Page 118 of A Dash of You

“All right. Thanks, man.”

“No problem. And hey, Logan.”

“Yeah?”

“Try to bring her back in one piece. The car, I mean.”

I scoff in small laughter as he hangs up.

Bastard.

Thirty-Eight

Audrey finishes zipping up the back of my mahogany ball gown. It’s flashy and will no doubt draw the attention of his handsy colleagues. But I’m assuming that’s Jason's intent.

Sick bastard.

It hugs my waist, highlighting every part of my body with my breasts inches from spilling out.

“I hate it.” I flinch when I realize I said that aloud.

My maid’s eyes soften. “Regardless, it was made for you.”

“It was made for someone else. Not for me.”

I notice her eyes dart to the door, then back to me. “The security will be less at the back of the mansion tonight. But you didn’t hear that from me.” She goes to leave, but I grasp her hand.

“Thank you.”

She says nothing as she swiftly leaves the room. Maybe I can use that piece of information to my advantage.

I finish dabbing the mark on my cheek, trying my best to hide the purple marks with makeup. But there’s no denying the cut and bruise are visible. The scab on my lip as well. The sad thing is, no one at this party will give a damn. I bet most of them beat their wives, too.

It’s practically dark, the party having started almost an hour ago. If I don’t make my appearance now, Jason will come looking for me.

The guests are stuffy. Most of them with bad Botox and plastic surgery. The whole thing is an elephant sitting on mychest, not being able to breathe. Eyeing every corner. Every back door. I need to figure out a way of how I can slip out.

The bottom patio area is surprisingly empty, and I suppose I can start there. But before I can reach it, my husband spots me from afar, waving me over while the man standing next to him makes my stomach equally roll in nausea.

Dennis. The too touchy-feely creep who made it his mission that night to have his way with me.

Until I have a plan, I fake nice, plaster on an artificial smile that now drips with an unfamiliarity, and saunter over to them.

Classical instrumental music plays while exaggerated laughter and clatter bounce off the immense walls and monstrous ceilings.

“Sora. It’s been too long. Jason tells me you were away at rehab?”

Rehab?

Jason snatches the wine glass from my hand. “Darling. You shouldn’t be drinking. You don’t want to digress.”

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes into slits at my filth of a husband. “Oh. Yes. Well, it seems it wasn’t for me.” I gesture toward Dennis and then steal my glass back from Jason, chugging it like a lifeline.

I need to be one hundred percent sober, and the wine was originally for show, but then Jason went and pissed me off.

He shoots an angry glance while Dennis chuckles.

“I love your free-spirited nature, Sora. Come. Walk with me.” Dennis holds out his arm, and that’s when panic floods me. What is he planning on doing? Is he making up for lost time?

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