“Not over the phone. Maybe later.”
“Roger that. See you in an hour. Wear something slutty.”
I managed a laugh, though it felt rusty in my throat. “Will do.”
I returned to our bedroom, but it felt emptier than it had this morning, colder somehow. Shedding the black dress, I carefully draped it over a chair before heading to the walk-in closet. I rifled through the options, searching for something that would make me feel powerful and desirable. Something that would make me forget the emptiness in Rafe's eyes.
I finally settled on a cropped wrap top with long sleeves that tied at the waist, leaving a strip of midriff exposed and paired it with a flowy skirt that had a slit high enough to be interesting but not so high it would get me kicked out of the club. The crimson fabric caught the light as I moved, making it look like liquid fire against my skin. I added gold bangles, stacking them on my wrists until they clinked softly with every movement.
In the bathroom, I reapplied my makeup, adding more intensity to my eyes, and a deeper color to my lips. I wasn't just getting ready to go out, I was armoring myself, creating a version of Cece who didn't care that her fake husband couldn't even look at her. A version who didn't feel the sting of rejection from a man she wasn't supposed to want anyway.
I left my hair in waves past my shoulders and after I spritzed perfume onto my skin, I stepped back to assess the final result.
The woman in the mirror looked confident, sexy, and untouchable. Nothing like the confused, hurt woman who'd stood inside Rafe's office, pleading for him to talk to her. This was a woman who didn't need Rafael de Luca's approval or attention. This was a woman who could walk into a club and have any man she wanted.
If only I felt as strong as I looked.
Before I left, I returned to Rafe's office. I wasn't sure why. To say goodbye? To give him one more chance? To make him see what he was missing? Whatever the reason, I stood in the doorway again, one hand holding on to the frame.
He hadn't moved much, still sitting behind the desk, still staring at nothing. The level in his glass was only slightly lower, suggesting he was nursing it rather than downing in it.
“I'm going out,” I announced, my voice firmer now, with none of the pleading softness from earlier.
His eyes flicked up, taking in my outfit with a slow, deliberate assessment that made heat rise to my cheeks despite my anger. His gaze lingered first on the high slit of my skirt, then the bare strip of skin at my waist before settling on the deep crimson of my lips.
“Where to?” he asked, his voice flat but not quite as empty as before.
I lifted my chin, defiance straightening my spine. “Out.”
Something flickered in his eyes—annoyance? Concern? It disappeared too quickly for me to identify. “With whom?”
“Does it matter?” I countered.
His jaw tightened, the muscle there visibly jumping. “Yes.”
“Izzy,” I relented, unsure why I was even answering.
He nodded once, his eyes dropping back to his glass. “I’ll call you a car.”
After telling him I could call my own damn car, I turned on my heel and left.
***
The bass hit me like a physical force the moment I stepped into Mirage, sound vibrating up through the floor and into my bones. Colored lights flashed across the crowded dance floor, illuminating bodies moving in sync with the relentless rhythm.
I spotted Izzy near the bar, her tall figure easy to pick out even in the crowd. She wore a silver top that caught the light with every movement and black leather pants that looked painted on.Her dark hair was pulled up in a messy bun, exposing the elegant line of her neck.
She spotted me at the same moment and raised a hand in greeting before pushing through the crowd to reach me. “Damn, girl,” she said, drawing me into a tight hug. When she pulled back, she searched my face with the kind of scrutiny that came from true friendship. “What's up? And don't say nothing because I can see it all over your face.”
I shook my head. “I don't want to talk about it. I just want to dance. And drink. A lot.”
Izzy studied me for another moment before nodding. “Alright. Drinks first, then dancing, then maybe talking if you're drunk enough to spill.”
She led me to the bar, somehow finding space in the crush of bodies. Two shots of tequila materialized in front of us, along with lime wedges and salt. We clinked the small glasses together, licked the salt from the backs of our hands, threw back the liquor, and finally bit into the limes.
The alcohol burned down my throat, bringing with it a welcome heat that spread through my chest. I ordered a second round immediately, earning an approving nod from Izzy.
“That kind of night, huh?”
