Page 41 of Lies like Rubies, Part One

“Ready for your bath?” I asked her, ruffling my hand through her curls.

“I don’t want a bath,” she retorted.

I didn’t threaten her with monsters under her bed who ate dirty girls. I didn’t tell her that nobody would ever want a dirty child. I didn’t tell her that dirty girls were ugly and nobody wanted an ugly girl. Determined to break the generational cycles of trauma in my family, I would do better by Lizzie than my mother had by me.

Instead, I kissed her nose and said, “Mamma has to take a shower tonight too! We’ll both be clean, okay?”

Lizzie giggled.

Forty-five minutes later, Lizzie was curled up on the couch, in her pajamas, beside Miss Carolina, as I stared at myself in the mirror. Long straight blonde hair, eyes the color of the sky on a clear winter day, dark eyeliner that would streak down my face when I cried, full lips I’d painted pink and glossy.

Dante hadn’t specified the dress code, so I went full princess—an eggplant-colored sheath dress with short sleeves that hugged my curves and hit below the knees. The neckline was asymmetrical, cutting into a deep vee that revealed the curve of my left breast, but otherwise, classic and formal. My lingerie was the expensive kind designed to serve women’s bodies up for male pleasure.

I attached a string of pearls around my neck and pursed my lips, trying to calm my roiling stomach. Keeping Lizzie safe was my priority. I centered myself, straightened my spine, and left my bedroom.

“I’ll be home for breakfast,” I told Miss Carolina. “Come here, sweetie,” I beckoned Lizzie, “come give Mamma a kiss goodbye.” Lizzie scrambled down and wrapped her arms around my legs. I bent to kiss her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I grabbed my tote and strode out the door. A large black SUV waited for me in front of my building, and I slipped into it at seven on the dot. After my phone blew up all day with speculation about who’d set the fires, I was grateful for an excuse to silence it for a few hours.

Instead of taking me to Dante’s hotel, we drove to Yorkfield’s only Michelin-starred restaurant. The driver turned around to address me. “Leave everything in the car, Miss Russo.”

“Everything?” I asked, lifting my eyebrows in surprise.

“Everything,” he confirmed.

I rifled through my tote for my phone.

“Everything,” the driver repeated. I ignored him. “Miss—”

“Sir, mind your business,” I snapped. “I’m the one who will have to live with the consequences of my actions.”

The hostess led me to a table in a secluded alcove, where Dante waited for me. God, how unfair was it that such cruelty came wrapped up in such a beautiful package? He gently wrapped his hands around my upper arms and kissed me on each cheek before running the pads of his fingers from my shoulder to my elbow. When he reached for the phone clutched in my hand, he turned my wrist up and kissed it, sending a shock of heat flooding through my skin before tugging it out of my fingers.

Dante raised an eyebrow and waited for my explanation.

“The babysitter has to be able to get ahold of me,” I said, unwilling to give an inch on this one.

To my surprise, he nodded and set the phone on the table by his plate. Instead of sitting, he leaned in closer to me, his lips brushing over the sensitive shell of my ear, sending shivers dancing down my spine. “Go to the bathroom and take off your panties. Then walk back and tuck them into the pocket of my suit jacket.”

My breath caught in my throat as we remained there for a moment, our chests a hairsbreadth apart, his lips skimming over my ear. I pulled back and looked into his fathomless brown eyes, pretending my panties hadn’t flooded at his soft command.

“Now,” he growled, nipping at my earlobe. I held in the squeak that threatened to escape, and closed my eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

“Okay,” I whispered. Pulling away, I wove through the tables to the restroom in the back of the restaurant, stopping twice to say hello to couples I knew. Once in a stall, I twisted and turned to undo my garters and slide my panties down over my stockings. Fucking men and their ridiculous demands, with no idea how much damn effort it took to look this appealing all the time. I readjusted everything, frowning at the embarrassing spot of dampness on the silk. Dante would notice.

Well, humiliating me was what he wanted, right? Might as well own it. Squaring my shoulders, I braved the restaurant, hoping no one I knew would stop me on my way back to the table.

Thankfully, I made it to the table without incident. Dante raised an eyebrow as I hesitated. I exhaled sharply, then leaned over him, giving him a view down my neckline as I tucked the emerald-colored fabric into his jacket pocket.

“Well done, slut,” he murmured, his eyes twinkling with amusement. The heat in my cheeks roared to life as I sat across from him, my back to the rest of the restaurant. Our knees and feet knocked together under the table, and it took every ounce of my willpower to hold in my gasp as my bare skin rubbed against the fabric of his trousers.

A waiter hovered beside me, but Dante snatched the menu off my plate before I could open it. He shooed the gentleman away with a dark look before pouring me a glass of red wine from the bottle on the table.

I raised it to him in a toast. “Salute.”

A sigh of contentment escaped me as the flavor exploded on my tongue. Dante watched me with hooded eyes as he sipped. For once, I didn’t feel the need to fill the awkward silence with charming small talk. I didn’t need to pretend I was thrilled to be there, to be anything other than myself. Dante would speak to me when he goddamned well pleased and not a moment before. The thought was unexpectedly freeing.

Finally, he rumbled his satisfaction, his eyes slipping over me, from the blonde crown of my head to my lips on the wine glass and down to the asymmetrical bodice he’d already glimpsed when I handed him my panties.

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