C15, PT. 2

“Walking in New York Fashion Week isn’t a little favor.”

“It’s just a little strut down a runway. You don’t even have to smile. Treat everyone like they’re beneath you. It’ll be fun. You’ll be the talk of the town.”

“I’m already the talk of the town.” That had been drilled home multiple times when her friends from Wharton’s, most of whom she hadn’t seen since graduation, were well-informed about the recent developments in her life despite the fact that she didn’t post on social media.

“Exactly,” Daiyu said with relish. “Why not ride that wave? That’s why you got married, right? To be in the spotlight?”

“That’s not why I…” She broke off and pinched the bridge of her nose. There was no sense in arguing. “I’m not doing your show, and I’m busy so—”

“Don’t you dare hang up on me. Do you think I’m going to put you in something hideous? Don’t you know me better than that? Isn’t my taste impeccable?” When Jasmine didn’t reply, she snapped, “Isn’t it?”

“Yes, but—”

“Picture this. It’s the end of the show. You and I walk out hand in hand. You’re wearing your wedding gown, which has been hailed as my greatest work. Slowly, the crowd begins to rise. They’re clapping. Rose petals start falling… White, of course, so we don’t stain your skirt. Can’t you see it, Jas? You’ll be on the cover of every fashion magazine. The moment immortalized, so women can emulate you for all time. Don’t you want that? Tell me you’re not tempted.”

She was, just a smidge, but it didn’t matter because, “Even if I wanted to, I can’t.”

“What do you mean, can’t?”

“My wedding gown?”

“Yes?”

“There was some damage.”

“Damage?” Daiyu sounded alarmed. “What kind of damage?”

She pursed her lips as she tried to think of the best way to tell the dramatic, temperamental artist that her crowning glory had been destroyed. “On our wedding night, we got a little carried away.”

“I can repair a tear or two.”

“Uh, this is a bit more…” She waved her hand as she thought back to the strips Roth had torn off and the stains that would never come out. Daiyu would have a seizure if she saw what Roth had done to her dress. In fact, she wasn’t sure what Thea had done with it, since she hadn’t brought it back to the city. If she were Thea, she would have thrown the torn and stained disaster in the trash. “Extensive.”

“How extensive?”

“It’s irreparable.”

“You…” Dai sounded winded. “You wrecked my gown?”

“Roth did. He had a bride fantasy.”

“Oh?” Dai's tone sharpened.

“He used the tulle skirt to…” Her phone beeped, signaling she had another call. “Dai, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

“No way! You can’t start talking about bride fantasies and leave me hanging!”

She ignored Daiyu’s wail and switched calls. “Roth?”

“Do you want to be kept in the loop on Ariana’s situation?” he asked brusquely.

“Situation?” she echoed and then stiffened, hand tightening on the phone. “Yes.”

“She has a drop in twenty minutes. It’s up to you what you want to do with that information.”

It took her less than two seconds to make up her mind. “I want to talk to her.”

“I’ll send Mo to you.”

She raced out of the kitchen to the master suite. She tossed on jeans, boots, sweater, and trench coat in record time. Even so, Mo was already waiting when she hurried into the living room. She wasn’t sure if he knew what their errand was or if he sensed her agitation, but he didn’t say a word as they rode in the elevator. When her phone blared, she put it on silent and wasn’t surprised to see Daiyu was calling her back. She would deal with her later. She strode through the lobby and out to the car, where Johan was waiting.

“Did Roth tell you where…?” she began, but didn’t finish her sentence because Johan nodded.

She sat back and ignored the tightness in her chest. What the fuck was Ariana thinking? With all the research she’d been doing on companies, it was inevitable that she would take a deeper look at Hennessy & Co. What she found was downright alarming. Hennessy & Co was hanging on by a thread. If Roth hadn’t stepped in when he had, if he wasn’t currently hand-feeding them investments, they would still be sinking. And Ariana wasn’t fucking helping.

If this scandal broke, the consequences would be severe. Ariana knew that better than anyone, so what the hell was she doing? Not only was she endangering herself, she was putting all of their reputations (including Roth’s, since he was now intrinsically linked with them) in jeopardy. Ironic how Ariana accused her of ignoring her responsibilities at twenty-three when Ariana was courting ten times the risk at thirty-eight while running the family company. She risked it all for love while Ariana risked it all to continue her addiction. No comparison.

Her leg bounced as they inched through traffic. When Roth said nothing more about Ariana’s addiction, she hoped that meant her sister was in recovery. Apparently not. Ariana had been on her mind since her sister was the reason she was keeping her distance from the rest of the family. With Christmas less than two weeks away, she couldn’t help feeling the estrangement more acutely than it should have been. Discourse was nothing new in her family. It was normal, actually. She just wished Roth wasn’t the cause of this strife. She’d always seen Colette as the more severe, cold-blooded sister, so Ariana’s staunch stance was that much more shocking and hurtful. If only they could see Roth the way she did. But it was the same thing as getting her dad to see Roth in a certain light. It wasn’t going to happen.

Instead of obsessing over things she couldn’t change, she filled her days with meetings and figures. It wasn’t lost on her that she retreated into work like her sisters. It was their coping mechanism. Business wasn’t as enjoyable as writing, but it was satisfying, dusting off skills she thought she would never use. With every interaction, she gained a little more confidence, a little more insight. She may have left the game, but the rules hadn’t changed, just the players. And even that wasn’t something she couldn’t quickly brush up on. There were so many moving facets when it came to business. The hardest part was the constant action and decision-making. But, she rose to the challenge. For the first time in a long time, she was an active participant in life, instead of watching it from the sidelines through her writer’s lens. And it felt good.

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

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