored guest,” he says.

“I have excellent friends,” I say, a little stiffly. At this point I have no idea who’s throwing this party.

“Nice to be loved,” he says, and the Southern drawl in his accent sounds strong. He looks at me with a touch of melancholy in his gaze, and I find myself unable to look away.

Maybe all my luck in love has been biding its time until this moment. To hook up with Kent freaking Edwards.

The car rolls to a stop before I can take that thought further.

“Looks like we’re here,” Kent says, and the door opens. We’re not at the house yet. I’m helped out of the car, and need a hand from the chauffeur in my tight dress while Kent puts his guitar away behind me. We’re at the entrance to a hedge maze.

It rises to about eight feet, a wall of green with an entrance and a sign. About twenty other partygoers mingle around in masks, waiting to go in.

I don’t recognise anyone, which causes my stomach to do little flip-flops.

A man in a butler’s uniform stands stiffly before the entrance to the maze, and there are servers walking around giving out champagne glasses. The distant sounds of a string quartet come from inside the maze.

The chauffeur is young and speaks in clipped and professional British tones. “The car will go on and take your things to the main house. The party is in the maze. Please make your way through to the center,” he says. I’m counting the staff now. There are so many of them - this is insanely expensive.

I decide to leave my overnight bag in the car, but I grab my phone. There’s no reception, but I hold on to my phone, anyway.