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How was she supposed to explain this to her father? Explain that she’d allowed one of the men who destroyed her life to not just fuck her like a whore in the garden, but to do so unprotected. And now, no doubt, those pictures would soon be released now that she’d managed to piss him off.
God, how would she survive Sebastian’s punishment for daring to call him and Shane on what they had done to her?
The thought of those pictures splashed across the Internet had her swallowing back the bile gathering in her throat. This would destroy her father, and his dreams of the presidency.
What had she done? She could feel the implications of her weakness rushing through her like a wave of dizzying sickness.
“Alyssa, there you are.” Courtney Sinclair caught her arm just as Alyssa felt her knees weakening.
“I told you she was heading our way.” Marty caught the other arm.
“Smile, sweetie,” Courtney muttered, the demand firm despite the softness of her tone. “Let’s get you from gossiping eyes.”
“I’m fine,” Alyssa assured her, though why she was allowing them to drag her along a nearby exit from the ballroom she wasn’t certain.
“Of course you are,” Courtney assured her. “This is why your eyes are filled with tears and your face ashen. Did you fall? Your dress is torn as well.”
It had been her own clumsiness, her desperation to run from Sebastian before she shed the tears she’d kept trapped inside for so long.
The tears and the rage. Fury was unraveling inside her in a dark, heavy wave. And it had no place to crash.
“Let’s get you presentable, sweetie,” Marty suggested as they drew her to a private room Landra used for impromptu meetings.
“Here we go.” Releasing her in front of the comfortable, thickly cushioned sofa, Courtney headed across the room. “You definitely need a drink.”
“I think I need a lot of drinks.” Glancing down at her dress, she restrained a sigh at the sight of the torn material. It extended from her knees to her ankles, the flowing fabric now showing the layered slip below.
“Alyssa, what happened?” Sitting next to her, Marty touched her arm gently. “Dear, this very much looks like finger marks on your arm. Did someone try to hurt you?”
A sharp, bitter laugh left her lips. “I think it might have been the other way around.”
She shook her head at the question in Marty’s eyes and made herself ignore the concern.
“Were you defending yourself?” Courtney handed her a shot glass of amber liquid. “Drink. You’re white as a ghost.”
She drank, quickly. The liquor slid down her throat, heated and bracing as she inhaled sharply at the strength of it. The door to the room pushed open, Landra Collier stepping inside in all her stylish glory.
The pale cream Grecian evening gown was the perfect foil for her black hair, dark eyes, and the sun-loving color of her skin. The hint of Spanish ancestry in her exceptional looks and fiery temper had always caused Alyssa to wonder at her connection to Shane and Sebastian, but she’d never asked.
Now, Landra’s expression was creased with worry, her dark brown gaze gleaming with it as she held the skirt of her dress up enough to allow her to step quickly to Alyssa.
“Alyssa, darling, what happened?” Kneeling in front of her, Landra touched the torn dress before her gaze immediately latched on to the faint discoloration along Alyssa’s upper arm.
Strangely enough, the bruising had occurred in Sebastian’s efforts to steady her as he rode her with the power and strength she’d begged him for.
“I’m fine, Landra,” Alyssa told her. “I fell in the gardens.…”
“I’m sure you are, dear,” Landra agreed solemnly. “I guess I should have the gardens trimmed back a bit. It appears a branch might have poked your neck a bit hard.”
The suspicious tone of the older woman’s voice caused Alyssa to flush. Sebastian had marked her; that was where the reddened brand had come from.
Covering the mark with her fingers, she stared back at Landra miserably.
“I’ve done something terrible, Landra,” she whispered. “Father will never forgive me.”
Landra’s dark gaze softened, gentled. “Alyssa, sweetheart, your father would forgive you anything.”
“Not this.” Her fingers curled into fists where they lay in her lap. “Never this.”
