Rouge: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Tattered Curtain Series)

Lacey

I put my glove back on as Kian helps me straighten my dress and hair. Once I’m ready, I give him a kiss that’s way too short before slipping out through the curtain.

The sanctuary is empty as I walk between the pews to exit through one of the back hallways. I’ll use the bathroom there so I can at least be partially truthful about where I went when my mother asks why I didn’t answer her. I’d be shocked that I was given this much time unsupervised, but for all my mother’s faults, she still believes in the sanctity of confession and Monroe was likely too busy preening for his sycophants to notice how long I was gone.

When I push the hallway door open, I hear the faint rustling of the confessional’s heavy curtains on the other side of the sanctuary. I don’t have the heart to watch Kian walk away from me, so I keep my eyes straight ahead and let the hallway door shut behind me.

Once inside the ladies’ room, I’m tempted to splash my face with water, but I don’t want to ruin the “no makeup” look that Monroe is so fond of. He has no idea it’s far from effortless, requiring just as much product as my normal style. Instead, I touch up with the compact in my purse, send a prayer of thanks to the woman who created waterproof mascara, and take off my gloves to wash my hands with frigid water. I hold them under, rinsing my wrists to cool the fever in my body that spikes around Kian.

When I step back to analyze my handiwork, I study myself from his point of view and my eyes widen.

Underneath them are bluish purple bags that I nonchalantly slathered concealer over this morning. My cheeks are hollowed and it’s not just an effect from the bronzer I used for definition. Being tipsy makes the red veins in my bleary eyes stand out.

I never wanted this for myself. Ever since I was little, I’ve wanted to dance. My father and mother indulged my dreams for a while until the day my mother broke it to me that Garde women don’t have aspirations. We’re there for the success of the men, the family, and the Garde as a whole. Since my father was the biggest success of them all, so much more fell on my shoulders to make sure I toed the line.

I was twelve and other than the stoic pain that seeped through my mother’s hug as I cried, the only other thing I can remember is throwing up violently afterward. As if the heartbreak was a tangible feeling that I needed to purge.

The Baron’s punishment is slowly draining everything from me. But being locked in the Elephant Room isn’t the only thing that’s killing me. It’s my role in the Garde itself.

This society has exhausted me for years. I’ve endured it by painting over my pain with makeup and a wine-stained false smile. Despite the bright spotlight I’m in day in and day out, no one’s ever noticed I’ve been slowly dying inside… but Kian McKennon could tell in the dark.

“I’ve got to get out of there,” I mutter to myself before toweling off my hands and leaving the bathroom.

I decide to take a shortcut outside through one of the hallway’s side doors, so I don’t bring any attention to myself by exiting through the entrance. Once I navigate the church’s prayer garden, I see the large gathering outside the front of the cathedral.

St. Patrick’s is gorgeous, but it sticks out like a sore thumb. Its ominous, gray stone facade and tall spire are a dark beacon against Vegas’s iconic flashy lights and bright, over-the-top colors. Against the sunny backdrop, the church sucks vibrance from the city itself, much like the group of loud, boisterous men gathered out front seem to do to their pretty, silent wives.

Many Garde members attend St. Patrick’s, but they do so in waves. They’ll not attend for weeks at a time, and then suddenly, the whole clan packs the pews one Sunday like it’s Easter morning. The church grounds are considered neutral territory, so they fly in from all over to gather for Garde announcements or whenever they believe their social or political standing could benefit from acting the part of good and pious church folk.

But no matter the reason for their attendance, they rush from the pews as soon as the last hymn ends to congregate outside of the church and impress whoever they find most important.

Despite every muscle in my body trying to slow me to a halt, I enter the crowd.

Laughter bellows from the group of politicians and famous wannabes that the Baron is regaling with some story. As someone else begins to give his own spin, Monroe spies me walking closer and glances at the gold watch in his hand. He shakes his head slightly and tucks it in his pocket before giving me a disappointed glare.

Shit.

I push past the dread churning in my stomach and stand beside my mother to join them.

Her sky-blue eyes, just like mine, flare slightly when she sees me, but that plastic smile stays in place as she leans toward me.

“Where were you? You didn’t answer when I called your name inside the cathedral and I couldn’t find you in the bathroom.”

“Confession went long, but then the stalls downstairs were full, so I had to use the one near the Sunday school rooms.” My fib rolls off my tongue as easily as the truth, but my mother didn’t survive as the Keeper’s wife by being gullible.

Her eyes narrow as she assesses my face, but she finally nods once and whispers in my ear. “Whatever you do, don’t say a word. Play the part, Lacey.”

My brow furrows, and in light of Kian’s revelation about our parents, I really study her as she turns back to the group. From our profile, we look exactly alike, but for the frown lines fighting against her Botox. Her faded strawberry-blonde hair is wrapped in a chignon and she’s wearing a long black dress, just as she’s done every day since my father went to jail.

She was his second choice, and yet she’s stayed faithful to him this entire time. Was she ever happy? I thought they’d loved each other, but did they ever? Was it always a marriage of convenience and politics? I shudder at the thought and avert my eyes to face the group.

But as I begin to listen to the conversation, the reason for her warning soon becomes clear.

“When the judge revoked his bond, I swear he shit himself. The bastard deserves it though.” A political pundit from one of the popular news stations laughs. I’m sure whatever happens here will be broadcasted tonight at eight pm, eastern time.

“He’s been ripping people off for decades. It’s good riddance, I say,” one of the senators chimes in.

“I don’t blame you,” Monroe agrees heartily with the rest of the group.

They continue to drag the victim of their gossip through the mud, interspersing their ridicule with sports statistics and talks of weather, but the more I listen, the more I realize whose reputation is the casualty.

They’re talking about my father.

My cheeks heat and when Monroe opens his mouth to say something else, I interrupt him before I can stop myself.

“He was framed, you know. My father didn’t cheat anyone.”

“Lacey,” my mom hisses.

The Baron narrows his light-brown eyes at me. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

“You don’t?” I ask, tilting my head and darting my gaze toward the reporter salivating for a scoop even in his off-hours.

Monroe is supposed to testify for my father. If he continues to blaspheme the O’Shea name like this, he’ll taint his testimony before he even takes the stand.

The Baron’s face purples and his lips tighten into a razor-thin line. He’s trying to keep his cool for the audience, but fuck him. If he thinks he can talk shit about my father right in front of me, he has another thing coming.

“If he didn’t cheat those people, then who do you suppose did?” a Nevada senator asks. I can’t for the life of me remember his name, but his son is an asshole who likely got away with literal murder last year when a girl went missing at his college.

“She’s kidding, Senator.” The Baron chuckles. “It’s best not to take socialites too seriously when they decide to get political.”

I cut a glare to Monroe before answering the question anyway. But I choose my words carefully now that all eyes are on me.

“I don’t know who hurt those people. That’s not my job. I just know they’ve got the wrong guy and if the authorities reopened the case—”

“You know nothing about the law, Lacey,” the Baron hisses under his breath, but everyone in the group shifts on their feet. Wives dip their heads and the less evil men pretend to switch topics among themselves, giving the Garde’s princess and the future Keeper privacy. But I make note of the ones who keep their beady eyes on us, soaking in the gossip and potential secrets like it’s their lifeblood.

“Don’t try to insert yourself in things you know nothing about,” he reiterates for good measure, but it only pisses me off more.

“Don’t talk about those things around me then,” I warn in a low voice of my own.

“Oh, Lacey. Please stop,” my mother whispers and digs her nails into my forearm, but I refuse to back down from Monroe’s angry glare.

I’ve been around worse men than Monroe Baron throughout my life. He may scare me in private, but I won’t let him disgrace me in public, no matter what’s in store after this.

Still, I have to fight the instinct to shy away from him as he wraps his arm around my waist to pull me close and whisper into my ear. His hand squeezes my hip painfully and his cologne slithers over me, making me desperately wish I could have smoky, sweet amber flood my senses instead.

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut the hell up. Or if you don’t care about your own safety, at least think of your father’s. Now laugh as if I’ve flirted with you.”

The threat makes me shudder, but I try to keep a brave face as I follow his instructions. A giggle claws its way up my throat and I lightly pat his forearm.

“Oh, Monroe, you’re so bad.”

The playful tease satisfies him, and a twitch of his lips is my only warning before he barks a laugh, spurring the crowd to do the same.

The touch of a gaze warms my cheeks. It takes me only a second to find Kian leaning against the cathedral doors, his hands in his pockets. No one’s paying any attention to him, and I hadn’t realized he’d even stayed. His protective fury caresses me like a salve compared to the crowd’s burning stares.

But I’m snapped back to the conversation around me when one of the politicians laughs with Monroe.

“You’ve got a firecracker of a fiancée, don’t you, Baron?”

“Speaking of which…” Monroe’s voice grows louder as he steps away from the group, tugging me with him. The reporter’s eyes bug out and he points his phone at us like a revolver in a duel. “As many of you know, I have an announcement to make.”

“Monroe, what’re you doing…”

“My Red Camellia was a bit of a naughty girl, but she went to confession and repented of those sins today. Didn’t you, my sweet flower?”

Disgust churns in my belly, but I keep my lip from curling as I nod.

“Perfect. With that in mind, I’ve decided to forgive her. We’re going to be married in two days!”

“Two days?” my mother and I gasp. She remembers herself before I do and reapplies her smile.

My gaze catches Kian’s as he steps onto the first step, his eyes ablaze. I can’t look away as Monroe elaborates on how he’s screwing up all of our plans.

“We’ll have the rehearsal dinner tomorrow. Stay tuned for details, ladies and gentlemen. You won’t want to miss it. Now my fiancé and I must be off. Lots to prepare for a surprise wedding.”

He turns us around, forcing me to drag my eyes away from Kian. I silently pray more than I ever have in church that he’ll figure out how to get both me and my dad out of this.

People snap pictures on our way to the limo and Monroe waves as we walk.

“Monroe?” my mother’s voice lilts as she clips behind us in her heels. Once she reaches us, she grits out her objection too quietly for anyone else to hear. “A rehearsal dinner and a wedding in less than forty-eight hours? That’s… that’s so soon. And almost impossible to plan for with the amount of detail you’ve requested.”

He lowers his voice so that only she and I hear, but there’s no respect for his future mother-in-law as he answers her.

“According to that reporter out there, some royal prince is throwing a secret wedding this Saturday that’ll be broadcasted internationally, then it’s Thanksgiving. I learned in New York that my contacts and I can’t wait for me to put this off any longer. It works out because, this way, the only news report we’ll be up against is the fact that it’s supposed to rain in the next few days. Not to mention I’m sure the O’Shea is desperate to get out after all this time. You’d think you’d want his name cleared as soon as possible.” Monroe pauses and raises a brow.

My mom blushes in shame. “Y-you’re right. I do. It’s just not a lot of time—”

“Plan the rehearsal dinner tomorrow at Rouge, Moira. Should be easy enough. It’s not an inaugural dinner or rocket science.”

One of Monroe’s bodyguards opens the limo door and Monroe all but pushes me inside.

“At Rouge?” my mother squeaks as Monroe walks around to the other side where another bodyguard opens the door for him. “But… a woman—” Once he slides in and the door is closed behind him, she leans into the limo and hisses. “But a woman was murdered there two weekends ago.”

“Make it happen, Mrs. O’Shea. I’m thinking a masquerade theme for the rehearsal dinner. Should be fun.”

Confusion wrinkles her brow. “A themed rehearsal? But Monroe, marriage is supposed to be the theme. A-and what time do you want to meet at the church beforehand to run through the ceremony?”

He swats away my mother’s concern with his hand.

“No need. We’ve all been to a wedding before. I don’t have time to go through a whole rehearsal. I just want the dinner party. All the biggest names have soirees leading up to their weddings. Plain rehearsals are blasé and don’t make for interesting news segments. So I look forward to seeing what you come up with, Moira.”

“But—”

He flicks his hand at his bodyguard. The man slams the door in my mother’s face before she can finish her question, sparking anger in my chest.

When it’s just the two of us left in the backseat, I slide as far away from Monroe as I can. Thankfully he doesn’t stop me.

I search out the tinted window for Kian and find him stalking through the crowd toward the limo. But before he can reach us, we pull away from the parking spot and into traffic, leaving him in the dust. I don’t know what he would’ve done if he’d caught up. Would he have ruined the whole charade? A part of me wishes he would.

But my dad…

“The Baron Suites for Miss O’Shea,” Monroe barks at the driver and pulls out his stopwatch. He grumbles before shoving it into his pocket. “You took long enough confessing. Now I’ll be late to one of my meetings.”

“Sorry,” I whisper.

“Hmm. Are you happy about finally getting to marry me?” He presses the button to close the partition between us and the cab.

“Ecstatic,” I answer dryly, refusing to look at him.

That was my mistake.

As soon as the window quietly snicks shut, pain slams into my lower abdomen. The sharp blow forces a gasp from me and I clutch my side, leaving my back exposed as I try to protect myself. When Monroe punches me again twice near my kidney, I cry out. My entire body tenses, worsening the agony, as I brace myself for the next strike.

“Look at me, Lacey.”

Tears brim my eyes as I turn weakly toward my attacker, the man who was supposed to be my husband and, thanks to Kian, now never will be.

The Baron smooths back the dirty-blond strands that fell from the gel binding them to his head. His goatee has moisture at the tips of his whiskers from where he seems to have literally been foaming at the mouth. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“I shouldn’t have had to do that, but you brought this on yourself when you questioned me in front of my peers. You will never embarrass me like that again. Do you understand? This high-and-mighty princess Red Camellia bullshit ends with me.”

I nod once reflexively. Pain still radiates from my lower back and I have to breathe deeply to think straight. I’m willing to agree to anything to keep him from hitting me again.

“Answer me!” he screams, making me flinch as his spittle lands on my face.

“I w-won’t embarrass you.”

“Good. Recently, I’ve had more innocent women than you killed for less.”

“You… the woman at Rouge? That was you?”

He huffs a laugh. “Isn’t it funny? In hindsight, it was stupid of me to order a hit on you, but your defiance made me act rashly out of anger. Now some random woman is dead and it’s all your fault. She was supposed to be you, which is why I didn’t bother showing up to sign the license the next day. Imagine my shock when your mother said you apologized for sleeping in. Thank God for my bodyguards’ fuckup though, because they saved me from making a terribly short-sighted mistake. Killing you would’ve ruined everything, not to mention my chance at Keeper. Now give me your phone. I don’t need you telling all your little friends lies about how I discipline my own fiancée.”

His fingers motion for me to do as he says. I pull it out of my pocket and hand it to him, too stunned to disobey. But as he pockets it, understanding and fear shock through me, almost worse than the pain itself.

“But… but I have to have my phone. How will I talk to my mom? Roxy? What if my dad calls?”

“Too bad. You’ll learn even pretty, spoiled brats have consequences for their actions. You can have it back after we get married. I trust you’ve already made arrangements for your dress for the rehearsal dinner?”

“Yes,” I grit out through clenched teeth, hoping like hell I don’t have to actually go through with any of this.

“Perfect. Congressmen will be attending, as well as some of my contacts from the Northeast. You’ll need to be on your best behavior. Business deals are riding on this marriage. If they fall apart, there will be major consequences for all of us. But if all goes well and we show a united front, these men could put their name behind mine when I run for Senate here in Nevada next year.”

My ears perk up. “Nevada? But you’re from New York.”

“Obviously. But I have a residence here. It’s just a matter of paperwork and rubbing the right elbows. Then I’ll make sure to expedite your father’s case and testify for him. It’ll look better for your father to have a senator in his corner. But all that is only if I win and only if you’re the picturesque senator’s wife throughout.”

“But… but that’ll take forever. My father has already been in jail way too long and the judge refuses to let him out until his trial. He needs to be freed.”

“You’ll have to think about how to be beneficial to this campaign, then. And know this…” He leans into my space, making me curl up tighter and bite my tongue to keep from hissing in agony. “If you fuck this up for me in any way, I will let your father rot. Your father may have been framed”—my eyes widen at the admission—“but, if you don’t shut your mouth and open your legs when I tell you to, no one will ever find out whether he’s innocent or not.”

His other hand rubs up my inner thigh and I shudder. Evil leaks through his smile as he chuckles.

“Does my little virgin Red Camellia slut already crave me? You are a virgin, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” I answer automatically, my life at stake. But his eyes narrow.

“Come to think of it, I don’t know why I haven’t checked yet. Maybe I should—”

“We’re here, sir,” the driver’s voice carries over the intercom, saving me.

The Baron curses and shakes his head. “Another time, then. Perhaps tomorrow night after the rehearsal dinner. Close enough to the wedding day. You’re lucky I have business to attend to today.”

I really fucking am.

As soon as the Baron’s hand leaves my thigh and he exits his side, I snap my legs closed. My door opens before I’m ready and when Monroe holds out his hand, I take it out of sheer self-preservation, swallowing back bile when his clammy palm envelops mine.

Once I gingerly unravel from my seat, I stand beside Monroe. He smiles warmly for the people gawking at the limo and leans into me, his arm wrapped around my back and his fingers like small daggers in my waist.

“Kiss me, Lacey. Give them a good show. Your father’s life depends on it. And so does yours.”

As if on autopilot, I step up on my toes to press my lips to his. He pulls me closer, but thankfully his forked tongue stays in his mouth. When he finally releases me, he waves at the crowd like a damn celebrity, his ego made all the worse by the raised phones, no doubt snapping pictures and recording video.

My breath lodges in my chest until he finally hands me off to his bodyguards. It isn’t until he gets back into the limo that my air releases. I’m a balloon on a string trying to fly away as the helium escapes, but still tethered to the three bodyguards who escort me inside the Baron Suites.

The bright lights of the first floor’s casino float by in a blur while I concentrate on breathing through the aftermath of the Baron’s physical and verbal blows. They play in my head like a horror movie over and over with every step closer to my gilded cage.

I don’t know how much more of this I can stand for my father’s sake, but the Baron might put me out of my misery before I have to find out.