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Misty murmurs and turns her face into me, sighing. I kiss her temple.
“Don’t lock the door again, wife, or I’ll have to fuck some sense into you.”
Chapter 31
Misty
Sender: Mrs. Everette
Subject: Primrose Gala
Misty,
Due to the public announcement of your marriage to my son, you will be expected to attend the Primrose gala as his date. Myself and a team of stylists will arrive at your place of residence at 1:00 p.m. tomorrow to prepare you to be properly presented to our society. Your attire will be provided.
Regards,
Mrs. Everette
I read Damon’s mother’s email for the third time before dropping my forehead into my palms and rubbing them over my face. Just what I freaking needed, an unhinged mother-in-law. I may actually murder him for this.
I want to tell her to go screw herself, to take whatever plain dress she has picked out and shove it up her ass, but there’s this nagging feeling I can’t shake. The one that reminds me that I don’t belong, that I never did.
From: Misty Hart
To: Mrs. Everette
Subject: Primrose Gala
See you then,
Misty.
I’m back in my cubicle at the Bruins building. I wouldn’t say I’m exactly hiding, but I wouldn’t not say it either. The idea of arriving at—whichever building Damon’s in today—and having to walk past the rows of his no doubt gossiping employees makes my skin itch. It’s one thing to be married to him in secret; it’s an entire other thing to have everyone know.
Waking up to the Times headline being “Billionaire heir marries young employee” was enough to make me sick. It’s still leaps and bounds better than its less professional rivals that dedicated whole sections on my gold-digging abilities and that they hope he got a prenup…
The fact that they aren’t completely off the mark stings even more.
I’m in PR—I know exactly how this is going to play out. By the time we separate, I’ll be listed as some kind of gold digger who couldn’t even secure any money in the divorce, then be laughed out of the industry. What’s the point of getting my visa if I can’t work here anyway?
The absolute best-case scenario is they paint it as a love story, and I come out as devastated in the end…at least with that narrative, I’m not an absolute bitch.
I lift the white-gold chain from around my neck, pulling out my ring, and spin the simple band between my fingers. It’s warm to the touch from being against my skin, and the emerald cut gleams more than glistens.
I hadn’t been ready to put it on this morning—it felt too real to just walk around in public wearing it. Instead, I’d stolen the necklace Damon wore yesterday so I’m not completely breaking Damon’s demand that I wear it. He didn’t specify it needed to be on my finger.
A shiver rolls down my neck, raising goose bumps in its wake at the thrill of pushing him. I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t.
Damon’s not the type of guy to push. All I have to do is look at how the other men in his class defer to him to know that he’s a man who likes control.
I’ve spent years being perfect, being the fun girl that you keep around. And it’s worked for me. Keeps me safe. I learned the lesson not to play with men in positions of power over me the hard way, and I have the scars to prove it.
So why do I feel so comfortable pushing boundaries with Damon? There’s a thrill that goes through me every time I defy him. Like I’m some kind of adrenaline junkie seeing how high I can climb before I crash to the ground.
That’s not right, because he’d catch me, and something tells me I’d like every second of the way he’d punish me.
Sidney: You’re married!
