Rouge: Act 3 – Scene 18

Lacey

Ithought waking up married to a stranger was nerve-racking, but it’s got nothing on waiting for a fiancé who has no idea he’s an ex.

The Italian restaurant is one of Vegas’s see-or-be-seen restaurants. It occupies the top floor of the tallest high-rise on the Strip, and it’s one of the few places in the city that’s untouched by Halloween, maintaining the elegant atmosphere the rich and famous expect on a night out at Vincelli’s. Politicians come here to break bread and make deals all the time, and it’s right across from the Baron Hotel, so it’s no wonder Monroe picked this place.

Floor-to-ceiling windows provide a three-sixty view of the vivid lights that whirl, flash, and strobe in the Valley. Dusk makes for a stunning backdrop at this height. Dark-purple mountains pierce the sky at the valley’s edge, highlighting the vivid sunset’s blues, pinks, and reds.

My eyes stay trained on the city below to keep from searching the restaurant. Thanks to my bouncing knee, I’ve had to tug down my white dress at least three times to stop it from inching farther up my thigh. When I’m not fixing that, I’m fiddling with the simple silver wedding ring in my dress’s pocket.

I found the Baron’s diamond ring on Kian’s living room floor, but I couldn’t bear to put it back on. It’s in my clutch if I need it, although I hope Monroe won’t notice its absence since my organza sleeves are long enough to cover my fingers.

While I would rather throw the Baron’s ring into Lake Mead, it’s hard to fight the urge to put on Kian’s ring. I don’t want to slip it onto my right hand and chance the Baron questioning where it came from. And I might be bold, but wearing it on my left hand would be fucking suicidal.

It’s taken a lot of willpower to stop myself from glancing around the restaurant to look for Kian. Before I left, he kissed me goodbye like it was the most natural thing to do and promised that he’d be here watching me.

No. Protecting me.

Appreciation warms my skin and as I sip my wine, I give in to temptation and peek around the busy dining area.

I find him instantly, sitting at the bar in the center of the restaurant and nursing a water glass. A mirror stretches above the liquor display and our eyes lock in the reflection like two magnets drawn together. He won’t be able to hear my conversation with the Baron that far away, but his presence alone helps me and a calm wave rolls over me, settling my bouncing knee.

The playful, mischievous smile that I’ve somehow already grown used to is gone now. But his hazel gaze is full of fire and promise as he peers over his glass up at me. He’s wearing the black button-down he wore when he picked out the dress I’m wearing now, and his sleeves are still rolled up, almost like he’s showing off the bite mark I gave him.

My phone buzzes in my lap and I peek at it—

Shock zings down my spine and I slam the phone back onto my lap before I can read the message.

Thank God no one is paying any attention to me freaking out at how Kian entered his name into my contact list. I subtly glare at the handsome jerk who is now smirking at me from the bar.

Before I read any further, I change his name to “Roxxy.” If the Baron somehow sees my phone, I can have plausible deniability that it’s my friend and I won’t be signing my own death warrant.

Crisis averted, I swipe through my apps to see what he said.

Heat blooms in my cheeks and I know I’m the color of a freaking tomato, especially compared to my white dress. I roll my lips between my teeth and text back.

He frowns at me in the reflection and my phone buzzes again.

I snort while another message comes through.

My stomach flips before I flirt back.

I smile behind my glass and his lips quirk up. My pussy clenches, forcing me to cross my legs under the tablecloth.

“Lacey!”

I jump at the sound of Monroe’s voice, the nasal tone more effective than any cold shower. My head swivels to find him following the hostess toward my table and I sneak my phone back onto my lap. I try to wave politely, but his eyes are on the tall, pretty blonde hostess’s ass now.

At the edge of my vision, Kian’s brow furrows with irritation. I avert my gaze to the wineglass I’ve been steadily nursing from the moment I sat down. I wish like hell that I could knock it back, call it a night, and leave with the man who makes me feel needed with one clandestine look. Instead, my fingers tremble while I sip and I gently place the glass back on the table.

Monroe smiles at the hostess, a charming expression if all the warmth hadn’t been sucked out. By the time they reach my table and he sits, Monroe has already ordered a bottle of wine and no doubt wishes he could have her for the main course.

“Your waiter will be right back with your cabernet, sir.” The hostess gives him a cursory smile and tries to go, but Monroe grabs her hand.

“Monroe,” I hiss.

He glares at me, but it gives the hostess enough time to slip her hand out of his grip.

“Sir, um, can I help you?”

Monroe pouts at her. “You’re not going to be our waitress?”

She blushes as she shakes her head and glances at me nervously. The poor thing is probably worried I’ll care. I don’t. If I ever did, it was the first time he acted this way, but that was so long ago I don’t even remember it now.

As he leers and flirts, it gives me time to study him and figure out what face I’ll need to wear for him tonight. His faded, dirty-blond hair is slicked back, and his already fair skin looks pale in the restaurant’s mood lighting. Whenever he moves, his reeking cologne wafts toward me, making me want to gag. His blue suit and bright red, white, and blue tie is politics ready. No doubt he wants to make himself available to schmooze if someone important walks by our table.

The hostess is clearly uncomfortable with the amount of attention he’s giving her, but I’ve tried to save women from moments like this in the past and it’s only ended bitterly for the both of us. Luckily for her, a waiter motions her away and she gets to leave with a relieved smile.

My ex-fiancé ogles her ass again as she goes, but once he turns around, the veil of charisma vanishes at the sight of me. He’s nearly two decades older, but the only time his age shows is when his frown lines carve deep grooves in his forehead as he scowls at me.

His cold disappointment is so different than Kian’s heated passion. To the Baron, I’m a means to an end on his way to getting what he wants. But to Kian… I’m all he wants.

My chest flutters at the thought before I shove it away.

Jesus. Get a grip, O’Shea. It’s showtime.

While Monroe checks his gold pocket watch, my mother’s countless lessons kick in.

I plaster on the expression a good Garde girl wears. Bright big eyes. A polite smile. Hands nestled demurely in my lap. No bouncing knees. No playing with my ring. No fidgeting whatsoever. And finally, legs crossed at the ankles, so I’m slightly off balance, the way men like us to be.

By the time Monroe is tucking his watch back into his suit jacket, I’m in position, waiting to be spoken to. He soaks in every second of weighted silence as a meager power move before he finally speaks.

“You’re on time at least, although if you’d been late, you could’ve put more effort into your hair and less on that gaudy makeup you insist on wearing. Caking it on makes you look like a whore. It’s embarrassing.”

My smile doesn’t falter as I reply. “I’m sorry, Monroe. I tried to freshen up the best I could on such short notice.”

His eyes narrow.

Oops, should’ve left that last part out…

“Well, I guess it could be worse, couldn’t it? You could’ve ended up like that dead girl found this morning. Tragic, but I warned you last night. That could’ve been you.”

My heart stalls in my chest. Kian said he’s looking into who murdered the woman at Rouge, but I dread the answer. Hopefully he’ll have one soon.

Monroe twists in his seat.

“Where the fuck is our waiter?”

“Here I am. Sorry about that, sir.”

The waiter appears out of thin air and dives into the description of the wine as he uncorks the bottle, switches glasses for me, and pours an ounce for each of us to try. But I’m too stunned to drink it because Tolie is our waiter.

He smiles at us in a black uniform while Monroe tastes his wine. Tolie’s spiked purple hair has been tamed into a pompadour and his ear and eyebrow piercings have vanished. He looks every bit the part of a waiter in a high-class, uppity restaurant.

What the hell is he doing here? He works for Rouge, not Vincelli’s…

My friend winks at me behind fake black-rimmed glasses, and my lips tick up. It’s breaking character for both of us, but much too subtly for Monroe to notice. In fact, Monroe doesn’t give either of us nearly the amount of attention he gave the pretty blonde that seated him.

“Oh, ma’am, I love your dress. Who are you wearing?”

“Why thank you.” I can’t hide my smile now. “It’s Alexander McQueen and styled by Tolie Hendrix.”

“Oh, I hear that Tolie has great taste—”

“Wine’s good,” Monroe interrupts while he shoots daggers at me with his eyes. “I’m ready to order.”

Not missing a beat, Tolie ignores my ex-fiancé’s rude behavior. “Very good, sir. What can I get for you two?”

As Tolie gives me a hearty holiday pour, like the good friend he is, Monroe orders steak for himself and a garden salad without dressing for me.

My friend frowns. “Would you like anything with the salad, ma’am?”

Baron shoots daggers at the side of his head. “She will have the salad. Just as her fiancé ordered. Now chop-chop. We don’t have all night.”

Like the entertainers we are, neither I nor Tolie let our vapid expressions change at his terse command.

“Certainly, sir. Enjoy your wine.”

As Tolie walks away, I catch Kian’s gaze in the mirror, hoping he sees the small appreciative smile I flash before I focus back on the threat in front of me.

I don’t know how he did it, but I’m sure Tolie is working our table tonight because Kian arranged it. Tolie won’t be able to help me navigate the minefield that every conversation with Monroe turns into, but knowing I’m not alone in this gives me courage that’s normally nonexistent around the Baron. Rather than let my nerves take over or slide into meek Garde habits, I rack my brain to figure out how to get the information I need.

“I’m sorry about last night,” my good sense claws the lie from my throat and it’s then that I realize I’m not sorry for last night. At all. About any of it.

Good God, I can’t let Kian know that. I can see his smug grin already.

Monroe narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “I don’t believe you, but you better make the world believe it. The press has already made me out to be a fool.”

He scrolls through his phone before turning it to face me.

My heart plunges into my stomach.

No one was supposed to be able to photograph or record inside Rouge. Not only is it club policy, Kian tried to make sure of it. But there we are on my ex-fiancé’s phone, dancing together.

The photo captures the moment Kian caught me before I fell. Our chemistry is palpable, even through a screen. In another life, I’d frame it and put it on our dresser.

No… my dresser. Mine.

I ignore my little mental slip and try to see if I can tell it’s Kian, but his mask might have saved us both. He gazes down at me from behind it as if I’m the one for him, and I cling to him like he’s already mine. If a picture is worth a thousand words, ours tells the beginning of an epic love story. But in Monroe Baron’s hand, it’s a tragedy, a nail in my coffin. Especially when I see the headline.

“O’Shea Heiress Dances with the Devil,” the Baron reads for me. “The subheading says, ‘Does her fiancé have the heart of a saint? Or is he just a fool?’”

“Monroe, nothing happened,” I mumble through numb lips.

“I hope not,” he scoffs. “This picture? The dance? It’s bad enough. If I’d had any idea you were going to pull a stunt like that, I would’ve locked you up and never let you out. I might still do that.”

“It was just dancing—”

His phone buzzes in his hand and he holds up a finger to shush me. “One moment… Ah, right on time.”

He answers his phone right there at the table with a smug smile on his face. “It’s nice to hear from you again, Keeper. You O’Sheas are punctual today.”