Rouge: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Tattered Curtain Series)
Rouge: Act 3 – Scene 28

Lacey

“Stop fidgeting,” the Baron hisses in my ear as we walk through the first floor of the Montmartre Hotel on our way to Rouge’s casino entrance.

I’m not the one who reeks of cologne, perfume, and booze, but you don’t see me giving you a hard time about it.

The words scratch the tip of my tongue, but ever since he dropped me off at the suites yesterday without a phone, I’ve had a lot of time to think.

This man tried to kill me—and did kill another woman—just because I’d wounded his pride with my bachelorette party. At this point, I’m counting myself lucky that he’s only caged me in his suites. I want to do everything I can to help my dad, but now that my own life has been threatened, my resolve is weakening. As selfish as it may be, if Kian doesn’t pull through quickly…

The thought makes me wring my black masquerade mask in my matching gloved fingers. Despite my fear, I’ve made sure to put on my pretty simple wedding ring under the silk fabric. Wearing the band is a huge risk, but after being alone, scared, and hurt for the past twenty-four hours, I’ve found strength in wearing this little secret.

Too much, though, apparently, because I accidentally snap the thin strap off my mask.

Oops. Guess I’m not wearing that anymore.

“I said… stop… fidgeting.” The Baron’s not wearing a mask either and his annoyance at me is plain as day on his face.

He snatches me by my black trench coat sleeve and threads my arm through the crook of his elbow with a jolt that snags one of my heels on the carpet. I trip and clutch his forearm to stand upright. The sudden movement spikes a throbbing ache up the left side of my body and my teeth clench as I bite back the pain.

Thank God I decided not to wear the suffocatingly tight corset underneath this crimson, diamond-studded princess line dress. Without it, the lace-up enclosure in the back is more revealing and shows bare skin where the crisscrossing ribbons don’t cover. They begin just beneath my shoulder blades and tie right above my butt, however there’s enough fabric to cover the nasty purple bruise that’s formed on my lower left flank. Even if there wasn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to survive trying to breathe past steel boning.

Once I get my bearings again, I stop fidgeting and leave my arm wrapped around his, but I refuse to apologize for a nervous habit that he’s making worse.

This is what the rest of my life would’ve been like if Kian hadn’t saved me. Invisible rebellions amid bloody and bruised losses. I have no doubt that Kian would never treat me this way. The only thought getting me through it right now is knowing that soon enough, I’ll be with him again.

“I spoke with your father this afternoon.”

The Baron’s announcement makes me nearly stop in my tracks, but he drags me forward without pausing.

“You did?” I can’t help the squeak in my voice. “I haven’t heard from him in weeks.”

“You wouldn’t have. He’s been in the infirmary.”

Monroe delivers the news as nonchalantly as a weatherman reporting that it’ll be “another sunny day” in Vegas.

“The infirmary?” Dread digs into my stomach. “Why was my father in the infirmary? Was he sick? Is he okay?”

“He is now. Of course, it was touch and go after the attacks.”

“The attacks? What attacks?” My voice is nearly unrecognizable. Every lesson my mother has taught me about being a quiet, demure, Garde woman has leaped right out the window.

“You didn’t know?” His head tilts to the side slightly as he frowns. “He was attacked a few weeks ago.”

“A few weeks ago? But… but he said he was okay!”

Kian saw him. He said he was okay. Why would Kian lie to me? Or is Monroe lying to me?

The Baron frowns at me. “Who said your father was okay? I thought you hadn’t talked to him.”

My mouth opens and closes as I try to get my thoughts straight. I’m grateful for the years of Garde “training” that finally kick back in and offer an easy lie.

“I, um… I mean, he sounded okay when we spoke on your phone at the restaurant.”

I have to get to the bottom of this. I’ve relied on Kian so much to help me get my father out of jail, but has he been playing me all along?

“Ah, well, your father’s quite the performer, and he put on a show for you that night, making you believe nothing was wrong when he’s had a near-death scare. Twice actually. Once before your little stunt at Rouge…” He stops to pull out his phone. “And once after. Two attacks, one right after the other, right in his cell. Almost as if someone ordered them. See look. I even have a picture for you.”

He turns his phone around and every cell in my body freezes. My father fills the screen as he lies in a hospital bed. He’s nearly unrecognizable in a patient gown with both eyes swollen shut, gauze wrapped around his head, and IV lines connected to him.

My breath hurts in my lungs. “Monroe… are you… did you….”

I can’t get the words out and my chest begins to ache as if Monroe’s delivered a physical blow to it too, just like my back and stomach.

“Are you questioning whether I had something to do with your father’s attack?”

There’s no way I can answer with the bile that’s threatening to come up my throat. All I can manage is a small nod.

“Well, then the answer is yes.” He smiles and leads us around a group of tourists.

“But… I… I don’t understand. We were supposed to get married.”

“Were?” His eyebrow rises and I get my shit under control.

“Are. We are, but you’re talking as if that’s not the case. If my father dies in prison—”

“What? What will happen, Lacey? Do you know? Because you’ve been insolent and acting as if you don’t, so let me refresh your memory. If he dies in jail before we get married, you’re no good to me anymore.” What he’s saying is horrible, but the smile he flashes outwardly is what chills me to the bone as he continues, “You’ll no longer be the Garde’s bratty princess. The Keeper position will be up for grabs and your name will be on the chopping block along with your mother’s. Without the patriarch in the family, and no marriage prospects, you and your mother’s days are numbered. To the rest of us, with your father gone, you’re worth more dead than alive.”

Most of this would be true… if I wasn’t already married to Kian. No one would dare try to extinguish my family line if they knew who my husband was.

If they knew…

I’m not sure how to use that information yet. It’s a card that should be played at just the right time. I shake my head and hold back my secrets a little longer, hoping to hear Monroe’s in exchange.

“If my father dies, the order will be in shambles. It’ll take time to appoint a new Keeper. What happens then?”

“Well, it’s good we don’t have to worry about those details, right? Because injured is still alive, which means I have a lot of wiggle room to hang over both of your heads. It’s what your father and I talked about today actually. I’ve reinstated his protection in there, at least until we get married. As long as I testify, he’ll no longer face the death penalty, too.”

“The death penalty?”

“Oh,” he sidesteps another passerby, ushering me with his arm around me. “I see our Keeper has been keeping many secrets from his own daughter. Don’t worry, Lacey. Just remember that if you step out of line, all I have to do is make a phone call. Once we get married, you can help me determine how long he’ll stay unharmed by being a good Garde woman. Sound fair, wife?”

Hearing Monroe say that word makes me shudder. With Kian, it sounds like salvation, but with Monroe, I can already feel the mouth of hell opening beneath me.

My mind races a million miles a second, trying to figure out the next play as we approach Rouge’s entrance. I want to slow down, mull over the bomb he just dropped, but Monroe doesn’t give me time to think.

“Answer me,” he hisses.

“Y-yes. It sounds fair.”

“Glad we could come to an agreement.”

When he picks up speed, I stumble again and whimper in pain.

“Clumsy drunk,” he mutters under his breath, despite the fact that I’m tragically sober.

Just ahead of us, a Montmartre staff member opens a huge black oak door framed by a thick red curtain. It’s the second entrance to Rouge and Monroe drags me along before steering us through it.

My half-baked plan is falling apart, but once we step inside Rouge, I’m still in awe of the work my mother has done in twenty-four hours.

It feels like two completely different parties in one venue. Mood lighting sets the tone for the elaborate banquet, where hundreds of guests mingle near Rouge’s casino entrance. Closer to the club entrance, the bright lights of the stage darken the dance floor in front of it. A band plays and there are already so many people on the floor I could join right now and blend into the shadows. Did my mom plan that anonymity for me so I could let off steam during my last night of freedom? If so, it might be the nicest gift she’s ever given me.

On the casino side, long banquet tables are piled with food while waitstaff carries around hors d’oeuvres. The round tables that used to be in front of the stage have been exchanged for high-top tables throughout the room. Acrobats intersperse through the crowd to stop and perform between guests. The tablecloths, drapery along the walls, and faux candles are back to crimson and silver accents, with a smattering of real rubies and diamonds glittering everywhere. In light of Kian’s text messages about the origin of the Red Camellia, I now realize the shades and gemstones are no doubt meant to represent my family’s color on my mother’s side. But, Jesus, it makes for an over-the-top rehearsal dinner. There’s so much going on with the masquerade theme it almost feels like no theme at all.

Monroe wanted to go all out on the party aspect of our wedding, telling my mom over and over about how much it needed to be a two-day affair. We didn’t even have a “rehearsal” before this dinner. He only cared about having double the opportunity to schmooze in his honor. But if this was what he ordered my mom to do, I can’t imagine how extravagant the wedding will be.

Would be… there’s no way I can go through with that.

But what if I don’t and Kian doesn’t come through? What will happen to my dad, then?

The band ends their song, jarring me out of my thoughts, and the lead singer’s voice booms over the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the future Mr. and Mrs. Baron have arrived. Let’s give them a round of applause.”

My stomach churns as all the guests turn around in their masquerade masks to face the entrance. Some of them are pretty and bright, bejeweled with gems or elaborate petal-like feathers that match their ball gowns and tuxedos. Others resemble skeletons and clowns, and more than a few have macabre beaks reminiscent of the doctors during the bubonic plague.

When they break out into polite cheers and clapping, Monroe takes an exaggerated bow and I fight the urge to flee. Just as I have the thought, a waitress helps me shrug out of my coat, almost as if she knows I’m a flight risk. I glance around among the masked audience for Kian, but he’s nowhere in sight.

And why would he be? It’s an O’Shea event and we’re supposed to loathe the McKennons. My heartbeat races at the thought that I’ll have to go through tonight alone, and it’s only made worse when the Baron whispers low.

“Don’t humiliate me tonight like you did yesterday. There are backers, congressmen, and potential donors that I need to impress. These types of events are some of the few that enable the Garde to congregate on neutral ground and you’re not going to squander my opportunity. You are to stand by my side at all times, remain silent, and be a woman in love. Got it?”

I am a woman in love.

The thought crosses my mind before I can really register it. It’s only when Kian’s cheeky smirk flashes in my thoughts that I realize what the words mean.

“Lacey… answer me. Your father’s life is at stake.” Monroe squeezes my arm and I hold back a wince.

“Yes. Got it. A woman in love. I can definitely be that.”

But I can’t be in love… I barely know the guy, right? He’s a virtual stranger, my family’s enemy, and a playboy in this criminal underworld. Just another man who thinks he can own me and cage me.

But everything I’ve experienced at the Baron’s hand is exactly what my mother warned me life would be like. And I was taught that everything I’ve experienced with Kian so far is supposedly a fairy-tale fantasy. The reverent way he holds me feels so real, though, and my body calms with just his presence…

Oh my God… I might be in love with Kian McKennon.

My heart thunders at the revelation, but dwelling on it right now is dangerous. I try to ignore my racing pulse and focus on smiling for strangers, breathing in this tight dress, and my way out of this.

Despite concentrating on my showmanship for these guests, my head is on a swivel, still trying to spot Kian. But if he’s here, I can’t find him, and when we walk farther into Rouge’s ballroom, my mother is the first person I see.

She’s one of the guests who didn’t bother to wear a mask, and her strawberry-blonde hair is wrapped tightly in a chignon again, so different than my relaxed, lightly curled half-up, half-down style. Her long, black ball gown is understated, and even though she’s worn her mourning black since the day my father went to jail, it looks like she’s dressed for a funeral tonight.

One of the congressmen the Baron tried to rub shoulders with after church is speaking to her with big gestured hand motions and she’s nodding her head slightly as she seemingly takes what he says into consideration. She was once set off to the side, a pretty trinket to be admired and ignored as soon as she opened her mouth. But look at her now.

She’s running my father’s businesses as well as—maybe even better than—he ever did. Monroe has no respect for her, but she’s been in the spotlight as a Garde liaison for nearly a year. Once my father is released from jail, will she go back to watching backstage? Or will he let her continue to shine? Which life would she want?

Which life will I live with Kian?

Once this is all over—if this ever ends—will he place me on a pedestal like a trophy? Or worship me on an altar like a goddess?

Or rule beside me like a queen?

A smile teases my lips because I already know the answer.

He’s my wild ace of hearts and I’m his queen of diamonds. I have no doubt we’d rule side by side.

My mother waves us over and introduces us to the CEO of I Don’t Know and Co. and the founder of Who The Fuck Cares. The Baron lights up, but I couldn’t be less interested in being another asshole’s stepping-stone into high society. They’re only one word into the conversation and I’m already searching for the bar.

My mother frees me from the Baron’s clutches. He lets go of me easily, too busy wooing a potential backer to worry about me.

But my mother seems concerned as she whispers through frowning lips, “Are you okay? What’s been going on? The bodyguards were absolutely no help when I dropped off your gown today and you haven’t answered any of my messages.”

“Sorry, um…” I’m tempted to lie, but she and my father helped put me into this mess. They should at least see what it’s doing to me. “The Baron stole my phone.”

“Were you on it too much?” my mother asks with her head tilted in disappointment.

My jaw drops.

“Like that’s a reason for one adult to steal another adult’s phone?”

My mother at least has the decency to look abashed. Her soft ivory skin blooms into a natural blush, but even though she knows I’m right, she doesn’t relent.

“You have to be careful with Garde men, Lacey. They’re quite particular. When your father—”

“Did you know Dad was attacked? And that he might get the death penalty if he’s convicted?”

Her eyes don’t widen into saucers like I know mine did.

“You knew,” I whisper, hurt twisting my chest. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Is no one on my side?

She sighs. “He called me on the automated line this past weekend to talk about Rouge. When he mentioned the attack, he said it wasn’t that bad. He didn’t want to worry you, honey. And the death penalty thing isn’t a big deal as long as you do your job with the Baron.”

“Not that bad? Not a big deal? Monroe said he nearly died, mom. And he might die anyway if he gets convicted!”

“Shh, shh.” She jerks me behind an ice sculpture of a flower bigger than me. I clench my teeth again to keep from groaning at the sudden movement, and I swear I can feel them crack under the pressure. “Keep your voice down. Do you want the whole Garde to hear how vulnerable their king is?”

“Maybe they should know,” I hiss back at her. “Then they can find out who’s behind all of this bullshit and I wouldn’t have to be the damn sacrificial lamb.”

Her eyes narrow and the tension between us rachets up until she exhales a defeated sigh.

“I’m sorry, I’m just trying to help you the best way I know how. My own mother used to tell me to focus on the good and keep a positive attitude. So let’s both do that? If we stay positive, everything should be fine. No one can be unhappy all the time.” Her smile is brittle and it breaks to pieces as I shake my head.

“But what if we can have more than ‘fine’? Wouldn’t you want that? We’re all focused on transactional marriages, but what about love? And happiness?” sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

My mother groans. “Get your head out of the clouds, Lacey. The Baron can provide something just as good as love. He has security. That’s what your father has provided me and we’ve lived a very happy life together.”

I shake my head. “You’ve really convinced yourself of that, haven’t you? Even when your husband is in jail right now?”

Her lips thin. “Whether you like it or not, we’re stuck in this, Lacey. There’s no way out. As soon as you realize that, the longer we’ll all stay alive.”

A thick gulp chokes my throat and I shake my head.

“What if I want more than just ‘alive’? What if I want to live?”

She reaches up and I stiffen before her cold hand rests over my cheek. Her brow wrinkles slightly as she studies my face.

“I saw you come in. You’ve been pirouetting since elementary school and you’ve had excellent balance your whole life. Years of dance have made you light on your feet, and yet, you were stiff and slow when he tugged you to him.”

Her hand leaves my skin. The air that brushes over it is warmer than her palm.

“At least he doesn’t touch your pretty face, right? You’re alive, and sometimes that’s the best we get. Be thankful for that. My advice? Try to enjoy the night. I turned out the lights above the dance floor so you and Roxana can have some fun, but don’t embarrass the Baron. This is his night to make as many contacts as he can all in one place. Get a glass of vodka. No soda. Tell people it’s water like we all do. Smile. Play the part of the happily engaged woman. Hopefully that and dancing will help numb whatever pain you have.”

“Sounds perfect,” I mutter through gritted teeth.

“Oh, before I forget, I was in the church today and I took another look at the tabernacle and the table it sits on. That altar is a little gaudy, isn’t it? Maybe too much for a wedding?”

“Mom…” I blink slowly before waving my hand to indicate the extravagant rehearsal dinner. “You think that is ‘too much’?”

She doesn’t seem to get my sarcasm as she nods. “Do you think they’ll let me move it to a side altar? Or maybe scooch the communion table to one of the annex rooms?”

“I don’t know, Mom, and I don’t care.” I swat the air at her and turn on my heel to make my way toward wherever the hell the blessed bar is.

My mother huffs at my back before reminding me. “Make sure to dance with all the highest of society. It’s your party, so I’m sure you’ll be a hot commodity. Schmoozing with the right people is the best way to make the Baron look good.”

“Just what I was worried about,” I mumble before calling to her over my shoulder. “Tell Monroe I’m off to schmooze, then.”

The room is packed, but the bar calls to me like a moth to a flame. It takes nearly all my willpower to stop myself from using my “Garde princess” status to beeline past everyone and go directly in front of the queue. I stand at the end of the line, shifting from one heel to the next.

Monroe was right. I am fidgeting more than usual. My nerves are electric under my skin and my stomach is in knots over not knowing whether I’ll see Kian tonight.

I didn’t realize how much I craved his constant messages, check-ins, and flirty jokes until they were gone. Even though I’ve refused to reply to him lately out of childish spite, he’s been my salvation the last few weeks. I’d give almost anything just to hear one word from him now.

But he’s nowhere in sight and waiting in the line only worsens my jitters. I’m out in the open here for anyone to talk to, and I don’t have it in me to pretend right now. When I finally step up to the counter to place my order, the bartender gives me a perfunctory smile.

“What’ll it be?”

“Vodka.” Not even a hint of surprise lights his light-brown skin and he goes to pour it as if he’s done it a hundred times tonight already. Seems like I’m not the only one ready to get wasted at this thing.

“Here ya go.” He places the drink in front of me and I reach into my dress pocket for a tip.

But hard metal warms underneath my fingertips and it takes me pulling it out and flashing it in the light to remember what it is.

Kian’s AA chip.

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