Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
J asmine didn’t recognize the woman in the mirror, but that wasn’t surprising considering the hours that had gone into creating the best version of herself. She spent most of her day at the spa and salon in their building, where she’d gotten a facial, wax, nails, hair, and makeup done.
When she returned to the penthouse, she found a small crowd waiting for her. Each group was there to offer an accessory—shoes, clutches, and jewelry that had been preselected to match the dress that had yet to arrive. All she had to do was choose what she liked best.
Everyone deferred to her choices except the jewelry consultant. When she selected a dazzling pair of chandelier earrings and declined any other pieces, the consultant protested.
“Your husband was clear that he wanted you to have a set, not just one piece.”
She frowned. “I haven’t seen the dress yet, but I was told it has a high neckline and long sleeves. I think the earrings are enough.”
The consultant gave a dismissive flick of her wrist. “You can still wear a statement piece with a high neckline. How about these light blue diamonds? This piece took nine months to source and match each individual stone. Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“It is.” And she was sure the price tag that went with it was staggering. “But I think it’s a bit much. I mean...” She flashed her wedding ring. “Between this and the earrings, no one would say I’m lacking, and I’m going for understated elegance, not...”
The jewelry consultant gave her a steady look from under long lash extensions. “It’s impossible to be anything but elegant in diamonds. There’s no such thing as too many.”
She knew everyone would be decked out in their finest jewels, but she wasn’t trying to compete. She wanted to glide under the radar, not turn into a human disco ball. Besides, there she didn’t want to acquire more jewelry from Roth that she’d never use again. Unfortunately, the consultant wasn’t easily discouraged and wanted her to choose from a set of necklaces that looked like they belonged in a museum or on a royal, not her. Their polite bickering ended when she received a text from Roth.
You’re arguing with the jewelry consultant?
She read the message and caught the consultant pocketing her phone. Apparently, they’d been told to contact him if she resisted. If Roth wanted her to look gaudy, there was nothing she could do about it. It would draw more attention to them, but apparently, that’s what he was going for, so she would oblige like the obedient fucking wife she was.
She accepted the sensational set of blue diamonds and an outrageous cocktail ring the jewelry consultant insisted upon and was relieved when everyone filed out. Mo and Johan had been present during the whole debacle and didn’t say a word when she stalked to the kitchen to scarf down a salad while waiting for the dress to arrive. She hoped Daiyu had accidentally ruined it, and she wouldn’t be able to go.
It was just her luck that the dress arrived twenty minutes before Roth was supposed to pick her up.
She fluffed her hair, which had been styled in loose curls that brushed her shoulders. Her dramatic makeup—smoky eyes, a show-stopping red lip, and fake lashes that made her eyes pop—was utter perfection. She looked the part. Polished, glamorous. Under different circumstances, she would have been thrilled to attend such a prestigious event. Instead, her stomach was as tight as a fist, and she felt slightly ill.
She stepped back to take in the full effect and had to admit that if she’d planned this herself, she couldn’t have done a better job. The midnight-blue gown draped her impeccably. How Daiyu managed to flatter her figure so effortlessly she’d never know. It was convenient knowing a talented fashion designer who could whip up a dress for any occasion with so little warning. But it came at a cost. The card attached to the garment bag demanded she stop by the shop for a fitting ASAP.
On the hanger, the dress looked surprisingly demure, with the promised high neckline and long sleeves, but when it came to Daiyu, nothing was as it seemed. From the front, she was covered from neck to toe aside from a tasteful slit. It was perfection, but the back...
She did a half-turn and cringed at the open back and low cut of the gown. What the hell was Daiyu thinking? This was the Trentham Ball, not a Hollywood red-carpet event. She had no idea what the dress code was, but she was sure this was borderline indecent. She’d hoped to reenter society as a class act, not reinforce her bad reputation by wearing something shocking.
She glanced at the time and cursed as she reached for the stack of jewelry boxes. She put on the earrings first and despite her worry, paused to admire how it sparkled. In her opinion, this was more than enough, but Roth wanted her lit up like a beacon to find her in the crush. The contrast of the stunning light blue diamond necklace was more dramatic against the dark fabric than if the diamonds had lain against her bare skin.
She had to use her teeth to close the clasp of the spectacular emerald-cut bracelet and finished it off with the blinding three-layered cocktail ring that the consultant thought would be “fun.” Her mother’s diamond anklet was a nice touch, highlighting the leg that peeked out of the slit with every step she took. The only thing out of place was the ruby ring. She toyed with it but couldn’t bring herself to take it off. The ring had consoled her throughout the day, calming her when her emotions threatened to spiral out of control. She turned the ruby heart down, so all anyone would see was a thin gold band. It would go unnoticed with all the other pieces she was wearing. She posed in front of the mirror. From the front, she looked like a lady. She just wished the back matched. Fuck.
To convince herself it wasn’t that bad, she turned her back to the mirror and looked over her shoulder as she raised her arms. The material shifted, revealing a flash of color that sent a bolt of terror through her. Her tattoo, a vine of flowers that flowed from her hip to ribs was showing. The placement had been deliberate, a rebellious declaration that she wouldn’t follow high society’s rules. The defiance and pride she thought she’d feel at this moment was drowned out by horror.
Her frazzled nerves threatened to snap as she ran through a mental inventory of the outfits in her closet. There was nothing remotely suitable for the Trentham Ball. If she tried to wear a shawl or jacket to cover the back, she’d look ridiculous.
She lunged for her makeup bag and dumped the contents onto the counter. Feverishly, she shook her foundation before squirting some onto her makeup brush and perching on the edge of the vanity, twisting awkwardly and tugging on the dress to get at the tattoo.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She toppled off the counter and skidded on her heels before she swung around to blast Roth and forgot what she was going to say. The sight of him in a tuxedo took her breath away. Vaguely, she noted his lapels and crisp pocket square were the same midnight satin as her gown. They were matching, which meant not just Daiyu but whoever had made his suit was given enough time to customize it for tonight. Even as anger speared through her, she had to admit, he had never looked more dashing. He’d worn a tux for their fake wedding at Tuxedo Park, but she’d been too engrossed in their drama to appreciate it. This was the sophisticated, debonair Roth she’d never allowed herself to imagine. The man who attended parties in jeans and sports jackets was gone. Roth had evolved into a different being—one she wouldn’t recognize if she hadn’t seen his evolution firsthand.
As his eyes coasted over her, she raised her chin. She planned to be so insufferably composed and polite that he might be convinced she’d switched personalities with Colette. Her plans were in the gutter thanks to this racy dress.
Roth stared at her painted red toes peeking out from the floor-length gown before his gaze began to rise. His eyes flicked to the bracelet on her left wrist, the blue diamond necklace, the earrings, and finally, her face. His stoic expression didn’t alter, but she sensed something about her appearance had rattled him. She wasn’t sure why, and right now, she didn’t care, because she was in the middle of a crisis.
“This dress is inappropriate! Daiyu sabotaged me.” She turned to show him her back and grimaced at the prolonged silence. She extended the makeup brush over her shoulder. “Daiyu’s always trying to push the boundaries, but she chose the wrong venue to make a statement. I think we can cover it.”
“Cover what?”
She craned her neck around to see if he was joking, but he looked genuinely confused. “My tattoo!”
“What about it?”
Her mouth sagged before she snapped, “I can’t go to the Trentham Ball showing a tattoo. I can’t go in this dress at all.” She bit her nails before remembering her fresh manicure. Shit. “I could change into something less formal, but I’d stick out like a sore thumb. I don’t know what to do.”
He snatched the makeup brush and tossed it onto the vanity, splattering the white marble counter with foundation before grabbing her wrist and towing her toward the door.
“Come on. We’re going to be late.”
“I can’t go like this!”
She hauled back on her arm, but that didn’t stop him. Her heels slid along the floor as if she were on a pair of skis. She had an odd sense of déjà vu and remembered she’d tried this move in the Colorado hospital with similar results. Roth scooped up her coat and her clutch as he walked out of the master suite.
“You don’t understand. The people attending this event, they’re the one percent of the one percent. First impressions are everything. Most of them are sticklers for tradition. They take their reputation and those they do business with very seriously. They won’t respect someone dressed like this any more than my father would.”
When he stopped in front of the elevator and tried to slip her into the midnight coat Daiyu had included, she sidled away.
“I’m sure there’s a dress code. What if they ask me to leave? Did they mention anything about that on the invitation?” she babbled.
He pinned her against the wall and forced her arm into the sleeve.
“Listen to me!” she shouted.
“I am listening.”
“Then hear me,” she pleaded as he did up the buttons of her coat, too hysterical to notice he paused to finger her curls before fixing her collar. “This dress is going to give everyone the wrong impression. That business you want to do tonight? People might brush you off and say they’ll get back to you later, because they won’t want to be associated with someone with a wife who looks like this. Is that what you want?”
He didn’t respond. He just stared at her with that arrogant, implacable gaze that had brazened out countless awkward situations. But she knew better, and it was her job to warn him. He had no idea they were walking into a viper’s nest.
“You should go alone or let me find something more appropriate...” Her voice trailed off when he typed in the code to call the elevator. “You’re making a mistake.”
As he shrugged into his coat, she considered making a run for it and saving him from his own folly. He shook his head, easily reading her intention to flee.
“You aren’t getting out of this.”
“I’m trying to save you from being humiliated!”
“I won’t be.”
“So, you don’t care if I am?” Her nerves stretched to the breaking point. “I grew up in this world. I know how these people think. This won’t go over well. Daiyu should have known better. This isn’t how you want to be introduced to high society—trust me.”
When he considered her thoughtfully, she felt a flash of hope. The light above the elevator flashed, announcing the car’s impending arrival.
“It would be better if you went alone,” she said quietly. “For your own sake.”
When he didn’t say anything, she went limp with relief and took a step back, only to find her arm shackled in a steely grip.
“Roth?” she whispered as the elevator doors opened. She clutched his arm in a death grip. “Please.”
He dragged her into the elevator and nodded to the operator before shuffling her to the back. Her heart thundered as the doors closed, cutting her off from the safety of the penthouse. This couldn’t be happening.
It was a busy evening. The elevator stopped with annoying regularity on what felt like almost every floor. As the elevator filled, Roth placed her before him and wrapped his arms around her. She was as stiff as a board.
With Christmas just around the corner, everyone was dressed festively, with red scarves, glitter eye shadow, even blinking reindeer antlers. Several residents were carrying bags filled with presents or had bottles of wine or champagne tucked under their arms. Everyone was in high spirits, talking and laughing. Jasmine wanted to scream.
When they stopped on the seventy-second floor, a man made his way to the back of the elevator and paused when he caught sight of them.
“Roth,” he acknowledged.
“Phin,” Roth replied.
Apparently, that was all that was required, because neither said anything more.
As the elevator halted once more, Roth buried his face in her hair. His appreciative hum made several people turn. The man quickly looked away, but one woman beamed at her while the other mimed fainting. They assumed he was a besotted husband, when he was anything but.
“You’re wearing the perfume I like,” Roth murmured.
She didn’t know he had a favorite perfume since he’d never mentioned it before. Was he telling the truth or softening her up for their performance? She knew from experience what a great actor he was.
While hairdressers, nail techs, estheticians, and makeup artists worked on her body, she worked on her mind. She reinforced her mental shields, buried her emotions, and got into character. The fact she looked nothing like herself helped, but between the dress and Roth’s behavior, she was already off-kilter. He was touching her again, scrambling her thoughts and making her emotions pitch and roll, when she desperately needed control. He knew touch was sacred to her; that she craved connection. He was indulging her weakness, so she’d play her part more convincingly. Bastard.
Several couples exited on the twelfth floor to dine at one of the restaurants in the building, leaving some gaps in their wake. She stepped forward, hoping he’d let her go. Instead, he hauled her back and further mocked her need for space by nuzzling her cheek.
“Behave,” he warned.
That quiet reproof made her want to erupt into a full-blown tantrum. The effort it took to restrain herself made her insides ripple and quake. He was an expert at compartmentalizing and turning his emotions on and off. Apparently, he was on again and expected her to play along.
If she believed he genuinely felt something for her and she wasn’t just a means to an end to him, she could take on anything, including whatever awaited them at the Trentham Ball. But she didn’t have him. Not even close. Knowing he’d be rating her performance and usefulness had her strung so tight she could barely think straight. If she didn’t perform to his satisfaction, would he break their agreement?
The elevator finally opened onto the lobby. Roth held her back, allowing the other occupants who’d been watching them surreptitiously to go ahead. She plastered a foolish smile onto her face. If anyone had bothered to look, they would have seen her eyes were as blank as a doll as Roth kissed her cheek and took her hand.
When they exited the building, she sucked in a sharp breath at the blast of winter air. Neither her dress nor her coat granted her much protection from the elements. She hurried forward without registering Mo wasn’t in Roth’s Bentley but a brand-new Rolls-Royce Phantom that was drawing some admiring looks.
“What’s this?” Roth asked.
She ignored him, opened the back door, and slid onto the heated leather seat. She didn’t feel any of the excitement or glee she thought she would as she breathed in the new-car smell.
“Didn’t she tell you?” Johan asked.
“Tell me what?” Roth said impatiently.
Johan ducked down to peer at her with a puzzled, expectant expression, which she ignored by pressing the button to close the door. The car had been delivered two days ago. The only reason Mo and Johan had kept it out of their report was because she’d said it was a Christmas gift. Apparently, they’d taken the reveal into their own hands, assuming now would be the perfect time for Roth to receive one of his presents. Under other circumstances, they would have been right, but now, it was another unwelcome stressor on top of everything else.
Roth rounded the Rolls-Royce and got in on the opposite side. She could feel him staring at her as they pulled into traffic.
“You bought a car?” he asked.
She buckled her seat belt as she muttered, “You have your Rolls-Royce Ghost in London. The soundproof interior cuts out the city noise. I thought you’d enjoy having one here.” That wasn’t the real reason behind her impulsive purchase, but she couldn’t stomach telling him she’d bought it so they could hold hands in the back seat, which they couldn’t do in the Bentley. It seemed so foolish now. She wished the interior weren’t so fucking quiet and that Mo and Johan weren’t listening to every word. “If you don’t like it, I can get you something else.”
“You got this for me?”
There was an odd note in his voice that made her want to open the door and throw herself into traffic.
“For Christmas.” She fiddled with her wedding ring, wriggling it to the edge of her finger and tipping it back and forth before swirling it back down. “I thought it would make your commute a little more peaceful.” She felt sick with shame. “I should have asked if you already had one or wanted something else...” She gestured to the front seats. “They thought you might want to install bulletproof glass. We wanted to check with you first.”
The silence was like nails on a chalkboard.
“I wasn’t expecting this.”
She couldn’t tell from his tone what he meant by that, and she wasn’t going to look at him to find out. “If you’d prefer something else...”
“We’ll talk about this later.”
So much for a grand romantic gesture. She should have known better than to buy him a Rolls-Royce. The man bought jets on a whim—if he wanted a car where he could hold her hand in the back seat, he could have one delivered within the hour. She should have stuck to a tie and a briefcase. That would have been less revealing than this extravagant gift.
She stared out the window but didn’t register the view. All she could think about was the commotion their appearance would cause. Everyone already thought the worst of her because she’d cheated on Ford with Roth, and now she was living up to her reputation by showing up in a risqué gown to show off brands no self-respecting society wife would have. But she wasn’t a real wife, was she?
She slumped in the buttery seat and closed her eyes. She was going to kill Daiyu. Had her friend created the dramatic open back to show her tattoos on purpose? Daiyu had remarked on them during one of her wedding gown fittings. She was a true maverick who loved to cause a stir. Jasmine just wished it weren’t at her expense. But it was too late now, and if Roth wasn’t concerned, she shouldn’t be either. But she was. After they parted, she’d still have to deal with society, and she wanted to be taken seriously like her sisters, not labeled as a slut.
Her eyes opened as Mo turned from Madison onto East 83rd. They were nearing the Trentham Mansion, a historic landmark. How many times had she admired the Beaux-Arts building and wondered about the grand interior? Though the Trenthams had hosted an annual ball for a rumored three hundred plus guests every year for nearly a century, not one picture had ever been published in the press or on the internet. Anyone lucky enough to be invited wouldn’t dare violate their strict no-photo policy.
Despite her apprehension, curiosity and anticipation bubbled to the surface. It was odd that out of all the prominent families her father had made them study, one of New York’s oldest and wealthiest hadn’t been included. The Hennessys had amassed an impressive fortune within three generations, but the Trenthams were seven generations deep and had helped shape the city into what it was today. Although the Trentham name was synonymous with New York, Jasmine wouldn’t be able to identify a single family member. The Trenthams were notoriously private and reclusive—a far cry from her father, who loved the spotlight.
According to the hasty Google search she’d done in between appointments, the Trenthams consisted of their patriarch, Sullivan, who was a little older than her father, and his surviving children, Nathaniel and Charlotte. A grandchild was noted, but there were no other details—not even a name. The family was shrouded in mystery. On their website, Nathaniel was listed as the principal owner of the Trentham Organization, while his sister ran their foundation, which supported numerous charitable causes. Unfortunately, the reason the Trenthams tended to make headlines was because the family was plagued with tragedy. Many speculated the Trenthams were cursed and paying for the sins of their forefathers who had made them into one of the wealthiest families in the world.
She glanced at Roth and wasn’t surprised he was on his phone. A week ago, she would have reached out to him for reassurance. Now, she gripped her clutch with trembling fingers. The one and only time they’d circulated in society was the night they met. She never imagined they’d make their official debut as a couple at the Trentham Ball. Tonight, she was living out a lifelong dream, but like most dreams that came true, it was nothing like what she’d imagined.
As the Rolls-Royce slowed in front of the Trentham Mansion, she nervously fingered her curls. Johan didn’t need to get out to open her door, since there was a man on the sidewalk waiting to do just that. She took his gloved hand and blinked when he said, “Good evening, Mrs. Roth. We’re delighted to have you.”
It was a good thing he had a hold of her, because she was so startled by him knowing who she was that she almost slipped.
“Thank you,” she said as she gained her footing.
The man smiled at Roth, who appeared at her side. “Mr. Roth.”
Roth nodded as the man bowed to excuse himself and rushed to greet someone who pulled up in an SUV. Jasmine ignored the activity around them and the deafening sound of an ambulance as it careened down Fifth Avenue and looked up. The eight-story brick-and-limestone Trentham Mansion was magnificent. Tonight, every single window was lit up for the festivities. Security in long black overcoats and earpieces guarded the entrance while men in white directed traffic and rushed to ensure the esteemed guests didn’t slip as they stepped onto the heated sidewalk.
Roth grasped her hand and led her toward the mansion. Did he have to hand over an invitation or give his name so they could check it off a list? Roth didn’t slow as they climbed the steps. To her surprise, security gave way and inclined their heads respectfully as if they knew him. Even as she wondered how that was possible, she stepped into an entrance hall that transported her to a different era.