C23, PT. 5

Roth shifted his eyes from Amos Faulkner to her. His brows drew together in a forbidding frown. Another tear slipped down her cheek as grief surged up hot and fast. She spun away, swiping at her eyes with her sleeve, uncaring if she smeared what was left of her makeup. She had to get out of here before she fell apart and really made an ass of herself. She kept her head down as she made her way to the exit so no one would see her face.

When a hand gripped her arm and swung her around, she had no doubt who it was.

“What happened?”

“N-nothing.”

Roth cupped her chin and raised her face. She couldn’t see his expression through the tears, but it didn’t matter. He was going to be angry either way that she was here instead of the library, where he told her to stay. She wrenched her chin out of his grasp and tried to step away, but he hooked an arm around her waist and banded her to him.

“I need to step out for some fresh air,” she said lightly as she dabbed at the tears falling freely now. She pushed at him. Why the hell was he touching her? It was twisting that invisible knife, increasing her pain tenfold.

“Darling, it seems Roth’s wife has had some… mishap,” a nasal voice drawled. “Can you take care of her?”

She went rigid as she realized the people he’d been talking to had followed and were now standing around her in a loose half circle. She averted her face and strained away from Roth.

“I-I’m fine. I just need to step out for a moment.” That was a lie, but she would say anything to get him to release her so she could make a somewhat dignified exit instead of bringing more attention to them.

“I think his wife needs a refreshment? Or maybe she’s had too many and needs to lay down somewhere?”

The condescending laughter made her flinch, but it was better for them to assume she was drunk than upset.

“I can take care of myself.” Her words tumbled out of her mouth as the pressure inside her mounted. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. You all should carry on.”

Roth cupped the back of her head and forced her face into his chest in a gesture that felt almost protective. She took a deep breath and gripped handfuls of his jacket as she tried to draw on his strength, as she had when they arrived. But this time, it wasn’t working. She slowly became aware of the chuckles and awkward throat clearing.

 “You want to hand her off to our wives so we can finish our discussion? They’ll entertain her, maybe sober her up before you head home.”

 The insult and dismissal was obvious. Her arms dropped from him, but when she tried to step back, he didn’t release her.

“I don’t need anyone to see to my wife. We’re done here.”

Roth’s cutting tone made her stiffen. An awkward silence fell.

“Roth,” she in a conciliatory tone, knowing the long-term consequences of this could be dire, and he would blame her for it. “I’m fine. You should…”

He slipped his arm over her shoulders, tucked her into his side, and walked away from the group he had been speaking to.

“Roth, you don’t need to…” she began.

“Quiet.”

She kept her gaze lowered and watched shiny shoes, heels, and expensive fabrics whip out of their path as people hurried to get out of his way. Roth didn’t stop until a pair of Italian shoes faced off with them. She didn’t have to look up to know who they belonged to.

**This is a raw draft of Bitter Confessions. Please do not share or distribute.

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