Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
I can’t stand among my judgmental peers and flashing cameras with my back disfigured. I live in a world of superficial expectations, where celebrities don’t have wrinkles or belly fat or scars. The smallest imperfection is lambasted. I would no longer be seen as Laynee Somerset, a regal class act. I would be known as the poor, beaten-down has-been.
Blinking away my tears, I look him in the eyes. “What story do you propose I tell the press? That I let my stalker move in with me, and when he stabbed me in the back, I had him killed?”
He sits beside the dress on the edge of the bed and rests his elbows on his knees. “You were attacked. Bludgeoned within an inch of your life. But you survived. That’s all you tell them. Let them investigate and dig. They won’t find anything, right?”
“No,” I say quietly. “They won’t find anything at all.”
Only Decker, Reese, and the surgeon know about the scars. Elijah, my head of security, is the man who arranged Trey’s car accident. He knows something happened, but he never demanded details. I trust him with my life.
But that’s beside the point. Decker made a crucial decision without me, one that impacts my life.
“You had no right.” I drag a hand through my hair, my entire body shaking with betrayal, hurt, and fury.
What am I going to do? I have dozens of designer gowns in my closet, but I’ve been photographed in all of them. Donning an already-worn dress would result in speculation about my finances. Has Laynee Somerset run out of money? Has she burned out her career? No wonder she moved back to Savannah.
It’s all bullshit, but this is my life. If my fans don’t believe in me, producers won’t even look at me. My career will be over.
Anger boils anew, vibrating through my voice. “I’m so fucking pissed off at you right now I can’t see straight.”
“I expected that.”
“Then why’d you do it?”
The arrogant bastard lifts a brow as if the question is unreasonable.
I know he’s thinking about the conversation we just had downstairs, but he altered my dress long before that. “You weren’t thinking about sacrifice when you made this decision for me.”
“No.” Head down, he locks his hands together between his spread legs and watches from beneath dark brows. “I was thinking about how beautiful your body is. Every exquisite inch of skin. I was thinking about how inspiring it will be to other abuse victims when they see Laynee Somerset hold her head high and wear her skin with dignity.”
He stands from the bed, crosses the room, and disappears in the closet, leaving me alone with a bubbling cauldron of emotions. His intent is honest, but he doesn’t fully grasp the ramifications. I wish I could ignore the ridicule and hatred, but I don’t have that luxury. I love my career, and I’ve worked too damn hard to lose it all over a show of courage.
I lift the dress and hold it up to inspect the back. The satin cuts low, and the front wraps around to tie at the neck. If I’m honest, the style is sexier, more eye-catching than the original. I used to prefer backless gowns, used to love to show off the curve of my spine. But that was before.
Footsteps approach, and he steps around me, holding a bundle of silver fur. Some kind of shawl?
“The lady at the shop called this a capelet.” He wraps it around my shoulders and catches the drape in the back, pressing it against my tailbone. “It covers your entire back.”
I set down the gown, and a flutter takes flight in my chest as I run my fingers over the luxurious pelt of the shawl. “Is it real?”
“Faux fur.” He slides his hands over my shoulders, lowering the wrap to hang around my upper arms. “It’s handmade per my specifications.”
With a shuddering breath, I step to the full-length mirror in the corner and finger the scarf-like drape of fur around my chest. Hidden hooks clasp the ends together, allowing a snug fit that won’t slide or slip.
It’s a beautiful accent piece and appropriate for the season. Winter evenings in Savannah are chilly. It shows off my shoulders and will give the black satin gown a classy unique look.
“I didn’t make the decision for you, Laynee.” He stands behind me and touches his lips to my neck. “I merely packaged the choice in satin, tied it with a fur bow, and gave it to you to open.”
“I’m not opening it.” I meet his eyes in the mirror. “I can’t. You know that, right?”
Frustration darkens his features.
“Don’t give me that look.” I return my attention to my reflection and cringe at the teary pink skin around my eyes. “You think I’m a coward.”
“If I thought you were a coward, I wouldn’t have bothered with the dress.” He grips my waist from behind and rests his cheek against mine, taking in the view of us in the mirror. “You don’t believe this, but I already know you’re going to walk out of that event with your shoulders back, chin high, and the elegant lines of your back on full display. And I’m going to be the lovesick asshole standing at your side.”