Page 125 of Faking the Pass
“So this is the costume Randygenerouslysent forme,” I said, understanding her sheepishness now. “Something that hides my face so I’m completely unrecognizable and makes it damn near impossible to breathe.”
“Well, officially the studio sent it—and paid for the tickets, which are fifty thousand dollars apiece. But I don’t expect you to wear it.”
“Good. This thing looks fucking scary—not to mention suffocating.”
I set it down and went back to the box, removing the rest of the costume. It was a silky light blue short jacket and matching knee-length breeches, white stockings, black buckled shoes, and a lacy white shirt and cravat.
Not the most masculine outfit I’d ever seen.
“I’ll wear the rest of it though,” I said.
Rosie’s eyes bulged. “You will?”
“Sure. Like I said, I like costume parties.UsuallyI don’t dress like Lord Byron, but I can tolerate it for one night. I don’t want you to have to face Randy alone.”
To my surprise, Rosie flung herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist and pressing her cheek to my chest.
“Thank you. Thank you so much. I don’t want to face him alone either. Or the press, which will be crawling all over the place.”
My heart was pounding so hard I was hoping it didn’t bruise Rosie’s face. I cupped the back of her head, holding her to me.
This was the closest we’d been since that shower, and she hadn’t voluntarily held me in her arms since we’d been on the island. It felt incredibly good.
“Of course,” I said. “What kind of fake husband would I be if I let you go alone? When do you want to leave?”
“The studio booked a room at the Scott Hotel for Sunday and Monday nights. That’s where people usually get ready for the event—it’s down the street from the museum.”
“I’ll arrange for a driver to pick us up Sunday morning and drive us there,” I said. “Maybe we could explore New York a little that day and have dinner somewhere nice?”
She gave me a brilliant smile that made me feel like I’d won a prize.
“That sounds perfect. Thank you, Presley. I owe you one.”
She didn’t, but I wasn’t going to say that out loud.
If Rosie wanted to consider herself in my debt, who was I to argue?
I had never liked Randy Ryland before this day, but at least the man had done one thing right.
The room his company had booked for us in Manhattan had only a single queen-sized bed.
Right now, Rosie’s dress and my embarrassing costume were laid out across it as we both got ready for the event. The smell of her perfume drifted from the bathroom, and I could hear the music she was listening to—the spa channel.
It was what she listened to whenever she was tense or nervous. That made me extra glad I’d come with her.
I pulled on the skin-tight breeches, stockings and shoes, and the frilly white shirt, feeling about as silly as I looked.
But then Rosie came out of the bathroom in her white hotel robe, and her eyes dropped to the front of my pants and widened.
She cleared her throat. “Those uh… don’t leave much to the imagination do they?”
I turned to check my reflection in the full-length wall mirror. Now that she’d mentioned it, there was even less room in the pants.
Willing to betthatwasn’t what Randy had intended for tonight.
Turning back to Rosie, I gave her a naughty grin and a little bow. “Your loyal footman… always ready to serve, my lady.”
Her face flushed, and she scooted back into the bathroom. The studio had arranged for a hair stylist and makeup artist to come to our room and transform her into Cinderella.
