“Deal.”
CHAPTER 21
I’m going to kill him.
The slip of fabric hanging in my closet can barely be considered a dress, let alone one I’m expected to wear in public. At this point, I may as well go to this ball in lingerie. It might cover more.
But despite my growing irritation, I can’t help but slide the silky fabric through my fingers. It’s a deep purple-red, like a dark, heavy wine, and it seems to absorb the light rather than reflect it.
Fuck it, I can at least try it on.
After tossing aside my normal clothes, I step into the dress and slide it up over my torso, slipping my arms into the spaghetti straps on either side.
The bodice is tight and subtly flares out just as it meets my hips, though there’s a slit along my right leg that’s downright scandalous. And if that weren’t enough, the neckline plunges in a deep v with the point stopping an inch below my breasts.
Of course this is the dress he’d pick out for me—not something even semi-modest that will allow me toblend in. He probably knew I’d be uncomfortable showing this much skin and bought it to spite me.
The worst part is, I don’t hate it. I swish back and forth in the mirror, watching the hemline skirt across the floor, and look at myself from the side and behind.
I don’t look half-bad, actually.
And if he’s forcing me to go to this event anyway, I may as well make the most of it. Plus, I don’t have another formal dress here, so I have to wear this one. That’s what I’m telling myself to justify this, anyway.
There’s a double-breasted black coat hanging in the closet as well, so that will help cover me for a little while—at least until we’re in public and Ambrose and I won’t be alone together.
I take off the dress, not wanting to accidentally spill makeup on it, and situate myself in front of my mirror. The clock on the wall shows I still have an hour to get ready, so I take my time doing my makeup and twisting my hair up into an elegant updo.
By the time I slip the dress back on, I have to admit, I look pretty damn good. And I don’t have to worry about wearing that damn necklace tonight, either.
With a few minutes to spare, I slip on the new coat and grab the black heels Ambrose had set beneath my dress, carrying them downstairs since there’s no way I’d manage to make it down the steps without breaking an ankle.
“You look absolutely radiant,” Ambrose praises once I reach the landing.
I turn to face him, and he’s standing in the living room straightening his tie. It takes every ounce of willpower I have not to ogle him. He’s dressed in an all-black suit, including the shirt beneath, and the only color in his attire is a blood-red tie that matches my dress.
“You don’t look too terrible, either,” I mumble.
His laugh is low and rich, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking—that he perfectly encompasses the look of a handsome, tempting devil.
“I think that’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever gotten from you.”
I roll my eyes and turn toward the front door, mostly to keep him out of eyesight so I don’t allow my thoughts to wander about how handsome he looks. “Are you ready? Let’s get this night over with.”
“Patience, pet. Give me one more moment.”
“I’m not your pet.”
He doesn’t respond, but his footsteps recede into his bedroom before he returns and offers me the black lace mask in his hand. “The last part of your outfit,” he says. “It is a masquerade, after all.”
I snatch it from his outstretched palm and slip my heels on, then risk a glance at him. His dark hair is perfectly tousled, draped slightly over his forehead in a way that looks effortless but probably took a while to perfect.
Ambrose’s eyes glint with mischief at my stare.
“After you,” he says as he opens the front door.
I step outside into the frigid autumn air and rush to the car. It’s barely past 6 p.m., but the sun is already setting behind the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange that fade into gray.
Ambrose slides into the driver’s seat a few seconds later, and in minutes we’re winding through the serpentine mountain roads toward our destination.
