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“Oh- ohmygodImsorry!”
It happens so fast I don’t have time to react. There’s the flash of a waiter’s white shirt and an even whiter face, then the curtain falls back into place. I make a choked sound, too breathless to be a scream, and fall right on my ass when Thomas tries to set me too abruptly on my feet. He readjusts the zipper on his pants with impatient tugs.
“Unfortunate,” he says stiffly, and turns on me. “There’s a powder room just outside the main hall and to the right. Get yourself cleaned up, then come back.”
Just like that, the heat in my belly dies. I don’t know why I thought he’d make his excuses and hurry us both out to the car to finish what we started. At the very least- I don’t know why he’d subject us to the humiliation of rejoining the party after being caught by one of the staff.
Surely half the room will know in five minutes that we were undressing each other around the corner. And if they’re not talking about it, they’ll see it outright when I walk into that room with a rumpled gown and my hair half undone.
Thomas realizes I haven’t tried to get up and looks down his nose at me. His expression is settling into its usual stoic emptiness even as I watch. “We’re not done yet.”
Is he talking about the party, or is he talking about… us? When he holds his hand out to help me up, I know the answer, and my stomach sinks.
He’s already moved on.
I take his hand and let him pull me up, but I don’t feel his touch. A strange nothingness is overtaking my limbs, my face, my mind. I don’t see where he goes when I leave the alcove. My steps carry me back to the ballroom and around its outskirts to the entrance hall, where I find the powder room Thomas indicated. I lock the door behind me, and half collapse against it.
The mirror tells me what I already know. Thomas roughed me up beyond repair. My loose bun is half undone down my neck. There’s a big red bite mark in the meat of my left thumb. And, of course, there’s a slit going all the way up my skirt that definitely wasn’t there before.
If I go back into that party, everyone will know that I was ravished in a corner, and they’ll know who did it.
And that was exactly Thomas’s plan.
The high I felt five minutes ago is long gone, replaced by a hollowness in my stomach and a tightness in my skin. Thomas said I was the bait- he told me before anything happened. But I stopped listening the second he put his hands on me.
“I’m so stupid,” I tell my reflection.
A part of me seriously considers leaving. If I start walking now, maybe I can get out of view of the restaurant before Thomas realizes I’m not still cleaning myself up.
But where am I supposed to go?
In the end, I don’t leave. Of course I don’t. I don’t bother trying to fix my updo or my dress either. With impatient fingers, I tug out the last of my hairpins and shake my tangles into loose waves. The dress… the dress is irreparable, and I make the conscious decision to pretend it was always cut this way. Anyone I lie to will know I’m lying, and I’ll know they know I’m lying, but fuck it.
With one last bracing breath, I march out of the powder room and return to the party- just in time to watch Thomas and Derrick Lindman disappear down the hall leading to the private alcoves.
Great. I’m on my own, then.
Will he use a different alcove down that hallway for business than he did for pleasure? No, I don’t think so. They’re interchangeable to Thomas. He wouldn’t think twice about discussing corporate sabotage two feet away from where he made me cum on his own tongue.
I don’t bother skirting the edge of the room this time. I walk straight through it, weaving between half-filled tables and the milling crowd to the refreshment tables. I feel rather than hear the whispers of the people who notice my presence, my gown, my hair. Thomas made a point of dressing me better than anyone else in the room, only so it would be absolutely obvious when he undressed me for fun.
Fine then. Let these people feast with their eyes. Let them see what he planned so carefully for them- a woman all too happy to follow where he leads. Not a partner, not an equal, but a tool to be used and discarded.
And I do feel discarded. As I pour myself a drink and stand alone beside the table- wondering if I should at least eat some of the free food or if I should just stand here on display- I have to set my jaw to keep it from trembling. I thought I would be part of the negotiations. I thought I’d have a say in what happens to my uncle. But no. I’m important only insofar as I can be a trophy for Thomas to parade around.
I take a long gulp of my sparkling wine, savoring the sting of it in my throat, then pour myself another glass.
There’s a commotion at the open doors to the ballroom. Someone is trying to get in without an invitation, and the event coordinator in the hall is starting to raise their voice. There’s the thump of a body hitting the wall, then the floor, and the guests closest to the door gasp and stumble back. There’s a break in the bodies, and I see who’s come to crash the party.
My wine glass slips from my hand, shattering to pieces on the tile floor.
My uncle strides into the room, looking too tall and too thin even in his customary fur-lined trench coat. His beady eyes search the guests backing away from him, and instinctively, I know he’s looking for me.
How? How did he know I was here? How did he find me again?
Paul Zakharov slouches at his right shoulder, looking scruffy and bored as ever. I want to feel a little relief at the sight of him, but I know better. Paul has never compromised his loyalty to my uncle, no matter how much he’s always cared for me.
If Uncle orders Paul to grab me and drag me back to the Speare estate right now, he will.
