Just because I’m not going to sleep with him doesn’t mean I’m immune to flattery.
I put on a pair of silk stockings that Vera brought me, plus the strapless bra Neil referred to as a corset. I don’t even want to know how much these extras cost. There’s no way I’ll ever be able to repay him.
Now it’s makeup time. But for all Neil’s moaning about me hogging the bathroom, I’m quick with the brushes, and my shoulder-length hair doesn’t require more than an additional smoothing. That’s what expensive haircuts are for, I guess.
Lastly, I unzip the blue dress and step into it. The fabric slides over my skin like a cool breeze. The color is a deep jewel tone that screams money.
As I step into the sexy pair of heels, I realize this is it. My short, dramatic time as Mrs. Cornelius Drake III will peak tonight, and very soon it will end forever. This is my Cinderella moment, before I go back to the pumpkins and the rats.
Before exiting the bedroom, I say a silent prayer. Lord in heaven, if we could just get through this without any embarrassing gaffes, I’d really appreciate it. I’ll even try not to think so many lustful thoughts about Neil. Emphasis on try.
No guarantees. That man looks spectacular in a tux.
Amen.
TWENTY
EYES UP HERE
Neil
I’m speed-reading the agenda for tonight’s program when my bedroom door opens.
Lifting my gaze from the celebrity bio I’m supposed to memorize, I open my mouth to tell Charli that the car will arrive at any moment.
But then I forget how to speak. Charli stands before me in exquisite blue silk that clings to every one of her curves. Her skin is luminous against the fabric, which drapes across her cleavage in a way that teases me to the edge of distraction. The spray of freckles across her chest and shoulders only make her more interesting.
And maybe this is a weird thing to obsess over, but Charli has incredible arms. They’re strong but shapely, and they crop up in some of my best dreams.
“Jesus Christ,” I rasp. “It’s going to be a long night.”
She clears her throat, which probably means that I’m staring. “Eyes up here, sailor.”
“Sorry,” I slur, dragging my eyes off her body. But it doesn’t help all that much. She’s done something dramatic to her eyes. They look enormous. Not to mention that her lips are a kissable rose color. “Wow, Charli. You really know how to torture a guy.”
She puts one hand on a cocked hip and arches her eyebrows. “We’re trying to torture your family, no? Do you think I’ve missed the mark? Is it too much?”
“Noooooo,” I say quickly. God forbid she change out of this heavenly creation. “Great dress. All the other women will hate you.”
She pushes off the door jamb. “They already do, because you’re my date.”
The door buzzer rings, so Charli sashays past me on long legs and answers it. “Hello? Um, okay? Thanks.” She hangs up and spins around. “Your mother’s driver is on his way upstairs to fetch us. Does he think we can’t find the curb?”
“There’s honestly no point in guessing my mother’s intentions. Is my tie straight?”
She takes a couple of steps toward me and adjusts it, while I struggle not to look down her dress. She smells like lemons and sex.
Or maybe just lemons. I’m obviously projecting.
Shake it off, Drake. Shake it off. “Before we go, there’s something else I need you to wear.” I pull the ring from my pocket. “There’s no way in hell my new wife would show up to a gala without a ring on.” I open my fingers to show her the ring in my palm. It’s a two-and-a-quarter carat diamond surrounded by a pavé of eighteen other diamonds.
“Neil.” She gasps. “Where did you get that? Is it real?”
“It was my grandmother’s. My grandfather bought it for her on their twenty-fifth anniversary to replace the tiny stone he’d proposed with.” And then I remember something else about this ring. “He bought it in Vegas, if you can believe it. He was in the doghouse for spending their anniversary away from her.”
My father told me that story when he gave me the ring. Keep this for a special girl, he’d said. Until this week, I’d honestly forgot I had it. There’s a safe in the back of my closet that I never open.
Charli takes a step backward. “I can’t wear that! It’s a family heirloom.”
“That’s exactly why you should wear it,” I argue.
“It probably won’t fit me,” she argues. “And I’ll just look like I’m playing dress-up.”
“Try,” I beg. Then I take her hand in mine and slide it onto her ring finger.
Charli takes a breath, and I realize we’re standing very close together, and this is a strangely intimate thing to do. “It fits,” she breathes. “That’s crazy.”
It does fit. Perfectly.
“Question,” she says in a low voice. “Shouldn’t this be your sister’s? Isn’t she going to murder me if she thinks you gave it to me? And… is it insured? I never wanted to walk around with a luxury car on my finger.”
“Paisley has a closet full of jewels from my grandmother. This is the only piece that came to me. And of course, it’s insured.”
She blows out a breath. Then I hear a knock at the door. “Why are we riding to this thing with your mother?” she asks. “Is my outfit being vetted? Is she going to send me back upstairs to change?”
“Hey.” I put both hands on Charli’s bare shoulders. This is a mistake, because her skin feels like silk, and it’s distracting. “My mother likes to stage-manage me. So once a year I let her. There’s a red-carpet moment when we get there.”
“A red carpet? Why?” I see a flare of panic in her eyes. Then she takes a breath, and it disappears instantly.
“Marketing,” I grumble, stepping back to open the door for Mr. Stoats, the driver. “They have to oversell this event, so that patrons feel good about coughing up two grand a plate.”
Charli’s eyes widen, but I can’t tell if she’s surprised about the benefit’s ticket cost or by Mr. Stoats. He’s standing in the door now holding out a full-length white mink coat. “Good evening,” he says. “Mrs. Drake sent this upstairs for Mrs. Drake.”
“Why?” Charli asks bluntly.
“It doesn’t matter,” I hurry to say. “You can wear your own coat if you wish.”
Her gaze darts away from the giant fluffy white thing and toward my closet, as if considering her options. “Well, fine. I’ll borrow your mother’s coat. She’s probably worried that mine is a rag. Which it is.”
“We’ll leave the coats in the limo anyway,” I say, taking the coat from Mr. Stoats and draping it over Charli’s shoulders. I pull the lapels together and force myself not to lean in and kiss her throat.
I’m sporting a semi in my tuxedo trousers, and I’m on my way downstairs to spend the evening with my fuckable wife who won’t let me fuck her and…
My mother.
God. Why did I think this was a good idea, again? Type 1 diabetes hasn’t killed me yet, but tonight’s benefit just might.