What If (Willowbrook Book 2) by Ashlyn Mathews

Chapter One
    “Ready?”
    Emma eyed the house and ran her palms over her ball gown. “Are you sure this is going to work?”
    Sitting across from her in the limo, Eve leaned forward and patted Emma’s knee. “You look like me. He won’t know any better.”
    Emma disagreed. She might be petit and have long brown hair like Eve, but the similarities stopped there. Eve could work a crowd and be the center of attention. Emma was fine with finding a corner and staying there until it was time to go.
    Eventually, she’d find that corner, and that might tip Drew off. Once he realized she’d crashed his mardis gras party, would he demand she leave? At the thought of how humiliating that would be, she almost chickened out.
    But memories of the hurtful words he’d said to her when they’d broken up had her changing her mind. He had said she played it safe in her life and didn’t take enough risks. Translation: Star quarterback, Drew Hazard, found her boring. Well to hell with him. If he wanted her to not be safe and to take risks, she’d gladly crash his party.
    She grasped the door handle. “Wish me luck.”
    “Not luck but fun,” Eve said. “Have loads of fun, Em, on me.”
    Before she could question Eve about the mischievous smile spanning her face, the door of the limousine opened. A guy, decked out in a three-piece suit, reached for her. Saying a quick, “see you later,” to Eve, she set her gloved hand in the guy’s palm and stepped out of the limo.
    Like her, the majority of his face was covered by a mask, leaving his identity a mystery. Would she recognize Drew? She didn’t think she’d have any problems finding him in a crowd. Usually, he was the crowd.
    After the limo drove off, her escort led her toward the party house. Or more like party mansion. Lights lit the paved, stone path. She blinked against their brightness. A line of guests had already formed in front of the main door.
    As she and her escort made their way up the steps and onto the walkway, she checked out the other women’s get-ups. The colors of their dresses were attention-getting, the necklines plunging, and the lengths ranged from butt-hugging to flowing just above ankles strapped into sky-high heels.
    She had on a conservative—but in her opinion pretty—plum dress. As for sky-high heels? She had ogled four-inch, silver, platform sandals at the shoe store, love at first shoe. But in her condition, she’d chosen knee-high boots. She couldn’t risk falling on her butt.
    A cool breeze coasted across her bare shoulders and arms, and she edged closer to her escort. Minutes went by. Finally, she was next to being announced. Her escort led her inside the mansion and to the emcee standing next to a microphone then left her. She glanced after him. There went her security blanket, her arm candy, her human heat pad. Accepting her decision to see this crazy idea of hers through, she focused on what the emcee was saying.
    “There are no rules except one.” He leaned in close to her. “The host requests that guests keep their masks and clothes on at all times. Understood?”
    “Sure.”
    At the seriousness of his tone, she almost clicked her heels and saluted him. Her plan was to sneak a peek at Drew’s life in a new city, and without her. Not to have a one-night stand or restart something with Drew.
    “Since this is a masquerade ball, you’ll be announced by your pseudonym,” the emcee continued. “Who should I say is here?”
    “Pseudonym?”
    Eve hadn’t mentioned anything about a pseudonym. Yet, the conspiratorial twinkle in Eve’s eyes . . . Emma resisted the impulse to slap her forehead with the heel of her palm. Of course there’d be pseudonyms. This was a masquerade ball. Groaning under her breath, she excused herself to make a phone call. Eve took her time answering.
    “What’s up, Em?”
    She wanted to ground her teeth in frustration at the smug tone in Eve’s voice. “You left out important information. Like the piece