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I’m not sure exactly what to say, looking over her crumpled dress and her tousled hair. She looks like she just got a good fuck, which no one would really notice anyway, not in a world where not a party would go by without quick fucks happening in every spare dark corner, but still, I gesture to her hair, not sure exactly what to say.
She looks in the mirror, frowning. “That needs to be fixed,” she says, taking those soft, beachy brown waves in her hands and managing to twist them up into a simple, elegant bun that sits low on her neck. She glances over me once, then says, “You look fine, too.”
I nod, but check my reflection in the mirror once, because I certainly don’t trust her. Smoothing back my own hair, I straighten my jacket and gesture for the door.
“Ladies first,” I say.
She just stares at me. Neither of us makes a move, because if she’s feeling anything that I’m feeling right now, I don’t want to fucking leave this little unexpected heaven I’ve found for the harsh reality that waits outside the bathroom.
The hating.
The despising.
The backstabbing.
Fuck.
Frowning, I yank open the door and step out without another word. Whoever needed the bathroom a few minutes ago clearly got the picture, and the hall is completely deserted, music thumping in the distance.
I clear my thoughts of anything that just happened, not looking back to see if Arden follows me.
I need a drink. Something strong.
Now.
When I get back into the hazy lounge, crowded with people dancing and grinding up against each other, I want to groan. Especially when I see Arden slipping back into the dancers from the other side of the room, apparently having found some alternate route back here without me.
And once again, as if she knows I’m watching, her eyes turn to me, and our gazes connect with the force of a magnet. And as if she knows what she does to me, she moves her body a little slower, a little naughtier. Because she does know what she does to me, now after everything that just happened in the bathroom between us, and she’s going to use it to her advantage.
Just like a Rossi would.
My heart twists inside my chest, a bitter cocktail of anger and devastation rocking me.
It wasn’t anything to me, I tell myself, just like I know she’s telling herself right now as she rocks her pretty little ass against some fucker’s dick, her eyes fixed on me. It wasn’t anything special.
When the bastard grabs her waist with possessive hands, I see red.
But instead of marching over there and telling him to fuck off, I turn around and call my driver. I’m done.
