Trentham Ball Prep

She didn’t recognize the elegant woman in the mirror, but that wasn’t surprising considering the hours that had been dedicated to making her look like the best version of herself. Sarai hadn’t missed a thing. She spent most of her day at the spa in their building where she got a facial, wax, manicure, pedicure, hair, and makeup done. 

When she returned to the penthouse, she was stunned to find a small crowd waiting for her. Each group was there to offer an array of accessories—shoes, clutches, and jewelry that had been pre-selected to match the dress that had yet to arrive. All she had to do was choose what she liked best. 

Everyone deferred to her except the employees from the jewelry store, who came with their own security since they were loaded with millions of dollars worth of diamonds. When they described that her dress had long sleeves and a high neck, she selected a dazzling pair of drop diamond earrings. She declined the three strand diamond necklace and matching bracelet that went with it.

“It’s too much,” she insisted. 

“There is no such thing as too many diamonds,” the jewelry consultant said. “Your husband was clear that he wanted you to have a matching set, not just one piece.”

She knew those attending the ball would be decked in their finest jewels, but she wasn’t trying to match them. She wanted to glide under the radar, not turn into a human disco ball. She tried to explain to the bewildered employees that she preferred understated elegance. Their eyes cut to her outrageous wedding ring, which was anything but subtle. Their bickering ended when she received a text from Roth. 

You’re arguing with the jewelry consultant?

She read the message and caught the senior consultant pocketing her phone. Apparently, everyone had been briefed to contact him if she resisted. If Roth wanted her to look gaudy, there was nothing she could do about it. She wasn’t sure what the hell he was trying to prove, but if he wanted to spend a fortune in diamonds for an appearance that would last a few hours, that was on him. It would draw more attention to them, but apparently that’s what Roth was going for, so she would oblige like the obedient fucking wife she was. 

She accepted the pieces the jewelry consultant insisted upon and was relieved when everyone filed out, leaving her with several million dollars worth of diamonds and a pile of luxury accessories. Mo and Johan were present during the selection process and were eerily silent as she stalked out of the room to the kitchen, where she yanked a salad out of the fridge and stabbed at it as she waited for the dress to arrive. She hoped Daiyu had accidentally ruined it, and she wouldn’t be able to go. It was just her luck that the dress arrived forty minutes before Roth was supposed to pick her up.  

She fluffed her hair, which had been styled in loose curls that brushed her shoulders. Her makeup looked deceivingly natural, with soft blush and a rosy tinted lip that made her look a few years younger than she was. Fake lashes enhanced eyes that showed nothing of her inner turmoil. Her stomach was as tight as a fist, but no one would ever know it. 

She stepped back to take in the full effect and had to admit that if she planned this herself, she couldn’t have done a better job. She brushed a hand over the midnight gown, which draped her impeccably. How Daiyu managed to flatter her figure so effortlessly, she would never know. It was convenient to know a talented fashion designer who could whip out a dress for any occasion with very little warning. But it came at a cost. The card attached to the garment bag reminded her that she needed to stop by the shop for a fitting ASAP. On the hanger, the dress looked surprisingly demure with the promised high neckline and long sleeves, but she should have known that when it came to Daiyu, nothing was what it seemed. 

She did a half turn and cringed at the open back and low cut of the gown. What the hell was Daiyu thinking? This was the Trentham Ball, not a Hollywood red carpet event. She had no idea what the dress code was for this affair, but she was sure this was borderline indecent despite the immaculate cut. She hoped to return to society as a class act, not reinforce her bad reputation by wearing something scandalous. 

She wrung her hands, glanced at the time, and cursed as she reached for the stack of jewelry boxes. She put on the earrings first and, despite her nerves, paused to admire the blinding sparkle. This was more than enough, but Roth wanted her lit up like a beacon to find her in the crush, so… The three tiered diamond necklace shimmered against the dark fabric of her gown, the contrast more dramatic than if it had lain against her bare skin. She had to use her teeth to do up the clasp on the bracelet. She swiped her lipstick from her wrist before she took in the full effect. The diamonds made all the difference in the world, turning her elegant outfit into something downright glamorous. The jewelry consultant was right. One could never have enough diamonds. From the front, she looked respectable. Fantastic, actually. She just wished the back matched. Fuck. 

Trying to convince herself that it wasn’t as bad as she thought, 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 the vine of flowers that flowed from her hip to ribs. Just a couple of inches of the tattoo was visible, but it was enough to make her break out in a cold sweat. She’d always known it was a possibility that, one day, she would wear a dress that would display her tattoos. In fact, she insisted on the placement, so 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 swept aside by horror. 

Her already frazzled nerves threatened to snap as she ran through the outfits in her closet, but there was nothing close to being suitable for this event. If she wore something less formal, she would stick out like a sore thumb. Maybe she could wear a shawl or a jacket… She lunged for her makeup bag and dumped the contents on the counter. She feverishly 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 let out a strangled yelp and toppled off the counter. She staggered 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 handsome or dashing. He was the Roth she never allowed herself to imagine. That realization was followed by a dash of regret for the man who attended parties in jeans and sports jackets. He 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 the outrageous backless dress that showed off tattoos she had never regretted until this moment. 

Roth stared at her painted red toes peeking out from the floor length midnight blue gown before his gaze began to rise. His eyes flicked to the bracelet on her left wrist, took in the rows of diamond necklaces, earrings, and finally, her face. His expression didn’t change, but she sensed her appearance had rattled him somehow. Why her appearance would unsettle him, she had no idea, and right now she didn’t care because she was in the middle of a crisis. 

“This dress won’t do! Daiyu sabotaged me.” She turned to show him her bare back and exposed tattoo. She grimaced at the prolonged silence and extended the makeup brush over her shoulder. “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.” She straightened. “I can’t go in this dress at all.” She bit down on her nails before remembering that she got a manicure. Shit. “I may have something else, but I’m going to look ridiculous.”

He snatched the makeup brush from her and tossed it on the vanity, splattering the white marble with foundation. 

“What the hell are you doing?” she shouted.

He grabbed her wrist and towed her toward the door. “You aren’t changing out of that dress.”

“No, wait, you don’t understand. This isn’t the kind of dress you want to this event. It’s going to cause a ruckus!” 

She leaned back to slow him down, but he didn’t seem to notice. 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.

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

Again, just a raw draft. Details may change to fit later scenes. But, enjoy!