Page 49 of The Devil's Pawn

A ball, though. That sounds… fancy. Which means I’ll have to wear something appropriate, and I’m not sure I evenhaveanything appropriate. I head back to my rooms and wander into the closet to rifle through my clothes. Perhaps I could wear my graduation gown. It’s good enough. Taking it out, I hold it against myself. It’s hard to fathom that when I wore this not that long ago, I’d stupidly fooled myself into believing I had my whole life ahead of me. Now, here I am, married, living in a foreign country, with a stranger for a husband, and Istillhaven’t had sex.

You couldn’t make this stuff up.

“Ms. Imogen?” Maisie calls out. I didn’t even hear her knock, though she would have. Maisie’s got the formal shit down to a T.

Folding my dress over my arm, I return to my bedroom to see what she wants. She isn’t alone. Beside her is possibly one of the most elegant women I’ve ever seen, dressed in a cream trouser suit, with sky-high heels to match, and a blue blouse that has to be made of the finest silk given the way it falls. She has neatly styled her hair into a chignon without astrand out of place, whereas my messy bun, jeans, and thin sweater make me look like a hobo.

“Ms. Imogen, this is Brigitte.”

Maisie introduces her as though I should know who Brigitte is, except I’ve never seen the woman before.

“Nice to meet you.” I shake my head. “Sorry, but who are you?”

“Brigitte is your dresser, Ms. Imogen.”

I blink several times. “My… what?”

“I have couture, Madame De Vil,” Brigitte says, her French accent as polished as the rest of her. She fits in here far better than I do. Alexander should have married her instead. “For tonight’s ball.”

Before I can tell her I’m good, I have a dress, she sashays outside, returning with two racks; one filled with the finest dresses, the other loaded with shoes, purses, and all kinds of accessories. Maisie bobs her head and backs out of the room, leaving me with Brigitte.

“Shall we begin?” With a flourish, Brigitte plucks out a floor-length, cream gown, the shade similar to her suit, but as she comes toward me, I hold out my dress.

“I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey. I already have a dress for the ball.”

Her gaze drops, and she almost curls her lip in distaste. “No, no, no.” She whirls her arm in the air. “That won’t do at all. You are the belle of the ball. You must dress as such. It is expected.” Whipping my graduation dress right out of my hands, she tosses it on the bed and holds the cream dress against me. “Ready to have some fun?”

I smile at her. You know what? I think I am.

At a little before eight that evening, I make my way down the stairs toward the ballroom. It’s the same room where I had my wedding reception, so I can only imagine how many guests have been invited. Nerves swarm my stomach, and I’m still in two minds about this dress. It’s so… revealing. Brigitte had to use a ton of tape to keep my boobs in place. The vibrant emerald green suits my coloring, but it plunges down to my belly button and has a slit up one side that reaches my left hip. I feel on display, but Brigitte is a persuasive lady.

I love what the hairdresser has done to my hair, though. It’s sort of a messier French twist, and she’s left out a few tendrils to frame my face.

When I enter, I immediately search the room for Alexander, but he isn’t here. A part of me had hoped he might come to my rooms and offer to escort me to the ball himself, but his failure to appear had quashed that stupid dream.

“Imogen.” Charles spreads his arms out wide, then moves in for a hug and kisses both my cheeks. “My, what a vision. And you, my beautiful daughter. You take my breath away.”

I glance behind me to see Saskia’s back. When did she arrive home? Is Tobias back, too? As the thought pops into my head, he appears.

Saskia wrinkles her nose. “Oh, Dad. Behave.” But she doesn’t look displeased with his compliment. “You’re right about Imogen, though. You look beautiful.” She gives me a peck on the cheek as the rest of the family arrive. I find myself standing beside Tobias as the first of the guests file in.Thankfully, it isn’t like my wedding. We’re not expected to shake hands with the entire guest list.

“Where’s Alexander?” I ask Tobias from the side of my mouth.

“Work issue. He’ll be here any minute.” Smiling down at me, he winks. “He’s going to swallow his tongue when he sees you. Ah, here he is now.”

My husband enters the room dressed in a tuxedo, like every other man, but he wears it so much better. The expensive material hugs his frame like a second skin, showing off his taut muscles, broad chest, and narrow hips. Our eyes meet, and I hold my breath, both dreading his reaction to my outfit and craving it.

“Doesn’t Imogen look stunning Alexander?” Saskia says.

His eyes flick to his sister, then back to me. “Yes.”

That’s it? That’s all he’s got to say. My shoulders bow, the weight of disappointment almost too much to bear. Although why I’m disappointed is a mystery. The last thing I should seek is Alexander’s attention. The only thing I want from him is a set of divorce papers.

It’s odd, though, how sometimes the way we react to a given situation is out of our control. Tears prick the backs of my eyes. Would it have killed him to be a little kinder?

I’ve barely collected myself when he walks off and engages in conversation with a couple I vaguely recognize from our wedding. There’s a momentary silence while those around me probably try to think of the right thing to say. It’s Tobias who saves the day.

“My darling Imogen.” He sticks out his arm. “Since Alexander is basically feral, come have a drink with me.”

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