up without ruining my makeup. My pride was wounded, and it wouldn’t allow me to forgive Mr. Chanler for his charade. Not tonight, maybe never. I couldn’t believe he’d tricked me. I couldn’t believe how easily—readily—I’d fallen for it.
I put on my dress but binding my corset without help proved difficult. I’d be damned if I’d asked Mr. Chanler for help, though. Instead, I allowed the corset to be looser than I would have usually liked it, straightened my hair, and slipped on my shoes. My panties were still in Dark’s…Mr Chanler’s pocket.
I returned to the bedroom where Mr. Chanler waited for me, dressed in his previous finery, holding his mask in his hands.
My face blasted with heat, remembering our evening together, and imagining the triumph he must have felt all through it. My parents taught me to remain silent if I had nothing positive to say, so I crossed the room without a word. The moment my fingers curled around the door handle, Mr. Chanler spoke up.
“Don’t you want your panties back, Jean?”
I gritted my teeth. “Keep them as a token for all I care, Mr. Chanler.”
“Call me Peyton,” he said, not even bothering to hide his amusement. “I think our newfound familiarity allows us to forgo formalities.”
I shot him a glare but my eyes lingered on his infuriating smirk and the sharp angles of his handsome face. “Have a good night, Mr. Chanler.”
I stepped outside and closed the door with too much force. Too late I realized I’d forgotten to fix my mask. I didn’t care. I made my way downstairs. By now the number of guests was dwindling. It was past midnight and many were drunk or outside enjoying the cool summer night.
“Where have you been? Your mom and I have been looking for you,” Dad said, appearing in front of me. He scanned my mask, which was still a mess. I hoped my lipstick would at least cover up my swollen lips.
“I was outside, seeking some quiet.”
Dad didn’t look convinced. “What happened to your mask?”
“I got stuck.”
He shook his head then waved Mom over who’d entered the hall. She rushed over to us and we could finally leave the party.
They grilled me the entire way home, but I kept my silence.
When we pulled up in front of our house, Mom asked, “Have you made up your mind about Mr. Chanler yet?”
“Why?” The high-pitched note of my voice made Mom and Dad turn around in their seats.
“Because he sent me a message asking to come over tomorrow. He needs a reply from you,” Dad said.
His audacity!
“No, I haven’t.”
“Jean,” Mom began in her begging voice.
“I know! I know we need this. Can you at least pretend I have a choice?”
They fell silent, and the moment we arrived at home, I rushed into my room. This night had taken an unexpected turn, one I should regret but couldn’t. Maybe that was Mr. Chanler’s biggest triumph.
As expected, I was sore the next day, a reminder of the night before, not that I needed any reminding. I’d dreamed about it all night and woken so turned on this morning that I had to take care of business myself despite my soreness.
When I thought of Mr. Chanler’s visit today, I was conflicted. On the one hand, saying yes to him seemed not only the reasonable choice, but also one that promised adventure and pleasure. I’d felt connected to him, not to mention that I was attracted to him like I’d never been to anyone. I doubted any of the other suitors that my parents might still have on their list would offer the same advantages.
Maybe that was the problem. I didn’t want to handle my marriage as a business decision but felt like I had no choice. Without our night together I would have said no to Mr. Chanler, but now the business side of our arrangement wasn’t the only thing in favor of him anymore.
I couldn’t catch a clear thought, still too overwhelmed by the events of last night, and maybe that was why Mr. Chanler had chosen today for his visit. This time, however, we’d play by my rules, and I wouldn’t let any trickery change that.
I’d put on one of my prettiest dresses, a form-fitting piece that was on the verge of daring but still elegant. I wanted to have the upper hand in this meeting. Maybe Mr. Chanler planned to catch me on the wrong foot, to have me in a state of flustered confusion. Maybe he thought