Page 58 of Insidious Heart

Rochelle is so pretty.

Soft black hair and kind green eyes. Flawless olive toned skin, high cheekbones, and a stunning smile. She always tells me I’m a classic kind of pretty, like the Hollywood starlets of days gone by, but Rochelle is a real beauty. She actually reminds me quite a bit of Ava Gardner, just taller and a little edgier, given the lifestyle she’s been leading for the last twenty years.

Right now though, standing there in a black cocktail dress and heels, Rochelle looks every bit like she walked off of the silver screen.

“And you, my little Prince.” She bops her son on the nose before smoothing back his shaggy locks. “Look very handsome.”

“My shirt is itchy.” Prince huffs, causing all three of us to sigh. “But Stevie says I don’t hafta wear it real long.”

Rochelle finishes fussing over her baby then nods. “Not long at all, sweetheart.” Her gaze shifts to me and I give her a small smile. “You look beautiful, by the way. That dress is gorgeous on you.” Then she winks. “Just like I knew it’d be.”

I nervously smooth my hands over the front of my own cocktail dress—another requirement from Beau, the women and children wearing amore casual black tie attire—then push my hair behind my left ear and take a deep breath.

Dresses are not something I usually wear.

At work, it’s scrubs.

School? Scrubs on certain days, mostly jeans and hoodies the rest of the time. Even when it’s blistering hot outside. Other than that, I don’t go anywhere, so I pretty much wear whatever I want in the privacy of my own bedroom, but dresses are never on the table for me. Not until Beau forces me to attend an event like this one, and I’m pretty damn convinced he sets a dress code just to spite me.

Dresses like this show off most of my scars.

Thankfully, I’ve grown into most of them.

Not completely, not even close, but the scars on my legs and right side of my body have smoothed out some as I aged. The skin is tight and marbly, but the large areas of burnt flesh that once took up most of my right calf and thigh as well as the top of my left thigh, my hip and parts of my right arm look more like birthmarks at this point thanks to a lot of skin grafts and reconstruction surgeries.

Comparing them to birthmarks is probably more wishful thinking than anything else because it’s pretty obvious that’s not what they are, but no one sees most of those and anyone who has recently hasn’t seemed to notice.

Victor didn’t.

At least, he didn’t say anything if he did, and that man has thoroughly inspected every inch of my body over a very short period of time so I’m going with they aren’t as noticeable as I think.

Even still, wearing a cute little cocktail dress shows off way more mangled skin than I’m used to, and I swear my father makes me do it as another form of punishment. I just have to be grateful he allows me to leave my hair down, which is probably more for him than me since the side of my face wasn’t as lucky in terms ofgrowing into my scars. Between how dark that patch of skin is, as well as the recently discovered realization that I look too much like my mother, it’s a wonder Beau hasn’t attempted to beat the hideous out of me.

“Stevie?” My gaze lifts to Rochelle as I furrow my brow. “I asked how the boys were.”

“Perfect as usual,” I say with an embarrassed laugh since I was totally not paying attention. “Except this one here”—I nod toward Prince—“was farting up a storm while he wiggled into those dress pants.”

The five-year-old tries to scowl at me while he giggles. “You were pulling my belt too tight, Stevie.”

“Yeah, ok. That’s what had you tooting your tush off.” I roll my eyes with a grin.

“I need bigger pants.”

“Yeah, sure. Bigger pants cuz those ones—”

“Stevie!”

I stiffen immediately at the sound of my father barking my name down the hall, quickly covering my face with my hair, clasping my hands behind my back then dropping my eyes to the floor.

Time for a final inspection.

“Stevie, you better be fucking ready to go or else…” Beau Williams stops in the doorway as I hold my breath, his beat-to-hell boots all I can see out of my peripherals. “Everyone get the fuck out.”

“We were just leaving,” Rochelle huffs as she protectively steps in front of Prince and ushers him toward the door.

“Then get gone, you nosy bitch. No reason for you or these crotch goblins to be in mydaughter’sbedroom.”

The second I’m alone with Beau, my heart starts to race.

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