C17, PT. 3

It hurt to look at him or be in the same room as him, so she kept busy. She started visiting the pool with the same regularity that he hit the gym. Her hair was still wet from this morning’s swim.

The only reason she was here instead of running around the city was because with Christmas being four days away, everything had been postponed until the new year. No one invited her to gatherings, assuming she would be spending the holiday with her husband. The husband who was currently eyeing her like she was an unwanted pet he regretted purchasing. A dangerous fantasy of him drenched in coffee crossed her mind, but she banished the thought before she acted on it.

“We have an engagement tonight,” he announced.

Of course. That was the only reason he’d bother to seek her out. “What kind of engagement?” She was proud that her even tone didn’t betray her emotions.

“The Trentham Ball.”

If her cup was full, it would have sloshed down her front when she jerked to the edge of her seat. “You got an invitation?”

He nodded and switched his gaze to his flashing phone. He frowned, clearly not liking what he saw on the screen.

“I’ll pick you up at six,” he said as he turned away.

She set her cup down with a clatter and leapt to her feet. “Wait!”

He paused, but didn’t look up from his phone. “What?”

“I can’t go to the Trentham Ball! I don’t have anything to wear!”

“A dress will be delivered,” he said, mind clearly somewhere else.

“You don’t understand. It can’t be some dress off the rack. If—”

“Daiyu made the dress,” he said impatiently. “And Sarai scheduled appointments to get you ready for tonight. She’ll send you the details.”

“How did Daiyu know I needed a dress?”

He looked up, brows knit with irritation. “What?”

“How long,” she said slowly and deliberately, “have you known that we’d be attending the Trentham Ball?”

“What does that matter?”

“It matters,” she snapped back.

“Why? You’ve been to hundreds of parties.”

“The Trentham Ball isn’t a party,” she stressed through clenched teeth. “It’s the most exclusive event of the year. Not even my father was guaranteed an invite. How did you manage to get on the guest list?”

“Sullivan.”

“You know Sullivan Trentham?”

His eyes narrowed at her disbelieving tone, but she couldn’t help it. She was astounded. Befriending British royalty was one thing, but the Trentham’s were the untouchables of New York, as interwoven into the city as the Rockefeller’s. Sullivan Trentham was one of the very few her father tread lightly around.

“We met a long time ago,” he said in a clipped tone that told her his patience was running thin. “And I don’t have time to talk about this. I’m going to be late for a meeting.”

A dangerous mix of incredulous anger and panic made her throat swell. As a young girl, she dreamed of attending the legendary Trentham Ball. Her sisters prepared for this event for weeks, getting custom gowns made and doing exhaustive research to discover who was on the guest list, and Roth was giving her mere hours to prepare.

This event gathered such an exclusive pool that it was rumored that attending just once could set you up for the rest of your life. But it could have the adverse effect as well—offending the wrong person could ruin any chance of success.

She knew they would return to society at some point, but she never imagined it would be at such a high-profile event. Their presence would draw so much negative attention, it would inhibit any networking he tried to do. She got a taste of it at Dad’s funeral—the sidelong looks, the whispers about her past scandal, and the deliberate snub from those who saw her as inferior due to her illegitimacy. If Roth had mentioned this ahead of time, she could have eased them back into society by going to smaller events to break the ice. But he was leaping into the deep end, and she was pretty sure they were going to drown.

As she opened her mouth to explain the magnitude of attending the ball, Roth spun on his heel and started for the door. After a week of treating her like a piece of furniture, her temper snapped.

“I’m not going.”

She didn’t shout, but she didn’t have to. He neatly pivoted to face her. For the first time in a week, they made eye contact. Her stomach clenched. There was no sign of the man who begged her to stay and promised to make her dreams come true. The man standing before her might as well have been a stranger. He was emotionally closed off from her, as if those intimate moments had never been. He didn’t say a word, silently pressuring her to retract what she said.

“I’m not going,” she said again, more firmly than the first time.

“Yes, you are.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “If you wanted me to go, you should have given me more time to prepare.”

“For what? Everything’s taken care of.”

“This event isn’t like the parties my dad held. This… There’s no comparison. You have no idea what…” Explanations streaked through her mind, but his obvious impatience told her she was wasting her time. “I can’t go.”

“I’m not asking.”

Her whirling thoughts ground to a halt. “What?”

“We made a deal. You agreed to fulfill all roles as my wife for the year that I own you,” he stated as he started toward her. “That means when I want you to fuck me, you fuck me. When I want you to travel with me, you pack your fucking bag. And when I tell you to attend an event with me, you do so, no questions asked. In return, I make sure Hennessy & Co doesn’t crumble.”

He stopped before her. Although he was bathed in golden light, it did nothing to soften the brutal lines of his face.

“I’m late for a board meeting where I intended to vouch for your sisters against my better judgment. They’re recouping their losses, but not fast enough to appease the shareholders. I’m putting my money and reputation on the line for you.”

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

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