7. THE PERFECT DISGUISE

The night smelled of fresh rain and red roses.

A thousand lights shimmered through the glass outline of the Mariotte Hotel, with every single chandelier up above dancing in its own lost world, like small individual galaxies in motion.

This Leukemia Awareness Gala, which Kenneth had forced her hand to attend, was exactly the kind of spectacle that old money adored.

Polished marble, champagne pyramids, laughter trained to sound expensive.

It seemed that, no matter how hard she tried, life kept tossing her into the very world she was so desperately trying to escape. As frustrating as it seemed, Barbara recognized it as fate’s own twisted sense of humor… one she tried her best not to be offended by. 

An A-grade string quartet sat at the top balcony, playing a delicate and mournful number, probably mourning all the lives that had been lost to the deadly disease. The grand staircase that led to them had been so graciously designed… in fact, the whole ballroom, really, had all been made up to matchless perfection.

Barbara paused at the threshold to the ballroom, her breath fogging the air before her, her mind asking her for the millionth time over if she could do this.  

This final task that was finally going to set her free.

She adjusted the plain satin mask she had on her face. Her piece for the night was white, unadorned... a mere ghost among the colorful peacocks littered across the room in their creative, probably ridiculously expensive face blockers and even more expensive clothing ensembles.

It was a masquerade ball, remember?

The theme was one Barbie couldn’t be more grateful for.

To suit the task of the night, Barbie had decided that her disguise would be plain-Jane Barbie. Her gown was a dull shade of mauve that hung on her frame like an afterthought.

It wasn’t exactly hideous, but in a room where every woman shimmered, it was practically offensive. The seams pulled in the wrong places. The fabric simply refused to flatter her. Her fiery red hair was hidden with a plain dark wig, pinned without imagination.

It was the perfect look.

Considering she needed to be the subject of disgust, not desire.

You see, she knew men like this Knight.

Women were nothing but decorative pieces on their arm… the sexier, the more unattainable, the better.

Given her appalling outfit, she was willing to bet that he wouldn’t even recognize her, and heck, even if he did, their passionate night together would be nothing but a recollection of regret for having let himself be so drunk that he’d done a fat girl who was trying to be confident in her body.

Men like Knight couldn’t help themselves; she’d seen it a thousand times. Give them a woman they could despise—fat, plain, drab—and their true colors came out faster than a knife could flash.

It wouldn’t take long before he said something careless, something cruel.

Then she could stop pretending he had ever been anything more than an assignment.

And get herself the freedom she so desperately craved.

Barbie’s heels clicked against the marble as she crossed the foyer, head bent in submission. Conversations dimmed, a few eyes following her movement. She caught a few snickers behind raised hands, all directed at her. One woman leaned to whisper into another’s ear, the two of them shaking with silent laughter.

Barbara’s mouth curved inconspicuously.

Good.

Let them laugh.

She moved through the crowd with the precision of a hunter cloaked in thick armor against ridicule. Every gasp, every insult, every cruel glance was intended to inflict pain, to make her insecure, but they bounced off her like echoes did a wall.

At the edge of the ballroom, a waiter offered champagne. Barbie took one glass, more for something to do with her hands than out of thirst, and then, fully installed in her position as the wallflower of the night, she began to scan the crowd for her target.

Barbie’s breath caught in her throat when she saw him.

Knight.

Sweet mother of Jesus, why was he such a fine specimen?

He stood near the center of the ballroom, surrounded by the kind of men who thought they ruled the world because they could buy slices of it.

Even with his mask on, a black, sleek piece covering half his face, she would have recognized him any day, anywhere.

Those shoulders, the lazy way he leaned when listening, that captivating smirk… they still haunted her dreams, jolted her awake, taunted her until she rubbed a few out till sleep claimed her.

It was a never-ending cycle.

Tonight, he had on a black tuxedo, one that fit him like sin.

Hell, even the air seemed to bend around him, painfully aware of his presence.

Barbie’s heart lurched once, hard enough to hurt. She tightened her grip on the stem of her glass until it trembled.

Ugh, why did freedom have to be so expensive?