“You didn’t want Violet to wear it, hmm?” I touch the necklace, turning toward the mirror to my right. The necklace is stunning, even against the white silk robe I have on, and I stare at my reflection, overwhelmed at what the necklace represents.
Grandma’s right. Fleur is my legacy, too. I need to remember that. Not get caught up in the mess that’s been created by Violet and Ryder against Daddy and … Pilar.
Ew. Just thinking about that bitch makes me want to puke.
But I can’t stand by and let everything happen to me. I need to make a stand. I need to let Father know that I don’t approve of his tactics. Something needs to be done. Someone needs to say something.
If that has to be me, then so be it.
“Please. Violet has that lovely diamond on her finger. She doesn’t need any other piece of jewelry right now.” Grandma waves a dismissive hand at my suggestion. She’s right. Ryder asked Violet to marry him only a few days ago and my sister is positively giddy over it.
For so long I’d been afraid she’d saddle herself to that idiot Zachary Lawrence, but thankfully she saw the light and found a man who cherishes her. Understands her. Respects her. That he’s gorgeous and sexy as hell doesn’t hurt matters.
I’m a little envious of my sister’s happiness, but I can’t begrudge her finally finding joy. She’s had so many challenges and she’s fought every single one of them. I’m proud of her. Happy for her.
Truly.
“Enjoy that necklace. There’s a segment in the documentary about it.” Grandma winks and starts toward the door. “We’ll meet in your father’s suite in twenty minutes. Don’t be late, you hear me?”
“I hear you,” I call to her, shaking my head as she exits my room with a loud slam of the door.
I turn to face the mirror once again, my hands going to the belt of my robe and untying it, letting the white silk part before I shrug it from my shoulders. The fabric falls to the floor in a crumpled heap around my feet and I kick it away, then stand tall.
The necklace looks good against my skin and I take a deep breath, watching my naked breasts rise and fall. I might need to have a drink or two before I don the dress. I’ll need the liquid courage to face my family later.
Daddy will probably hate the dress. Violet will be scandalized. Grandma will laugh and silently cheer me on. And Pilar? She’s accompanying us tonight, which I hate. I don’t give two shits what she thinks about the dress. Or me. Or any of us.
Sighing, I go to the closet and pull the dress out, smoothing my hands over the layers of white, frothy chiffon that make up the skirt. Considering it’s strapless, the necklace will be showcased perfectly. I wonder what sort of story surrounds the piece of jewelry?
I’ll find out soon enough.
“Nice dress.”
A shiver moves down my spine at the sound of the warm, inviting tone. I glance over my shoulder to find a very handsome man standing there, an arrogant smirk on his face as he blatantly scans me from head to toe.
My smile falls and I straighten my spine. I was tricked by his voice. He sounded flirty and fun, but really he’s just a creeper. Not bothering to say anything, I turn my back to him but he halts my progress, his hand going around the crook of my elbow.
I glance down at his offending hand on my arm before I lift my head and send him a withering stare. He doesn’t even flinch. He doesn’t let me go, either. “Aren’t you Rose Fowler?”
He has an accent, but I can’t tell from where. The room is filled with a variety of accents and languages; people from all over the world are at this party tonight. “I am,” I say, trying to discreetly pull out of his hold. But his fingers tighten not so discreetly on my flesh and I feel like I’m trapped.
“I thought so.” He flashes me a smile, but it doesn’t quite meet his dark eyes. Everything about him is dark. His hair, his swarthy complexion, the way he’s looking at me. A ripple of unease washes over me and I glance around, looking for my father, my sister, or preferably Ryder, who’d tell this asshole where to go if I asked him to. “Interesting documentary on your family.”
“Thank you.” I’m trying to be polite but he’s making it so hard. He pulls me a little closer to him and I’m assaulted by the scent of his strong cologne, put off by the way his fingers smooth over my skin in a seeming caress. “If you could let me go, please. I have someone waiting for me.”
“Who?” He smiles, his teeth overly white, especially against his dark skin.
He’s making me angry. “Um, that’s none of your business.”
“You’re here alone tonight, aren’t you? I saw you on the red carpet.” He tugs so hard on my arm my footsteps falter and I nearly fall into him. “Let’s go have a drink.”
Politeness flies out the window as I rest my hand against his chest and give him a push. But he doesn’t budge. His fingers are so tight they’re pinching my flesh, and he’ll probably leave a mark. “Let. Me. Go,” I say through clenched teeth, fighting the panic flaring deep within me.
“You heard the lady,” another man practically growls from behind me, his deep, very pissed-off voice setting every hair on my body on end. “Get your fucking hands off her. Now.”
The man’s fingers spring away from my arm like someone turned a key and unlocked his hold on me. Backing away with his hands in front of him as if he’s pleading for mercy, he laughs nervously. “Didn’t know she was with you,” he says shakily just before he turns and practically sprints away from us.
Rubbing my arm, I turn to thank my savior, but the words die on my lips. Dark brown eyes watch me, the man’s demeanor still and silent, his full mouth pulled into a straight line. He’s wearing a black suit, not a tuxedo, and it appears a little frayed around the edges. As if he’s had it for a while and it’s been to the dry cleaner one too many times. Despite the aged suit, he has an elegant yet rough air about him. As if he doesn’t quite belong among this glittering, powerful, and extremely rich crowd.