Trentham Ball, cont

“Jasmine.”

She tore her eyes from the festivities and focused on Roth. There was a woman standing at his side with her hair pulled back into a severe bun, wearing a kind smile.

“Your coat, ma’am.”

When she hesitated, Roth began to undo the buttons himself. He held her gaze as he slipped her arms from the coat. Self-consciously, she pulled at the shoulder of the gown, even though it wouldn’t do anything to cover her back, which had broken out into goosebumps despite the warm air ruffling her curls. If she’d known what this gown looked like, she would have asked for hair extensions instead of getting a trim, which left her with no natural shield.  

The door behind them opened, bringing a frigid blast that stabbed like needles into her skin and a distinguished couple in their fifties. The woman’s eyes flared as she took in her back before her brows came together in a disapproving frown. Her husband had the opposite reaction, smiling widely and giving her a wink. 

“Merry Christmas,” the man drawled. 

She tried to snatch the coat from Roth, but he yanked it out of her reach and handed it to the worker, who spared a moment to admire Daiyu’s work before she disappeared into a closet. As they moved aside so the newcomers could hand over their winter gear, she gripped his arm. 

“Roth.” Her voice was hoarse with strain.

He didn’t look at her as he took her hand and pulled her forward. To the left and right were rooms with roaring fires in marble fireplaces, Christmas trees, and people lounging on what looked like ancient furniture. 

Roth made his way through the throng, clearly intent on climbing the stairs. A woman in her seventies clinked her flute of champagne with another woman before she turned away, nearly colliding with Roth. The woman’s smile vanished as she looked up at him and took a step back as if Roth was a serial killer. 

“Mrs. Pearson,” she acknowledged the wife of one of her dad’s business partners as Roth strode past without sparing her a glance. 

Mrs. Pearson didn’t respond or acknowledge her respectful greeting. She’d known the woman all her life, and they now lived in the same building, but Mrs. Pearson would never see her as an equal. As they started up the stairs, she glanced over her shoulder and saw that Mrs. Pearson looked absolutely appalled by her outfit. So it began. Roth didn’t understand how stuck up these people were or that they lived in a black and white world beyond reproach. To them, the slightest slight was reason enough to do business with someone else. If her appearance tonight ruined his business plans for the night, that was on him. She warned him.

Roth navigated around and between those lingering on the steps to watch everyone’s arrival. Was it her imagination, or was there a stutter in conversation as they passed? Her tattoo throbbed as if she’d just been under the needle. She tried to ignore the stares drilling into her back and instead tried to process the opulence of this Gilded Age mansion. A massive crystal chandelier shimmered overhead, while silk tapestries and regal oil paintings that belonged in the Met graced the walls in gold frames. Dozens of candles in gold candelabras made her feel as if she had been transported into the past. She wished she was in a different time when she didn’t recognize the faces that turned their way as they reached the second landing. 

Through two sets of double doors was a ballroom unlike any she had ever seen. From the walls to the ceiling to the floor, the room seemed to glitter… as did everyone who milled within it. She had never seen so much gold in one place. It was palatial and more grand than any palace she had visited. 

Just like her worst nightmare, people in the ballroom and others strolling outside of it began to do double takes and nudge their neighbor. She heard the murmurs of their last names and someone said, “Married again? Is that the one who had the affair?”

She went numb as the humiliation she swore she wouldn’t let herself feel began to spread like a virus, stealing her childish wonder in her surroundings and the eagerness to see more. Memories of her childhood, of being publicly humiliated not just by her father, but his cronies and peers made her freeze. 

When Roth stepped forward to enter the ballroom, she pulled back. He turned, eyes narrowed, expression impatient and angry, but whatever he saw on her face cleared his instantly. She opened her mouth to speak, but her mind was a blank, panicked slate. She blinked rapidly as her eyes filled with tears. 

Roth drew her to him, hand gripping her nape as he forced her face against his shoulder. “Don’t panic.”

She twisted her hand in his jacket as she tried to get a grip. She couldn’t have a fucking panic attack at the Trentham Ball in front of hundreds of the most influential people in the world. Roth shuffled her back into a corner. He stood in front of her, blocking everyone’s view, as she took shallow breaths to calm her racing heart. 

“Breathe, princess.”

“I-I’m trying,” she gasped. 

“Don’t let anyone get in your head.”

He was in her head. So was her father. “You can do this on your own.”

He massaged her nape. “I need you with me.” 

She shook her head. 

“My princess was born for this. You’re a Hennessy, the heir to a dynasty. No one can make you feel inferior if you don’t let them.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“This is what Maximus groomed you for. You belong here more than me.”

His large hand stroked down her side while his rough fingertips skimmed her clammy skin, distracting her from someone off to the left who was talking about the Baldwins.

“I’ve waited for this moment a long time. To be here in this arena, with these people. The ones that didn’t think I would make it, the ones who tried to stop me. This is my moment. And yours. We’re back where we belong, where we would have been if Maximus hadn’t decided otherwise.” 

She straightened and raised her head. He looked down at her, eyes burning with steely determination and zeal he’d hidden from her. Why? Because he thought she wouldn’t understand the significance of what tonight’s invite meant to him? She out of everyone understood what it was like to be an outsider. She still was despite her upbringing, but Roth had reached the pinnacle and wanted to revel in the festivities. He deserved to have his moment. 

She took a fortifying breath, ruthlessly marshaling herself. She drew on his strength, not breaking eye contact as she stopped focusing on herself and everyone around them and focused solely on him. Tonight wasn’t about her. It was about celebrating his victories. No matter their personal battles, he deserved this. No accomplishment had ever been enough for him—not rebuilding his business in London and not relocating back to New York where he manipulated Wall Street. But tonight meant something to him. There was no higher accolade than receiving a personal invitation from Sullivan Trentham, a legendary business figure.  

As she fortified her mental shields and filtered out everything but him, his mouth curved in approval. 

“That’s my girl.” He stroked her pale cheek.  “Can you do this?”

She nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

He dipped his head and kissed her. Startled, she drew back only to have his mouth latch on, demanding she give herself to him. He twined his fingers with hers and pinned them against the wall on either side of her head. The tiny part of her mind that was still functioning warned her they were in public, and the way he was kissing her definitely wasn’t for an audience. But, this was his night and if this is how he wanted to celebrate, who was she to stop him?

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