Page 73 of Iris' Lying Eyes

What fucking now?

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At seven p.m., I emerge. I found a beautiful black dress in the closet. Floor-length, there’s a slit up the side that allows a tempting peek at my legs.

The fabric flows around my limbs like liquid silk, and the bodice pushes my boobs into prime real estate position.

With my hair pulled back in a loose bun, I painted my eyes in umber hues and applied deep red lipstick.

I feel like a femme fatale, but once again, the thrill fades as I stop before Bastion, looking handsome in a black-on-black suit.

He looks fucking amazing, and I work on pulling my tongue into my mouth as his eyes fall down my dress, flaring when he reaches the sexy expanse of my leg.

I don’t see disgust for once, but I push away the zing of delight. Although I concede, I don’t feel quite so itchy knowing he’s pleased.

He holds out his hand, and I pause on the threshold, staring at the sleek black limousine parked out front.

My unease turns to a burning crescendo, but I bite my lip against the questions because it would seem Bastion is on a mission, and I’m the bait.

Excellent.

The ride over is silent while I stew over what I’m about to walk into. Unfortunately, you can put me in a dress, but as that bitch Babs said, I still don’t belong.

We pull up to a local museum, and my jaw drops when I see the patrons milling about. Women slathered in jewels that cost more than a car, wearing brightly colored dresses that scream designer-made, hang off their men.

No slouches themselves, the men all wear similar tuxedos, no doubt ridiculously expensive. I’ll admit it to no one, but none of them hold a candle to the brooding bastard sitting beside me.

Still, this is no random party. It’s a fucking gala or some shit. What am I doing here? Has he lost his mind?

Bastion exits, holding out his hand, and I stare at him with wide eyes until his brow darkens. Okay, apparently, we’re going in.

Fuck.

With a small sigh, I exit as gracefully as possible and follow when he leads me through a side entrance. I’m sure I look like a complete newb as I stop and stare, but the venue is breathtaking.

Hundreds of roses and fairy lights hang from vases, pots, and even trellises on the walls, creating a garden of color that dazzles the eyes, while a violinist plays music in the background.

People I’m sure I would never pass on the street mingle, and it’s only when I turn to B with a wide smile that I realize he’s stiff beside me.

I can’t help but wonder. Does he hate this type of thing?

Why do it then?

“Bruno.”

We both turn to a portly man with a walrus mustache who smiles shrewdly.

“Binkley,” Bruno grunts.

The man pats his wife’s hand like she’s a puppy while she looks me over critically, squinting one eye.

Shifting, I bite back a gasp when Bastion tugs me into his embrace and says, “This is my lovely girlfriend, Iris O’Malley.”

The man nods, turning his burning gaze to me. All I can do is muster a polite smile. Bastion’s declaration hums across my skin, and I’m fighting to keep the infernal feelings at bay.

Damn him.

“Right,” the man says, tipping his head before Bastion leads me away.

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