THE MASQUERADE

The invitation arrived on a Wednesday, its black envelope sealed with gold wax, the Arquette crest glinting under my desk lamp. I slit it open, silk gloves brushing my fingers, and pulled out a card embossed with swirling script: Masquerade Ball, Hotel de las Estrellas, Mexico City. Saturday, 8 PM. Business attire, masks mandatory.

My pulse quickened. The Estrellas ball wasn’t just a party; it was a battlefield for deals, alliances, and power plays, disguised in velvet and champagne. As CEO of Arquette Ventures, I had no such luxury of missing it. But the RSVP line taunted me: Plus one.

I leaned back in my chair, the villa’s study quiet except for the distant crash of waves. My island, my sanctuary, felt too still today, its jasmine scented air heavy with expectation. A date? I had not dated in years, too busy rebuilding the family empire into something good, something mine. Friends were scarce, scattered by my wealth or my walls. Miranda, my cousin, would have jumped at the chance, but her bar hopping life was not ball material. I needed someone polished, discreet, who would not steal the spotlight.

By Thursday, I had settled on a solution: an escort! A professional, no strings... I called an agency I had used once before, for a gala in London. “Male, mid 30’s, charming, good dancer…” I specified, voice crisp. “Black tie, mask included and provided by me. Saturday night.” The agent confirmed, promising a man named Javier. Done. I exhaled, ignoring the faint tug of loneliness. This was business, not a fairy tale.

Saturday morning, I stood in my closet, surrounded by racks of gowns. The chosen dress hung on a mannequin: emerald satin, floor length, with a plunging neckline and a slit to the thigh, paired with a feathered mask that curled around my eyes like smoke. It was bold, commanding, perfect for the Estrellas. My hair would be swept up, emeralds at my throat. Javier would wear a black tux, his mask a sleek silver, per the agency’s text. I pictured us gliding through the ballroom, heads turning. Control felt good.

Then, at 4 PM, my phone buzzed. 

“Miss Arquette, this is the agency. Javier’s had an emergency, appendicitis. He is out and we don’t have replacements on this notice. Please accept our apologies.”

The agent’s voice was apologetic, but my stomach dropped. Four hours to go, and no partner. I hung up, pacing the villa’s terrace, the ocean mocking my calm with its restless churn.

I considered going alone. I was Emily Arquette; I didn’t need an arm to lean on. But the Estrellas wasn’t a solo game; arriving without a plus one screamed vulnerability, an opening for vultures to circle. I scrolled my contacts, each name a dead end: too far, too flaky, too tied to my father’s world. Panic crept in, hot and unfamiliar. Then my eyes caught movement on the beach below: Eduardo, jogging, his strides steady, sand kicking up behind him.

Eduardo. My bodyguard, my savior from that fevered night two weeks ago. Since then, his hazel eyes had lingered in my thoughts, flecked with gold, paired with that quiet strength. He’d carried me to my room, teased me about screaming his name in delirium. “I feel safe with you…” I’d said, and meant it. Could he be more than a shield tonight? The idea felt reckless, blurring lines I had sworn to keep sharp. But time was slipping, and he was here.

I found him in the courtyard, toweling sweat from his neck, his tank top clinging to his frame.

 “Eduardo!” I called, voice steadier than I felt. He turned, eyebrows lifting, a faint smile curling his lips.

“Yes Ma’am. How can I be at your service?”

I swallowed, the mask’s feathers brushing my thigh as I held it. “I need a favor. Big one. There is a masquerade tonight, business, high stakes. My date was canceled, and I can’t go alone. Will you come with me?”

His smile faded, eyes searching mine.

“Me? I’m not exactly a ballroom material, Ma’am. My job is to watch your back, not waltz.”

“You are more than that.”

I said, too quick and I meant it as the heat rising to my cheeks. “You are sharp, steady... I trust you. Tux is on me, mask too. Please.”

He hesitated, glancing at the ocean, then back at me. “If it is really what you need, I am in Ma’am. But I am no Ricky Martin.’’

I laughed, relief flooding me. “Better. Meet me at six.”

The ballroom of Hotel de las Estrellas shimmered, chandeliers casting gold over masked faces. My emerald gown hugged my curves, the slit flashing leg with each step, my feathered mask framing my eyes in mystery. Eduardo walked beside me, transformed in a tailored black tux, his silver mask accentuating his jawline, curls tamed but rebellious. He moved with ease, not a bodyguard tonight but my equal, drawing glances as we entered.

“Stay close…” I murmured, linking my arm with his. His warmth steadied me, his scent (clean, with a hint of cedar) grounding against the swirl of perfume and wine.

“Always…” he replied, voice low, a spark in his tone that made my pulse skip. We stepped into the crowd, music swelling, a violin’s wail weaving through laughter and clinking glasses.

The first hour was magic. We danced, his hand firm on my waist, guiding me through waltzes with a grace I hadn’t expected. His steps were sure, learned, he later admitted, from his mother’s insistence in his teens. “She said it would impress someone someday…” he whispered, spinning me, his mask catching light. I laughed, heady, the room blurring into colors: crimson gowns, sapphire capes, gold masks like stars!

Between dances, we sipped champagne, trading quips about the crowd. “That guy’s mask looks like a peacock had a midlife crisis…” Eduardo muttered, nodding at a feathered monstrosity. I snorted, nearly spilling my drink, earning a grin from him that warmed me more than the wine.

But the ball’s true purpose loomed. Across the room, I spotted Elena Marquez, CEO of Sol Foods, her gold mask unmistakable. She had pitched me a dried fruit project last month: high risk, high reward, leveraging Mexico’s orchards for global export. I had hesitated, sensing gaps in her numbers, but tonight could seal or sink it.

“Business calls.” I told Eduardo, squeezing his arm. “Mingle, but do not go far.”

He nodded, eyes scanning the crowd. “I will be here.”

I wove through guests, masks hiding my nerves, and found Elena by a marble pillar. “Emily, radiant as ever!” she purred, her smile sharp. We plunged into shop talk: supply chains, tariffs, profit margins. Others joined: a banker, a logistics exec, their masks glinting as they probed my plans. The project’s promise grew, Elena painting visions of markets conquered, but her urgency felt off, too eager. I countered, cool, asking for data they dodged. Time slipped, the crowd thickening, music fading to a hum.

I glanced for Eduardo, needing his steady presence, but masks blurred into sameness: silver, gold, black... He was gone, swallowed by the throng. My chest tightened, not just from business strain but something deeper, a pull I hadn’t named. I excused myself, promising Elena a follow up, and pushed through dancers, searching. Silver masks teased me, but none held his broad shoulders, his quiet intensity.

Near the terrace doors, a hand grazed my wrist. I turned, heart leaping. A man in a black tux, silver mask nearly identical to Eduardo’s… He smiled, his grip firm but warm. “Looking for me?” he asked, voice muffled by music, low like Eduardo’s but smoother, practiced. My gut flickered (wrong, maybe) but his costume, his build, convinced me. I let him pull me into a dance, his hand on my waist as steps fluid.

“You vanished!” I said, trying to laugh, my mask hiding my unease.

He spun me, closer now, his breath warm through his mask’s slits. The room spun too, champagne and nerves tangling. His hand slid lower, bold, and I stiffened, but he murmured, “Relax Emily!” and the name felt right, intimate, like Eduardo’s tease in my room. My dream flashed: his lips, sand, heat, and I softened, swaying closer.

He tilted his head, mask brushing mine, lips nearing. My breath caught, wanting it, believing it was him. But a hand clamped my shoulder, yanking me back. I gasped, spinning to see another silver mask, Eduardo, unmistakable, his hazel eyes fierce through the slits.

“Not him…” he growled, pulling me from the stranger’s grip. The man laughed, melting into the crowd as Eduardo steered me through dancers, out a side door, into cool night air. My heels clicked on cobblestones, his hand firm on my arm, guiding me to the waiting car.

“Eduardo, what?” I started, but he opened the door, urging me inside. 

The driver pulled away, city lights streaking past, my mask discarded on the seat, emerald gown pooling around me.

He removed his mask, curls springing free, face taut.

“That was not me Ma’am. You were about to kiss some bastard playing games. Unless he is your boyfriend that you wanted get him jealous by bringing me here.”

I froze, heat flooding my face. The stranger’s voice, his touch: wrong, all wrong. I’d let the mask, the moment, blind me. “I thought, your costume…”

“Half the room’s in silver!” he said, voice softening, but his eyes held mine, sharp.

‘’Wait! Do I have to explain myself to you Eduardo? Did you forget that, I am your boss here. Your job was to be near and protect me? You dare to accuse me -your boss- to try get my boyfriend jealous, yet you don’t tell me where you have been when I was held by that damn stranger man? Were you trying to chase after the other girls, huh Eduardo?’’

I was outraged.

“I got lost in there, looking for you. Overheard something you need to know Ma’am, if you take this as an excuse.”

I leaned forward, gown rustling, the ball’s haze fading. “What do you mean?”

He exhaled, hands flexing. “Near the bar, two guys: masks, no names, but one mentioned Sol Foods. Said the dried fruit deal’s a trap. Inflated projections, bad contracts, set to tank whoever signs. They laughed about ‘Arquette’ taking the bait.”

My stomach sank, Elena’s eager smile flashing in my mind. The gaps in her numbers, the rushed pitch, it fit. “A trap?” I whispered, anger rising. “They think I’m that gullible?”

“You are not!” Eduardo said firmly. “But they are banking on your ambition. I don’t know about the details, just enough to warn you. Dig deeper before you sign.”

I nodded, mind racing. Arquette Ventures was my life, my proof I was more than Daddy’s heiress. A bad deal could unravel years of work. “Thank you.” I said, voice low. “For this, for pulling me out.”

His gaze softened, gold flecks catching the car’s dim light. “Always, Ms. Arquette.” A pause, then a half smile. “You’re a hell of a dancer, though.”

I laughed, tension breaking, my bare shoulders relaxing against the seat. “You are not bad yourself.”

The car wound toward the coast, the ferry waiting to carry us back to my island. Silence settled, comfortable, his presence a shield against the night’s chaos. I glanced at him, tux rumpled, mask in hand, and felt that pull again: not just gratitude, but something alive, dangerous, like my dream’s echo.

Back at the villa, moonlight spilled through my bedroom’s shutters, the ocean’s hum a soft lullaby. I had traded the emerald gown for a silk robe, its coolness soothing my skin. Eduardo had walked me to my door. We had a small talk before I got in my bedroom and left him at the door.

"So, you thought he was me? Was that why you were going to let him kiss you?" he asked me with his cheekiness yet I could sense his excitement and tense vibe.

"We were at a masquerade, Eduardo. We were there with different identities. I was just going to let you enjoy yourself as a thank you for being my escort tonight."

He gasped as he kept his playful attitude that made me giggle.

"Even though we're at a ball, I'm still on duty, Ma'am. What kind of bodyguard do you take me for?"

I nodded cheerfully as I was smiling like I had a hanger in my mouth. I couldn’t help such a thing like that when I was around him.

"An attractive one!" I said and I blinked him right before I got in my bedroom.

I whispered ‘’Good night, Eduardo!’’ before shutting my door.

And this is how, I called it a night.