Page 79 of Wicked Sinner
Caesar is a good dancer, confident and sure as he guides me through the steps. His hand is warm on my back, and I can feel the strength in his arms as he spins me. For a few minutes, I letmyself get lost in the music, in the way he looks at me like I'm the only woman in the room. As if I’m the only woman forhim.
But I can feel the weight of everyone's stares. Konstantin watches us with an unreadable expression, while Valentina whispers something to him. Tristan's face is carefully neutral, but there's something in his eyes that suggests he's not pleased with what he's seeing.
Isabella swishes past us in the arms of some blandly handsome man, her expression cold. When our eyes meet, she raises her champagne glass in a mock toast, her smile sharp and threatening.
"They're all watching us," I murmur against Caesar's ear, trying not to think about how good he smells. How good he feels, so close to me. He’s still half-hard—I can feel it every time our bodies brush together. It makes me think filthy things. Things I’d never actually do in public, but that I can’t help fantasizing about.
"Good," he says flatly, spinning me again. "Let them watch."
But I can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens when he catches sight of Konstantin's disapproving frown. This isn't just about us—it's about his position, his power, his future. And I'm the wild card that could ruin it all.
One night. One careless night could undo everything for him. I don’t know how he doesn’t hate me. Instead, he seems to want to keep me. To relish in giving the middle finger to everyone around him who doesn’t want this marriage to last.
The song ends, and Caesar leads me off the dance floor. More people approach us—business associates, I think, people whose approval I’m sure matters. I smile and nod and make small talk, but it all feels like I'm performing in a play where I don't know my lines.
"You're doing great," Caesar murmurs during a brief lull in the conversation.
But I don't feel like I'm doing great. I feel like I'm floundering, like I'm playing a role I was never meant for. Every smile feels forced, every laugh hollow. I keep all my conversations bland, because I don’t really know what’s acceptable to say. Spending a lifetime like this sounds like a nightmare, but learning to behave like these people do feels equally abhorrent.
When Elisa approaches us, this time with a group of other women, I know I'm in trouble.
"Bridget, we were just talking about the upcoming charity auction," she says with a sweet smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm sure you'll want to get involved. It's so important for the wives to support these causes."
"Of course," I manage, though I have no idea what charity auction she's talking about. And, if I’m lucky, I’ll be divorced before it actually happens.
"Isabella chairs the committee," Elise continues. "I'm sure she'd be happy to get you involved. Wouldn't you, Isabella?"
Isabella's smile is razor-sharp. "I'd be delighted. Though I should warn you, it's quite a commitment. We expect a certain level of… dedication from our committee members."
"I'm sure Bridget will find her own ways to contribute," Caesar says smoothly, but I can hear the warning in his voice.
"Oh, I'm sure she will," Isabella agrees. "After all, we all have our… strengths." Her gaze sweeps over me contemptuously, her meaning abundantly clear. I feel my cheeks burn with embarrassment and anger. I want to tell her exactly what I think of her and her committee, but I bite my tongue. Starting a scene won't help anyone, least of all Caesar.
The conversation continues around me, but I feel like I'm underwater, the voices muffled and distant. My chest feels tight, and I can't seem to get enough air. The room is too warm, toocrowded, too much. And escaping to the balcony again doesn’t feel like enough this time.
"I need to go," I whisper to Caesar as the women walk away.
He looks at me sharply, taking in my pale face and the way I'm gripping my clutch like a lifeline. "Are you alright?"
"I just… I need to go home. Please." I’ve never begged him for anything, but right now I don’t care. I need to get out of here.
For a moment, I think he's going to argue, to tell me we need to stay longer. But something in my expression must convince him, because he nods.
"Of course," he says, already making our excuses to the new group of guests who have walked up. "Bridget isn't feeling well. Early pregnancy, you know."
Oh. I guess everyone does know about it. I bite my lip, wishing I hadn’t been left out of that particular loop, but there’s no time to think about it. Caesar's hand is steady on my back, guiding me through the crowd toward the exit. We say our goodbyes to Konstantin and Valentina, to Tristan and Simone. Isabella watches us leave with that same cold smile, and I know she's already planning how to use this against us. I have no doubt she’s going to try to make herself a problem again at some point.
The drive home is silent except for the purr of the Ferrari's engine. Caesar keeps glancing at me, but I stare out the window at the passing lights, trying to process everything that just happened.
When we reach the penthouse, I head straight for the elevator without a word. I can feel Caesar watching me, but I don't turn around as we walk in, looking pointedly away from him. I can't. If I look at him right now, I might break down completely, and I refuse to let him see me fall apart. The night has been awful enough without that.
In my room, I carefully hang up the beautiful dress and put away the expensive jewelry. Each piece feels like a costume I'm taking off after a role that I should never have been asked to play. When I catch sight of myself in the mirror after I’ve slipped into my pajamas and taken off my makeup, I look like myself again—just Bridget, the mechanic's daughter who got in way over her head.
I sink onto the bed and finally let myself feel the full weight of the evening. Isabella's cutting remarks, the disapproving stares, the constant feeling that I was being judged and found wanting. This is my life now, for as long as this marriage lasts. This is what I signed up for.
The thought makes me want to cry, but I'm too exhausted even for tears. I just want to go home—to my real home, to my shop, to the life I understood. But that life feels impossibly far away now, like something I dreamed once upon a time.
I hear Caesar's footsteps in the hallway, hear him pause outside my door. For a moment, I think he might knock, might try to come in and talk about what happened tonight. But after a long moment, his footsteps continue down the hall to his own room.
