The Initiation (Filthy Rich Americans 1)

“Why are you here?” I made a face. I hadn’t meant for it to come out so forceful. I was tired, and I didn’t like him seeing the person I had to be when Alice was around.

He smirked, unfazed by my tone. “I need to know what you’re going to be wearing so I can coordinate.”

“I’m sure I could send you a picture.”

He tossed up a hand in surrender. “Okay. I wanted to have a say in the decision.”

Like his father, Royce liked having control.

Donna Willow, the dress designer, was the embodiment of her name. Her head was a mop of wispy white hair and she was so slender, the collection of bracelets jangling on her wrists looked like they might break her arms. When Alice introduced us, Donna gave me a once-over and a pleasant smile.

“My fall collection is all jewel tones,” she said, nodding to herself. “Lots of options, but I already have a dress in mind for you.”

Gowns were pulled for me to try on, and then I was shepherded toward a dressing room.

“This is just to get an idea. I’ve got clips for whatever is too big.” She pointed to the glittering, fluffy assortment of dresses hanging on the rack. “I’m confident the red strapless number will be your dress, but we’ll start with the blue one just for fun.” Her eyes sparkled. “We don’t want this over too quickly.”

I gave a smile and hoped she couldn’t see it was pained.

Once the door shut, my face fell. I should have been excited. This was basically every little girl’s dream, trying on fancy dresses for the big ball. I even had the Prince Charming already lined up.

Except it was fabricated.

Would my relationship with Royce grow to become more than just fiction?

I retrieved my phone from my purse, snapped a picture of the rack of gowns, and posted it to my feed. I fed the lie with a question of which dress I should try on first, followed by a bunch of happy, vapid hashtags.

“Nice,” Alice said when I emerged from the fitting room wearing the blue mermaid style dress.

I went up the step to stand on the platform in front of the mirrors and take it in. Its high neck had beaded embellishments that wrapped around my throat and I couldn’t help but feel strangled.

Alice sat on the cream-colored couch and Royce in a gold armchair beside it, and his gaze met mine through the mirror.

“It’s just okay to me,” he said.

“Agreed,” Donna concluded. “Try the black one next.”

The second dress was far more comfortable, but I didn’t have to see my reflection to know it wasn’t right. Three frowns greeted me when I appeared from the fitting room.

“No,” Donna said, before sending me back. “The waistline is too high.”

I stood in the small, mirrorless room, staring at the notifications as they popped up on my screen, one after another. People seemed to like the curated Marist Northcott a hell of a lot more than the real one. I hurled my phone in my purse and reminded myself it was pointless to be upset. I was doing what I had to. Macalister’s deal said I was supposed to be the girl everyone wanted to be.

My gaze landed on the red dress.

Frowns weren’t waiting for me when I rounded the corner and stepped into view. Alice inhaled sharply and clasped a hand to her chest. Donna’s proud smile was enormous. I didn’t risk a glance at Royce at first. Instead, I grasped the sides of skirt and stepped up onto the platform, took in a breath, and raised my eyes to the mirror.

My own reflection turned me to stone.

The strapless dress was the color of power and sin. Below the waist, the red corseted bodice burst into tulle rosettes in varying shades of crimson and scarlet, flowing down to the floor and trailing behind me in a short train.

Who knew fabric could be so transformative?

I suddenly felt like I could do this. I could wear this beautiful costume when it was announced to the world I was about to become the princess of the Hale dynasty. That Royce had chosen me. I’d don a smile on my face that wouldn’t be much of a lie, and it was because of the way he was looking at me right now.

His lush lips parted, but he didn’t seem to be breathing. He stared at me as if the world turned at my command. I’d always thought his eyes were hungry, but that hunger was the hunt for signs of weakness. For mistakes and dark secrets people hoped to conceal.

His hunger now was something else entirely.

Unabashed desire drenched his expression. He held my gaze so long my knees softened, and my cheeks warmed with a flush. Had he forgotten we weren’t alone? It was indecent the way he stared at me. There was no mistaking what he craved.