Page 113 of The Love You Fight For
I go to my bedroom and dig through the bottom dresser drawer until I find what I’m looking for. A heavy, black velvet box. I slip it into the pocket of my jeans, and then I jump in my truck and head to the pawn shop.
I won’t let the woman I love fight her battles alone.
Never again.
TWENTY-SEVEN
I lookat myself in the mirror with a critical eye.
My lip has healed, and the bruise on my cheek was easy enough to cover with makeup. It helps that my shimmering gold eyeliner and bright red lipstick steal the show. No one will be looking too closely at my cheeks.
My long blond hair is in an elaborate updo. Pieces frame my face, but they don’t hide the jewelry adorning my ears. My earrings, rose gold snakes with emerald eyes, dangle from my earlobes. The emeralds catch the light, and they seem to glow. I smile at them, then run my finger over the matching bracelet on my left hand.
I smooth my hands down the emerald dress, the pattern giving the illusion of snakeskin. I had a local designer custom-make it. It fits like it was painted on, with a long slit on the side and a hemline that teases my platform stiletto heels. My favorite part, however, is the back. I turn and look over my shoulder in the mirror, and the smile that curls my lips is nothing short of predatory.
I grab my shawl, black silk and lace, and lay it delicately over my shoulder blades, draping it over my forearms, and then I walk to my dresser. Instead of grabbing the diamond necklace from the drawer, my fingers find the compass necklace from Chris. Carefully,I bring it to my neck, do the clasp, then adjust the compass so it falls perfectly on my collarbone.
The feel of it there calms my nerves. It fills me with strength. With purpose.
“I can do this,” I whisper into my silent bedroom. “It’s time to burn it all to the fucking ground.”
At 7:10 p.m., I slide into the back of the car I ordered. As my driver pulls away, I peer out the back window as Ashton’s driver pulls up. I smirk and turn back around. I wonder how long it will take him to realize I’m standing him up. I’m only sorry I won’t be able to see his face.
During the drive, I go over everything Agent Sexton has said. Go over my plan, over my words. I close my eyes and breathe. My fingers itch to take a Valium, but I don’t. I want to feel all of this. Instead, I focus all my attention on the compass necklace, on the weight of it as it rests against my collarbone. The way it has warmed with my skin. How it feels like it’s always been a part of me. Like it’s where it belongs.
For your true north,he’d said.
I breathe.
When we get to the event space, I take note of the luxury vehicles lining up for valet parking and the men and women dressed for the formal affair. I recognize many of the faces. I hate them all.
Honestly, the opulence is disgusting and embarrassing. My father is acting as if he’s already won. He’s flaunting his money, his connections, shamelessly. It turns my stomach thinking about how carefree he is at this very moment. Despite everything he’s done and all the skeletons he’s got stashed in his grand walk-in closet, he still thinks he can get away with anything.
Truthfully, if it weren’t for me, he probably would.
My driver puts the car in park when we’re at the large steps. He climbs out and rounds to my door, offering my hand once the door is open. I take it. I let him help me out, and then I nod my thanks. I’m too full of nerves to speak.
I make my way up the large staircase that leads into the eventspace with my chin up and my shoulders back. I ignore the flashes of cameras. I don’t take my eyes off the entrance.
No one asks for my ticket as I approach. Instead, I receive meek, shaky greetings from the volunteers and staff. I don’t respond, but as soon as I step through the doors, I want to laugh out loud.
It’s even worse than I thought.
The only plans for tonight that I had eyes on were the speaker lineup. Everything else is a surprise. There’s a fucking ice sculpture, for god’s sake. InAugust.
Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Soft piano music plays. There are servers in black slacks and white button-down shirts whisking around trays of hors d’oeuvres and champagne flutes. I snag a glass off one of the trays when it’s offered, but I don’t drink it. I just wander around the perimeter of the banquet room and observe. Several times, I see Father interacting with someone, a glass of bourbon cradled in his hand, but he doesn’t notice me. He’s completely oblivious, which confirms what I thought.
Either Ashton doesn’t know I drugged him and stole the hard drive, or he’s too ashamed to tell my father. My guess is the latter, but it doesn’t take long for me to know for certain.
I spot Ashton before he sees me. He walks through the front doors, visibly agitated. Wondering how long he waited for me, I resist the urge to roll my eyes. The fact that he even thought I would be waiting for him is a testament to his pig-headed arrogance. His gaze sweeps over the sea of people, so I walk slowly into the center of the room, directly in his line of sight, and wait for him to find me.
The moment he sees me, his eyes flare with anger, and he practically storms toward me.
Well. I guess he knows.
I take a small sip of my champagne and watch with a pleasant smile as he closes the distance between us.
“You bitch,” he snarls under his breath the moment he’s within arm’s reach. “You lying, thieving snake.”
