The Devil's Fiancée

CHAPTER 3

Rose’s POV

Ten minutes later, and I felt like I was no longer in my own body. Was I dreaming? Was pranking mentally exhausted women one of Damien's attributes as the devil? The girls did the last touch and finally pushed around the chair so I could glance at the mirror. I almost choked on my saliva at the sight before me.

I wasn't who I remembered. Bridal makeup that didn't scrape away what was left of my features but was light on the skin with pink blush, powder-thin eyeliner, mascara on my curled lashes, shaped brows, and other things that made me look like I belonged on the cover of Vogue magazine.

"Oh my god!" I finally found words.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," I muttered, more to myself than to the girl who had asked.

Moments later, I was being led down the stairs with Damien's arms wrapped lightly around my waist. The touch was so light it was almost imperceptible, but it still sent goosebumps down my skin. Still, I maintained my smile.

"Just like we practiced," Damien whispered in my ears.

As if I had more than twenty minutes to practice my lines and get my story right before getting into the most uncomfortable gown I'd ever seen: a red, body-hugging dress with a high slit and the lowest back cut imaginable.

All eyes turned towards us as soon as the ballroom door opened. Camera flashes didn't even wait for me to take a step as they exploded. I was blinded, so walking in my heels seemed like the worst idea. I stopped walking, heart pounding in my ears crazily, palms sweating. I wanted to turn around and tell Damien I couldn't do this.

But I felt his hand, warm and strong on my back, our skin touching and causing a tingle to run up my spine. My shoulders weren't as tense anymore. We got to the hallway, and the camera flashes reduced, giving room for murmuring and questions.

"Who is that?"

"Is that his new girl toy?"

A voice boomed across the hall as the microphone gave a screeching feedback. "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Damien Sterling and his fiancée, Rose Sinclair."

Everyone clapped, and I should have felt on top of the world. But I wasn't. Not when I knew deep down that I was only acting. As if on cue, people began to approach us, congratulating us as if it were true.

"Well, look who it is." I heard from behind us.

I turned around to face an averagely tall woman. She was curvy in the right places, even though I could see the folded lipo belt under her white, skin-tight evening gown. Her face was matted with layers of makeup, her bleached hair worn in a stylish chignon. She made me feel inferior immediately, and not because of her designer jewelry or handbag. Her blue eyes held a chill that made me feel small.

Out of reflex, I held his hand, and surprisingly, he gave mine a little squeeze.

"Hello, Seraphina," Damien greeted, his tone anything but friendly.

"Are you excited to see me, Damien?" She hugged him, nearly knocking me out of the way. "I am so happy for you. As soon as I heard, I had to come congratulate you. This is a surprise."

Seraphina. The name struck a chord, and I suddenly remembered where I had seen her name. She used to date him. Their breakup had been messy, with Seraphina being the main cause. I wondered if her coming back had been because she thought she still had a chance with Damien.

"I can't believe you're dating someone like that, Damien," she purred, running her hand down his arm. "You used to go for...really classy girls. What happened?"

Something twisted in my guts. But one look from Damien made me pause. They could be fucking for all I care; the relationship was a fluke anyways. What I wouldn't accept was being disrespected by plastic.

"Anyway," she finalized after a minute of rambling about her delicate nails and vacation in the Bahamas. "I'll see you later. Right?"

Damien nodded slowly. "Sure."

After she was gone, I breathed for the first time since she arrived. Her heavy perfume was enough to knock the breath out of my throat. I turned to the tall figure beside me, rubbing my hands on my side.

"How many more of your girls am I going to have to endure before the end of tonight?"

A smirk curled his lips as he spoke. "Is the fiancee getting jealous already?"

"Jealous!?" I scoffed and sputtered, my voice rising. "Of course not. I just want to let you know that I won't stand by and let any of your unruly flings come by and disrespect me again. I swear to...Ha!"

Damien grabbed my waist and turned me around before pressing me into him. I was too stunned to speak as I felt his warmth envelope me. Did he just embrace me in the middle of my rant? My hands were still trapped between us, but he refused to let go, one hand around my waist, his other hand on the back of my head.

Then I heard his voice, low and deep. "Careful, Malishka, or you'll blow our cover."

Malishka? Was that Russian? He doesn't look Russian. And none of what I read about him mentioned he was Russian. However, as much as I would hate to admit it, his voice and words calmed my nerves. I just wanted to be lost in the dark space of his arms, warm and safe. So I closed my eyes and exhaled.

Just then I heard voices directed at us.

"Oh, the new couple in town, aren't you?" When I pulled away from his embrace, already stable, I was met with a number of guests, excited to speak with me most especially.

After two hours of chatting, fake laughing, and zoning out at intervals, Damien decided he had tortured me enough and pulled out of the crowds to a door behind the draped curtains. We found ourselves behind the door and in the middle of a narrow hallway, lit up by tiny bulbs on the wall.

"You must be tired. I'll show you to your room."

"My room?"

Before I could say anything else, he grabbed my wrist and half yanked me as he walked down the stairs, and finally, after taking an elevator, we arrived at a large room, monotonous in color and utterly lacking life. I didn't need anyone to tell me it was his room.

"What are..."