Chapter 42
Chapter 42:
Eliza yanked the sheet up to her chin. “Oh god p>
She scrambled out of bed, wrapped the sheet around herself like a toga, and fled to the en-suite bathroom.
She looked in the mirror.
She gasped.
Her neck. Her collarbone. The curve of her shoulder. All of it was mapped in dark purple marks — deliberate, unmistakable.
“Dallas!” she called out, her voice rising. “I have a Gala tonight p>
Dallas appeared in the doorway. He was entirely unclothed and entirely unashamed, leaning against the frame with a lazy smile.
“Makeup exists,” he said.
“This won’t cover with makeup! You did this on purpose!” she accused, gesturing at her mottled neck.
𝘑oi𝗇 o𝘂r 𝘤𝗼𝗆𝘮𝘶ո𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝗈𝘯 ѕ.𝘤𝗈𝗺
“Perhaps,” he admitted, the mischief evident in his eyes. “I got carried away p>
“Carried away? You chewed on me p>
Eliza stormed past him into her own closet. She pulled out the dress Azalea had chosen weeks ago — a stunning, strapless emerald gown.
Impossible. It would reveal everything.
She pushed frantically through her wardrobe, shoving past the modern pieces, searching for anything with coverage. At the very back, she found it: a vintage black silk gown purchased at an estate sale years ago. It had a high, Victorian-style collar that rose to her chin and sleeves that fell to the wrist.
Severe. Modest. Elegant in a funereal way.
She put it on. It covered every single mark.
She walked out into the living room. Dallas was already dressed in a suit — he had somewhere to be, though not with her.
He looked at the dress. He frowned.
“You are hiding my work,” he said.
“I am hiding your vandalism,” she corrected, pinning her hair into a tight bun.
Dallas crossed the room to her. He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
“Go,” he said softly. “But remember what is under that dress.” He leaned in close, his mouth at her ear. “And remember who you belong to when you see him p>
A flush of heat spread through her body, responding to his voice before her mind could intervene. “I know,” she said.
She took the elevator down to the lobby. A car was waiting at the curb. Azalea, who had apparently just arrived, was already in the backseat.
“Whoa,” Azalea said as Eliza slid in beside her. “You look like a sexy nun. Or a very chic vampire.” She studied Eliza for a moment. “I cut the trip short. I had a bad feeling about you walking into that viper’s nest alone. Good thing I did, right p>
“Don’t ask,” Eliza said, turning toward the window.
As the car pulled away from the building, she touched her neck through the cool silk. The bruises throbbed faintly beneath her fingers.
She felt different. She was no longer the girl who had been left behind. She carried Dallas’s marks — invisible to everyone in that ballroom, but heavy to her. They settled in her chest like ballast. They gave her something to stand on.