Page 62 of Cage of Thorns and Blood

It's a striking combination, and I've matched the shoes and the bag with a flash of turquoise eye shadow and a sharp black wing of eyeliner. I very rarely wear eyeshadow of this color because my eyes match it, and I like to wear muted shades to bring out the ocean hues. However, on this occasion I really want to make a statement. The color of the eye shadow along with the thick black line framing my gaze really makes my eyes pop. My hair hangs down my back in rich, luxurious waves, and my lips are a shimmery bronze. I've gone heavy with the contouring and applied bronzer to my cheekbones. I stare in the mirror and hardly recognize myself. I look like a goddess, thanks to some incredibly powerful shaping underwear and the leg lengthening effect of these heels.

The phone in my hallway rings, and I pick it up to be told by Sammy on the reception desk that a gentleman is waiting for me in the foyer. I glance at myself one more time and swallow down my nerves. In fact, I wish I'd had a drink before heading out the door because the nerves are bad.

This could go incredibly wrong, but I won't back down. Nobody makes a fool out of me, and Matteo Mancini has done it twice. Actually, he's done it three times. Firstly, when he betrayed me at his party. Secondly when he married the bitch he betrayed me with, and thirdly when he pulled me into his manipulative web of lies, stalked me, and set me up to betray my family for him. It’s a litany of crimes against me, and he deserves to pay. Every time I feel myself softening, I must remind myself of all the despicable things he’s done.

I reach the foyer, and he glances up from where he's standing by the door to look at me. He does a classic double take, and I bite back the smile of triumph that tugs at my lips. As I near him, his gaze rakes over my body greedily.

“You look beautiful,” he says. “Have you come as Aphrodite?”

I suppress the eye roll at the cheesy line and smile brightly at him. “Yes, I've come as a Greek goddess. And I see you're wearing your usual fancy dress of rich asshole.”

“Ouch,” he says good naturedly. He strolls to the door and holds it open for me, gesturing for me to walk through. “Shall we?”

I see that the car he brought tonight is much larger and more formal than the one he usually drives. It’s basically a limo. I sink into the back of it and with a relieved sigh see that there's a drinks bar. “Do you mind if I have something?” I ask Matteo.

I lick my lips nervously as he studies me. “You seem anxious,” he says.

“I find social gatherings nerve wracking sometimes,” I lie.

“Yes, of course you do.” He shakes his head, but he’s smiling. “What would the lady like to drink?”

“Do you have champagne?”

“Of course.” He takes a mini bottle of champagne out of the bar and opens it for me. He passes it to me along with a silver straw. I hold the metal straw up, watching it glint under the streetlamps shining in through the tinted windows. “Fancy,” I comment.

“It's not actual silver, you know.”

“It's still fancy,” I say.

I sip at my champagne and watch the world go by. Soon the lovely bubbles start to ease my nerves, and I relax into my seat. Matteo’s scent wraps around me and I have to almost sit on my hands to resist the urge to touch him. This is going to be harder than I thought. Part of me almost can’t bear to go through with it, but each time I waver, I think to how badly he’s treated me, repeatedly. How stupid he must think I am.

We arrive at the venue twenty minutes later, and I watch the people mingling around the red carpet rolled out at the entrance of the museum.

Tonight is a fundraiser with all the local richie-riches out in force. As I exit the car, I check for a tall, broad figure and breathe a sigh of relief when I don't see anyone who fits the bill.

I need for him to be inside for this to work, not outside where he can bump into us right at the start. I need to make my big entrance with Matteo first. Everyone must see him with me, and I need to be photographed with him so it will be seen online and perhaps even in the papers.

Lights pop as pictures are taken, and the glitterati of London Town swirl around. The air is heavy with perfume and smugness. People smile, and women turn this way and that, angling their bodies to show off various jewels and bags. The men smile stiffly. The staff look on with weary, bored expressions.

What a pathetic display of fakery.

We enter the building where we’re handed glasses of champagne each. We are also offered canapes, but I'm far too uptight to eat. I wave my hand and mumble a no thank you.

For a while we wander the various rooms of the museum, and I make sure to talk to all the important people and to be extra attentive to Matteo, so they all know I am with him.

There are some wonderful exhibits, and I lose myself for a while, in the room with the medieval tapestries.

Eventually, a voice rings out over an announcement system asking us to meet in the Great Hall. It has been rearranged this evening especially for this event. An auction will take place on the stage at the far end of the room. There are tables lining the rest of the room, where we will all sit and talk with people we can't stand, as if they are our best friends for the evening.

We will eat two-hundred-pound plates, while supposedly helping worthy causes. The champagne bill alone could probably fund a homeless shelter for a year. There’s a reason I don’t come to shit like this. I can’t stand the stench of the hypocrisy. Growing up in my home has made me finely attuned to the pungent odor.

We walk forward, and the murmur of conversation covers us like a blanket. I look around the room and count at least thirty tables if not more. Thick red curtains cover the front stage where the auction will take place. The meal will be first, followed by the auction. I stare at that stage and curtains.

That will be the setting for the scene of the crime. My crime. The one I hope to destroy Matteo with.

It’s not by accident that I will take to the stage to carry out the final act in this sordid drama between Matteo and me.

My stomach twists so alarmingly I'm worried that I might need to rush to the toilet. I've already seen the order of events for the evening, of course, and checked out the room layout. For my plan to work, however, I'm going to either need to know exactly where those curtains part or figure out if there's a way to open them automatically.

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