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tonight.”
    “Right. You’re right. Okay, just breathe,” I told myself.
    I took several deep breaths.
    “Just try to remember that this night doesn’t matter. Enjoy yourself. All you have to do is get through these parties, get to the wedding, and you’ll have your trip,” Calla said.
    “Right. It doesn’t matter,” I tried to tell myself.
    The apartment buzzer went off. I nearly jumped out of my skin.
    “Yes?” Calla said pressing the button.
    “Driver for Miss Josephine McMaster,” the voice came through the intercom.
    “She’ll be right down,” Calla said.
    I pulled a delicate shawl over my shoulders and headed down the stairs, which was no small feat in the shoes and the form-fitting dress. I glanced back one more time but was not reassured. Instead of watching me go, they were giving each other worried looks. Mattie was saying something I couldn’t hear.
    I almost turned back around.
    “You can do this,” I said to myself and continued down the stairs. As I reached the lobby, the driver smiled at me and said, “You look beautiful Miss. McMaster.”
    “Thank you,” I said. I knew he was probably paid to say it, but it made me feel better anyway.
    He opened the car door and held my hand to help me into the car. I wondered if it was wrong to wish that he was my date for the evening, being the gentleman that he was. But that dream quickly faded when I spent the next half hour sitting alone in the backseat in silence.
    I almost asked him to stop the car and turn around about eight million times.
    “It’s not a big deal,” I kept whispering to myself. “Relax, enjoy yourself. Just have a good time.” As we got closer, I closed my eyes and chanted in my head. “Calm down. It doesn’t mean anything.”
    By the time we reached the party, I was surprisingly calm and almost had myself convinced that I could do this. I could make a grand entrance into a spectacular party and look confident all at the same time.
    But as the driver opened my door, hoards of photographers, all jostling to get a closer look, surrounded us. I felt like I was in a fishbowl with a million people gathered around, just watching to see if I would sink or swim.
    I decided I was going to swim.
    I grabbed onto the driver’s hand and flashed the most elegant, gracious, oh-gosh-I-don’t-deserve-all-this smile that I could muster. I guess the phrase is true, fake it ‘til you make it.
    Another guy held out his arm to me as the driver closed the door behind me and whisked the car away. He as handsome as any guy as I’d ever seen. They had to have hired models to walk us down the red carpet.
    “Miss McMaster,” the crowd kept yelling, all vying to get my attention for what seemed like millions of continuous flashes. I put my best, most sincere looking fake smile out there and tried not to think at all. I knew if my brain started spinning too much, I would definitely end up tripping. So I held tight to my escort and just kept moving.
    What seemed like an eternity later, the doors to the building finally opened, seemingly on their own, and we waltzed through as they closed quietly behind us. The atmosphere was the polar opposite of the mad house outside. It was completely peaceful and the lights were dim. Soft music was just audible in the background.
    “This way Miss,” my escort said, and led me down a long hallway.
    I loved the sound my new shoes made clicking along in the hollow halls. I’d made it through the paparazzi hurdle and my nervousness was starting to fade a little. I was almost beginning to feel like I could actually belong there. Not one person had looked at me like I was an alien yet. Amazing.
    Once again, the scenery did a three sixty when we entered the main hall where the party was being held. My escort and I posed for a couple more, much less invasive pictures. Sort of like at the prom.
    A few steps further and a soothing male voice came over the loudspeaker.
    “Ladies and Gentlemen, please turn your