been to a lot of Hollywood events—parties, dinners, award shows, fund-raisers—and thought that she had pretty much seen the apex of glam and luxury. She was used to gift bags and haute couture, she’d seen life-sized polar bears carved out of ice (Endangered Wildlife Fund) and A-list movie stars arguing over who would take home the floral centerpieces at the end of the night (apparently, Julia and Reese both really liked orchids), but this, she thought, as she and Sebastian zoomed up the long, sun-dappled roadway towards the polo match, might just eclipse them all.
“This is a private estate?” she said as a perfectly manicured polo field and the huge white tent abutting it loomed into view. “These people actually have their own playing field?”
Sebastian shrugged. “A polo field is just ten acres. They have plenty of room.”
“ Just ten acres?” spluttered Kat. “Do they even play?”
“The husband is an enthusiast.”
“So buy a commemorative T-shirt, then. Who needs an entire polo field?”
Sebastian smiled at her. “Everyone is allowed their hobbies, Katarina.”
“Some hobby,” muttered Kat as Sebastian pulled up onto the circular driveway and tossed the keys to the valet who magically appeared at his car door.
Kat smoothed her dress as she and Sebastian walked toward a line of model-handsome men, all clad in the same uniform of head-to-toe white. They stood at attention, bearing silver trays with flutes of pink champagne. Seb expertly scooped up two glasses and handed one to Kat without breaking stride.
Kat had agonized a bit over what to wear, but finally decided on an ankle-length white cotton sundress and flat sandals. Sebastian had warned her that it would be a rookie mistake to wear a fancy hat—that was horse racing, not polo—and so she just piled up her curls on top of her head and slipped on an enormous pair of Jackie O sunglasses. Looking around at what the rest of the women were wearing, she felt like she’d made a fairly solid choice. All the women drifted around in a sea of pale, billowing, expertly draped fabric, their long, blown-out hair streaming behind them. The younger girls were mainly in short, loose tunics and wedge heels, showing off their tanned and toned legs. And the more mature women tended toward pastel kaftans and floor-length, shoulder-baring sundresses. They all looked cool and casual and nonchalant, even as they were surrounded by the most unimaginable luxury.
Kat glanced over at Sebastian and felt a little thrill of appreciation. The men in attendance looked sharp in their brightly colored pants, striped button-down shirts, and white belts and shoes. But Sebastian was wearing a simple, untucked pale blue linen shirt—open just deeply enough to see a fair-sized triangle of his muscular golden chest—and loose white jeans with light brown loafers. He looked as if he had just wandered off the beach, stumbled upon the party, and decided to stay on a casual whim.
He looked better than any man there, Kat thought, feeling her cheeks flush.
Sebastian took her by the hand and led her into the tent. They weaved through dozens of round white-linen–draped tables set with gleaming china, crystal, and flatware. In the center of every table were silver vases overflowing with soft pink roses and peonies. Glittering chandeliers hung from the roof of the tent, and at the front, in a place of honor, was a life-sized statue of a horse made entirely out of red roses.
There were signs of the various sponsors of the event—the Veuve Clicquot was flowing, a black Bugatti Veyron was parked on the grass in front of the bar (Sebastian whistled when he saw it. “Fastest car in the world,” he said, trailing his finger admiringly over the hood), a display of museum-quality Piaget jewelry was arranged on pedestals up front, as young models—tall, thin, beautiful waifs all wearing white goddess gowns—drifted among the guests, sporting some of the more intricate and costly
“This is a private estate?” she said as a perfectly manicured polo field and the huge white tent abutting it loomed into view. “These people actually have their own playing field?”
Sebastian shrugged. “A polo field is just ten acres. They have plenty of room.”
“ Just ten acres?” spluttered Kat. “Do they even play?”
“The husband is an enthusiast.”
“So buy a commemorative T-shirt, then. Who needs an entire polo field?”
Sebastian smiled at her. “Everyone is allowed their hobbies, Katarina.”
“Some hobby,” muttered Kat as Sebastian pulled up onto the circular driveway and tossed the keys to the valet who magically appeared at his car door.
Kat smoothed her dress as she and Sebastian walked toward a line of model-handsome men, all clad in the same uniform of head-to-toe white. They stood at attention, bearing silver trays with flutes of pink champagne. Seb expertly scooped up two glasses and handed one to Kat without breaking stride.
Kat had agonized a bit over what to wear, but finally decided on an ankle-length white cotton sundress and flat sandals. Sebastian had warned her that it would be a rookie mistake to wear a fancy hat—that was horse racing, not polo—and so she just piled up her curls on top of her head and slipped on an enormous pair of Jackie O sunglasses. Looking around at what the rest of the women were wearing, she felt like she’d made a fairly solid choice. All the women drifted around in a sea of pale, billowing, expertly draped fabric, their long, blown-out hair streaming behind them. The younger girls were mainly in short, loose tunics and wedge heels, showing off their tanned and toned legs. And the more mature women tended toward pastel kaftans and floor-length, shoulder-baring sundresses. They all looked cool and casual and nonchalant, even as they were surrounded by the most unimaginable luxury.
Kat glanced over at Sebastian and felt a little thrill of appreciation. The men in attendance looked sharp in their brightly colored pants, striped button-down shirts, and white belts and shoes. But Sebastian was wearing a simple, untucked pale blue linen shirt—open just deeply enough to see a fair-sized triangle of his muscular golden chest—and loose white jeans with light brown loafers. He looked as if he had just wandered off the beach, stumbled upon the party, and decided to stay on a casual whim.
He looked better than any man there, Kat thought, feeling her cheeks flush.
Sebastian took her by the hand and led her into the tent. They weaved through dozens of round white-linen–draped tables set with gleaming china, crystal, and flatware. In the center of every table were silver vases overflowing with soft pink roses and peonies. Glittering chandeliers hung from the roof of the tent, and at the front, in a place of honor, was a life-sized statue of a horse made entirely out of red roses.
There were signs of the various sponsors of the event—the Veuve Clicquot was flowing, a black Bugatti Veyron was parked on the grass in front of the bar (Sebastian whistled when he saw it. “Fastest car in the world,” he said, trailing his finger admiringly over the hood), a display of museum-quality Piaget jewelry was arranged on pedestals up front, as young models—tall, thin, beautiful waifs all wearing white goddess gowns—drifted among the guests, sporting some of the more intricate and costly
Similar Books
