Page 109 of Bitter Confessions

“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.

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