1: Homecoming

The Livingston mansion was alive with activities; the household staffs scampered around, either helping with decoration or arranging the food trays on the table or filling flutes with sparkling champagne. No one was idle, Mrs. Livingston made sure of that, barking orders at Agatha, the head of household staffs, who in turn barked orders at the rest of the staffs.

Mason Livingston, heir to the Livingston Empire, was coming home. He had just bagged an Economics degree from the prestigious Oxford University. Now he was coming home to join the family business. The Livingston’s never passed up an opportunity to throw a party and for a feat such as this, they were sure to throw the most glamorous party ever.

“Imogen! What’s holding the cake?” Agatha shrill voice echoed through the kitchen.

“Coming!” I replied, hurriedly adjusting my apron. On final touch, I thought as I carefully coated the graduation cap shaped chocolate cake, with icing.

Everything had to be perfect. For Mason. I haven’t seen him in four years, since he left for college. He was absolute love of my teenage life, even though he doesn’t know my name. I have always had a crush on him since I was ten years old, which was around the time my mother started working for the Livingston’s. The staffs were prohibited from fraternizing with the Livingston’s or their friends, so I just watched from afar. Wishing every day that he would look in my direction and notice me.

It never happened.

He went off to college when I was fifteen. And after four long years, he was coming home.

By the time it was sundown, guests started arriving. Every guest brought along his or her daughter or even granddaughter, all housing hope that Mason Livingston might cast his beautiful blue eyes on their daughter.

Even though I didn’t stand a chance beside all these expensively dressed, spoilt princesses; I still had to try to look decent at least. I packed my straight brown hair in a neat ponytail, applied lipstick and touched up my full lashes with mascara. Its unfortunate I had to dress in white and black, with the other staffs, like a waiter in some posh restaurant. But it would have to do.

“I expect nothing less than perfection tonight,” Agatha said, as she peered into our faces as we lined up in the kitchen. “Treat the guests with respect and Imogen”, my head snapped up almost immediately, “no clumsy spells tonight.”

What can I say, I have two left feet. But I don’t plan on tripping on anything tonight. Tonight is going to be perfect and it would be even better when I talk to Mason. Yes I plan to talk to him tonight.

The night was off to a perfect start, the music, Radetzky March and some other classical music, were played. The banquet hall was brightly lit, with exquisite decorations and the prettiest line up of colorful flowers. All that was remaining was for Mason to grace the hall with his presence. I had overheard Agatha and Joe, the Livingston’s chauffeur, saying that Mason’s flight was delayed. But he will come and when he finally arrives, I will serve him and that will be my chance to finally speak to him.

They guests floated around the hall, having hushed conversations and exchanging greetings with each other, with a graceful smile on their lips, a glass of champagne in hand and an air of grace in their mannerism. Grace people like me could only dream of.

It was midnight and I had almost giving up hope, when Mason, accompanied by four other guys, his friends maybe, walked in. Just like the other ladies who watched him with great admiration, I too, stared at him, until every other person disappeared and it was just Mason and me. He was even more beautiful than I recalled. He wore a crisp white shirt over a pair of black jeans and a pair of white Nike sneakers.

His skin was just as flawless as his chiseled chin covered in stubs; his muscles were more defined as threatened to rip out of his shirt. His stormy blue eyes, had dark circles under them, nothing a good night sleep couldn’t fix.

All the guests took turns in hovering around him. Probably asking mundane questions like “how was London?” or “what his future plans were”.

He was almost never alone; his parents made sure of that, taking him to meet even more guests and their daughters. By 1 am, the guests started leaving one after the other.

“What are you doing here, standing like a statue?” Agatha barked from behind me. I spun around almost immediately, before I could speak, she was already barking more orders.

“Go to the kitchen and help with the dishes, there’s a lot that needs to be done.”

I nod, and she was gone almost as fast as she appeared. I cast one last glance at where Mason stood, now in the company of his friends, and sighed. There goes my chance of talking to him.

I turned to leave, when one of his friends waved at me. Here was the chance I waited for all night. Giddy with excitement, I scurried down to where they stood as fast as I could before someone will drag Mason away again. Just as I got to where they stood, I tripped.

My tray crashed to the ground but not before the drinks spilled on Mason’s shirt.

“What the fuck?” I heard one of the guys curse.

“I’m sorry, I am so sorry,” my voice trembled as I hurriedly picked the shards of glass off the floor and unto the tray. The sharp glass bit into my finger and shot pangs of pain through me. Agatha will not let me hear the end of this.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I heard Mason say. When I didn’t respond, he grabbed my hand and pulled me up.

“What happened here?” Agatha shrieked. It was almost as though she was everywhere. “I apologize on her behalf sir,” she said, pulling me away from his warm grip. “Go to the kitchen, now.”

I hurried away, with hot tears pricking my eyes.

While everyone slept, I washed the dirty dishes, as punishment for my clumsiness. I couldn’t complain, I deserve it. I tend to have clumsy spells at the wrong time, usually when I got excited or was nervous. Thankfully, Mason did not lash out at me, like his mother had, when I spilled tea on her. Tilda Livingston was the scariest of the Livingston.

“Hey,” I heard a familiar voice call from behind me.

My breathe froze in my throat as I turned and found Mason standing behind me, wearing only a pair of sweat pants. His taut muscles and chiseled abs were exposed, and for the following seconds, my eyes were glued to them.

He cleared his throat. I looked away as color rushed to my face.

“How’s your hand?” he asked as he poured himself a glass of water.

“Fine.”

He moved closer to me and took my hand. My knees threatened to buckle at his touch. “You have pretty hands,” he whispered in a low throaty voice, as he inched even closer.

This isn’t happening, I thought as my head starts to spin, and I waited for his next move.

“What is going on here?”

Fuck!