Page 46 of Torment
CHAPTER THIRTY
The dress boxsits at the end of the bed taunting me. Navy blue. Cream ribbon tied neatly around it, and Melissa’s perfect cursive on the card. I haven’t opened it yet.
I woke to a text that it had been delivered to my loft, and called Karson.
“I need to swing by the loft.”
Silence.
“No you don’t,” he replies evenly.
He didn’t ask what for or why, just told me he’d take care of it. An hour and half later, Cole dropped it off here. That was a few hours ago. I threw it on the bed and decided to take a hotbath. Now, standing at the end of the bed, wrapped in a thick robe, I nibble on my thumb.
“Are you going to open it?” Karson’s voice from behind me causes me to jump, my heart launching itself into my throat. My hand flies to my chest.
“Sorry, doll,” he says walking over to me. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” His head tilts.
“I just didn’t hear you come in,” I sigh, my hand gripping the back of my neck as I roll it to ease some of the tension. My eyes fall back to the box.
“Guess I probably should,” I mumble. My fingers graze the corners of the box, then carefully lift it.
The dress is beautiful. Of course it is. Deep emerald silk. High neckline. Long sleeves. Elegant, respectful and completelynotme. Huffing through my nose, I reach out and rub the material between my fingers. It’s not meant to be me. It’s meant to be palatable. Presentable. Grateful. The poor little foster child they “saved”. The proof they parade around when donors start asking where the money goes.
Emerald because it looks expensive. Modest. Wholesome. Structured, keeping everything sharp and contained. Just like they prefer me. Melissa gets her picture. Jack gets his handshake. Board members nod in approval, and those donors empty their pockets.
And I let them. That’s the part that stings. Because I could say no. I could tell them to keep their money, their car, their careful little arrangements. But I don’t. Not yet. So I play along. For now.
I swallow, my fingers tightening on the silk.
But I don’t belong to them anymore.
“Try mine,” Karson says along the shell of my ear, an arm wrapping around my waist.
From over his shoulder, he brings a garment bag to the front of us. I didn't even realize he was carrying something.
My brow lifts. “You bought me a dress?”
He hums against my hair. “I corrected one.”
My stomach flips.
He releases me long enough to unzip the bag slowly, deliberately. Inside is champagne silk embellished with gold and champagne-toned beading. It has delicate straps with a plunging v-neckline and a thigh high slit on the column style skirt. It’s elegant. It's powerful.
It’s me.
My fingers hover over it, almost afraid to touch it.
“That’s not very wholesome,” I say with a smirk.
Karson steps in front of me. He brushes my chin with his thumb, tilting it up. His gray eyes steady.
“Good.” His lips press to my forehead.
“I’ll let you get ready. I’ll be in the other bedroom if you need me.” He exits the room, and I carry the dress with me into the bathroom.
An hour later, my hair and make-up are finished and the dress is on. I went with a bronze smokey eye, and a deep berry lip stain. My hair falls down to the middle of my back in wild, but styled to perfection loose waves. Champagne silk hugs my waist, skims my hips and falls clean to the floor. The neckline exposes the smooth skin of my torso.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I look up to see Karson standing near the window adjusting his cufflinks. He’s devastating in his pressed black tux, crisp black shirt, and a champagne tie draped around his inked neck to match the dress. He looks up and goes still.
