C18, PT. 2

To convince herself that it wasn’t that bad, she turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder as she raised her arms. The material shifted, revealing a flash of color that sent a bolt of terror through her. She backed up to the vanity to get a better look and stared at her tattoo—a vine of flowers that flowed from her hip to ribs. She insisted on the placement so one day she could thumb her nose at society. She intended to display her tattoos with pride, but the defiance she thought she’d feel at this moment was eclipsed by horror.

Her frazzled nerves threatened to snap as she ran through a mental inventory of the outfits in her closet. There was nothing remotely suitable for the Trentham Ball. Maybe she could cover the back of the dress with a shawl or jacket… She would look ridiculous.

She lunged for her makeup bag and dumped the contents on the counter. Feverishly, she shook her foundation before she squirted some onto her makeup brush and perched on the edge of the vanity, twisting awkwardly and tugging on the dress to get at the tattoo.

“What the hell are you doing?”

She toppled off the counter and skidded on her heels before she swung around to blast Roth and forgot what she was going to say. The sight of him in a tuxedo took her breath away. Dimly, she noted his lapels and crisp pocket square were the same midnight satin as her gown. They were matching, which meant that not just Daiyu, but whoever made his suit, had enough time to customize it for tonight. Even as anger speared through her, she had to admit, he had never looked more dashing. He wore a tux for their fake wedding at Tuxedo Park, but she’d been too engrossed in their drama to appreciate it. This was the sophisticated, debonair Roth she never allowed herself to imagine. The man who attended parties in jeans and sports jackets was gone. Roth had evolved into a different being, one she wouldn’t recognize if she hadn’t seen his evolution firsthand.

As his eyes coasted over her, she raised her chin. She planned to be so insufferably composed and polite that he might be convinced that she switched personalities with Colette. Her plans were already in the gutter thanks to this racy dress.

Roth stared at her painted red toes peeking out from the floor length gown before his gaze began to rise. His eyes flicked to the bracelet on her left wrist, the blue diamond necklace, earrings, and finally, her face. His stoic expression didn’t alter, but she sensed something about her appearance rattled him. She wasn’t sure why and right now, didn’t care because she was in the middle of a crisis.

“This dress is inappropriate! Daiyu sabotaged me.” She turned to show him her back. She grimaced at the prolonged silence and extended the makeup brush over her shoulder. “Daiyu’s always trying to push the boundaries, but she chose the wrong venue to make a statement. I think we can cover it.”

“Cover what?”

She craned her neck around to see if he was playing with her, but he looked genuinely confused. “My tattoo!”

“What about it?”

Her mouth sagged before she snapped, “I can’t go to the Trentham Ball showing a tattoo. I can’t go in this dress at all.” She bit her nails before remembering her fresh manicure. Shit. “I could change into something less formal, but I’d stick out like a sore thumb. I don’t know what to do.”

He snatched the makeup brush and tossed it on the vanity, splattering the white marble counter with foundation before he grabbed her wrist and towed her toward the door.

“Come on. We’re going to be late.”

“I can’t go like this!”

She hauled back on her arm, but that didn’t stop him. Her heels slid along the floor as if she were on a pair of skis. She had an odd sense of déjà vu and remembered she tried this move in the Colorado hospital with similar results. He scooped up her coat and clutch as he walked out of the master suite.

“You don’t understand. The people attending this event, they’re the one percent of the one percent. First impressions are everything. Most of them are sticklers for tradition. They take their reputation and those they do business with very seriously. They won’t respect someone dressed like this any more than my father would.”

When he stopped in front of the elevator, she pushed at him as he tried to slip her arm into the midnight coat Daiyu had included.

“I’m sure there’s a dress code. What if they ask me to leave? Did they mention anything about that on the invitation?” she babbled.

When she tried to sidle away, he pinned her against the wall and forced her arm into the sleeve.

“Roth, listen to me!” she shouted.

“I am listening.”

“Then hear me,” she pleaded as he did up the buttons of her coat, too hysterical to notice that he paused to finger her curls before he fixed her collar. “This dress is going to give everyone the wrong impression. That business you want to do tonight? People may brush you off and say they’ll get back to you later because they won’t want to be associated with someone with a wife who looks like this. Is that what you want?”

He didn’t respond. He just stared at her with that arrogant, implacable gaze that had brazened out countless awkward situations. But she knew better, and it was her job to warn him, as she had when they first met. He had no idea they were walking into a viper’s nest.

“You should go alone or let me find something more appropriate…” Her voice trailed off when he typed in the code to call the elevator. “You’re making a mistake.”

As he shrugged into his coat, she considered making a run for it and saving him from his own folly. He shook his head, easily reading her intention to flee.

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

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