9. Elise
— ? —
Elise
Two and a Half Months Into the Relationship
The invitation arrives on a Tuesday, embossed on cream-colored cardstock with the Reid family crest stamped in gold.
You are cordially invited to the Annual Reid Family Foundation Gala.
There’s a handwritten note at the bottom, in Margaret Reid’s distinctive slant:
Family is expected to attend. Alone.
Dominic looks at it for a long moment. Then he picks up his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“RSVPing.” He types something, then shows me the screen. Dominic Reid, plus one.
“Your mother is going to murder us.”
“My mother can try.”
***
I spend three days looking for the perfect dress.
Maya comes with me, offering opinions that range from helpful (“That color makes you look dead”) to unhelpful (“You should wear a wedding dress just to fuck with them”).
Finally, I find it.
Red. Backless. A slit that goes up to there.
“That’s the one,” Maya says when I step out of the dressing room. “That’s the ‘I’m going to set your family on fire’ dress.”
“Is that the vibe I’m going for?”
“Absolutely.”
***
The night of the gala, Dominic picks me up at Maya’s.
He’s wearing a charcoal suit that fits him like it was sewn directly onto his body, his dark hair pushed back, his jaw freshly shaved. He looks devastating.
Then he sees me.
His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
“We’re not going,” he says.
“Excuse me?”
“I can’t - you look-” He runs a hand through his carefully styled hair, ruining it. “You expect me to share you with a room full of people when you look like that?”
“That’s the plan, yes.”
“New plan. We stay home. I peel that dress off you with my teeth.”
“Tempting.” I cross to him, smoothing down his lapels. “But I believe you promised to introduce me to your mother as your girlfriend.”
“I’ll send her a card.”
“Dominic.”
He groans, pulling me close. “Fine. But I’m not going to be able to think about anything else all night.”
“Good.”
***
The gala is held at the Reid estate, a sprawling mansion in the hills that looks like something out of a period drama. Valets in uniforms. A string quartet on the lawn. Champagne flowing like water.
We walk in together, Dominic’s hand firm on my lower back, and the whispers start immediately.
“Is that the ex-wife?”
“She’s with the brother now?”
“Margaret must be dying.”
Let them talk. I’m done caring what people think.
We make our way through the crowd, Dominic stopping occasionally to greet acquaintances. I notice how people look at us - some with curiosity, some with judgment, a few with something that might be respect.
Then I see her.
Margaret Reid is holding court near the grand staircase, surrounded by women in expensive dresses and tight smiles. She’s wearing cream - always cream, like she’s perpetually auditioning for the role of innocent matriarch - and her silver hair is swept up in an elegant twist.
When she sees us, her expression freezes.
“Showtime,” I murmur.
Dominic squeezes my hand. “Ready?”
“Always.”
We approach.
“Mother,” Dominic says, his voice pleasant. “Lovely party.”
Margaret’s smile is glacier-cold. “Dominic. You brought... her.”
“Her name is Elise. My girlfriend.” He says it clearly, loudly, ensuring everyone nearby can hear. “You’ve met - at Connor’s wedding, where I gave the toast. And at his vow renewal, where his mistress crashed the ceremony.”
Several people nearby suddenly find their champagne very interesting.
“This is inappropriate,” Margaret says through her teeth. “She was your brother’s wife.”
“And then Connor cheated on her for over a year, got his assistant pregnant, and humiliated her publicly in front of the entire internet.” Dominic’s voice doesn’t waver. “He lost any claim to her the moment he decided his vows meant nothing.”
“Dominic-”
“Elise is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Mother. You can accept that, or you can continue pretending I don’t exist. But she’s not going anywhere.”
Margaret’s jaw tightens. She looks at me - really looks, for the first time since we arrived.
“I don’t know what you think you’re accomplishing,” she says, voice low and venomous. “First you failed to keep my son happy, and now you’re sinking your claws into his brother-”
“With all due respect, Mrs. Reid.” I keep my voice calm. “Your son failed to keep his vows. That’s not a reflection of my adequacy - it’s a reflection of his character.”
“How dare you-”
“I dare because I spent six years blaming myself for his failures. I’m done.” I meet her eyes steadily. “I’m sorry you don’t approve of my relationship with Dominic. But frankly, I don’t need your approval. I just need you to stay out of my way.”
The silence is deafening.
Then Dominic takes my hand, raises it to his lips, and kisses it.
“Shall we dance?” he asks.
“I’d love to.”
We leave Margaret standing there, surrounded by her society friends, her face mottled with fury.
***
On the dance floor, Dominic pulls me close.
“That was incredible,” he murmurs against my ear.
“I can’t believe I just told off Margaret Reid.”
“She had it coming.” He spins me, then pulls me back. “You know she’s going to make our lives difficult.”
“Let her try.” I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m tired of being afraid of the Reids.”
“Good.” He tilts my chin up. “Because I have no intention of letting them ruin this.”
He kisses me.
Not a polite kiss, not the kind of kiss appropriate for a society gala surrounded by three hundred of his mother’s closest friends. This is deep, slow, obscene. A declaration of war disguised as affection.
When we finally break apart, half the room is staring.
I don’t care.
“Take me home,” I whisper.
“With pleasure.”
***
We don’t make it past the foyer of his apartment.
The moment the door closes behind us, his hands are on my zipper, my fingers are working his buttons, and we’re stumbling toward the nearest horizontal surface - which turns out to be the couch.
“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he growls against my throat.
“Just thinking?”
“Planning.” He pushes the dress off my shoulders, watching it pool at my feet. “Strategizing.”
“That sounds very methodical.”
“I’m a lawyer. I believe in thorough preparation.”
He proves it. Extensively.
Afterward, sprawled across the couch cushions, I trace lazy patterns on his chest.
“Your mother is going to tell everyone we’re scandalous,” I say.
“Good.” He catches my hand, kisses my palm. “Let her. I don’t care what anyone thinks.”
“Even your family?”
“Especially my family.” He shifts, pulling me on top of him. “The only opinion that matters to me is yours.”
“My opinion is that you should do that thing with your tongue again.”
He laughs - delighted, warm. “Your wish is my command.”