Rouge: A Dark Billionaire Romance (Tattered Curtain Series)
Rouge: Act 1 – Scene 2

Lacey

“Lacey, dear, do you think that dress may be… I don’t know, a little revealing?”

My future sister-in-law’s comment makes me want to strip naked just to spite her. Instead, I act like the good “Garde girl” that I pretend to be and plaster on a smile in Maeve’s direction. I tug down the tulle hem of my short white dress, even as my other hand balls into a fist.

The costume is admittedly ridiculous, but I didn’t blink when my best friend, Roxy, insisted I go all out. It’s an over-the-top, lace-and-diamond-studded, runaway-bride cocktail dress, complete with tennis shoes. It’ll be great to dance in, but the glittering outfit plus the huge princess-cut rock on my ring finger makes me look like a walking disco ball.

“Try not to be so jealous, Mimi,” Roxy tsks in my defense as she pours us shots, careful not to spill in the limo.

“My brother’s the only one who’s allowed to call me that.”

“But the name Maeve is so… stuffy.”

“Lacey, make Roxana stop! She’s been mocking me ever since I got into the limo.”

Roxy smirks, highlighting her perfectly applied bloodred lipstick. Her deep-brown eyes are covered with heavy eye shadow and her hyperrealistic fangs make her more intimidating than her personality already is. Not to mention the fact she’s wearing an all-black leather jumpsuit that straddles the line between sexy vampire and dominatrix.

“Roxy… Maeve…” I warn, trying to get them both to cool it. “You guys have been hissing at each other like cats all night long and it’s only the beginning. I just want to have fun.”

“Alright, alright, jokes aside, Maeve, it’s my bestie’s birthday and bachelorette party. She deserves to look fucking hot, okay? Her outfit is practically tame for Devil’s Night. Besides, everyone dresses like a slut for Halloween.”

“It’s just so short, especially when you fidget so much. And that plunging neckline is quite low-cut,” Maeve argues. “Not to mention the fact that ‘runaway bride’ might send my brother the wrong impression. There’s too much at stake for you to even joke about that.”

She bends toward me to lift up the lace V of my neckline, but I jolt back and my fisted hand snaps open with the barely contained urge to slap her away.

“I like it.” My eyes narrow before I lean closer to her so that my obliviously drunk friend can’t hear my whisper. “And you don’t need to remind me how much is at stake.”

Roxy interrupts us by giving me a full-to-the-brim shot glass of Belvedere vodka. I quickly sip the top just in case the limo driver has to stop abruptly for a drunk pedestrian again. The crisp liquor is supposed to be smooth going down, but I still wince at the taste.

Maeve’s eyes widen. “Brides shouldn’t do shots. It’s trashy!”

She reaches for the shot, but I pull away and take a big gulp despite the burn.

Roxy snorts. “You should’ve seen this girl shotgun a beer at a Saints game back in the Big Easy. I swear she had the guys at the tailgate ready to get down on one knee. We may have the Keeper’s flower in our midst, but your brother’s certainly not getting a shrinking violet.”

Roxy’s reference to the Garde’s pretentious title, the Red Camellia, makes me squirm. When I was a child, I thought it was a cute nickname from my dad because I loved the pretty flower growing up. It wasn’t until talks of marriage and proposals that I realized it’s the Garde’s name for the Keeper’s only daughter and that pretty flower is destined to be plucked for the Garde’s pleasure.

Neither of them notices my discomfort, though. Maeve’s jaw hangs open, too horrified by Roxy’s story to scold me for fidgeting. When my soon-to-be sister-in-law seemingly remembers herself, she smooths the all-black dress that serves as her nun costume and clears her throat before literally looking down her nose at me.

Why the hell did she even want to come if she was planning on critiquing me the whole time?

“You grew up in Sin City, so maybe you don’t know, but you’re supposed to leave that kind of behavior behind in college, like I did. I’m sure going to a New Orleans arts school was full of temptation, but hopefully you kept your legs closed tighter than you have tonight.” She pushes my knees together so quickly I can’t stop her. “My brother and the Garde have expectations, you know. Although I’m sure Monroe will be able to tame you.”

I bristle as she glances up and down my dress with contempt.

“I’m not an animal meant to be tamed. But don’t worry, I know what’s expected of me.” I knock back the rest of my shot without waiting for Roxy’s toast.

The Garde may be in charge of my life, my body, and my future, but these small moments of rebellion get me through each shitty moment.

“Hey! We should at least say ‘Cheers’ or something,” Roxy grumbles until I hand her my empty shot glass.

“Hit me again.”

I’m going to need as much liquid courage as I can get if I’m going through with my final act of rebellion I have planned. There’s a segment of tonight’s burlesque show that’s for amateurs only. My friend Tolie works for my family’s entertainment company and he’s organized a routine so that one of the dancers will choose me as the act. It’s been so long since I’ve performed onstage and I can’t fucking wait.

Roxy shrugs and refills the glass before pouring two more. “Here, Maeve, dear, why don’t you take the edge off a little? It might be a long night.”

Roxy’s bloodred smile is saccharine sweet as she hands Maeve her shot. Maeve’s pale skin is nearly translucent in the limo’s LED lights, but her scowl is plain as day as she stretches across me to take the glass.

“Come on, now. Play nice.” Roxy pokes out her full bottom lip, a move she perfected in grade school to get what she wants. “I’m the maid of honor, and Lacey insisted I invite you, even though sisters are always snitches on bach nights. Are you going to let loose and celebrate with us or prove me right?”

Roxy’s microbladed black brow rises in question and Maeve’s cheeks blush so furiously it gives her a purple hue.

“I’m not a snitch.” Maeve raises the glass in the middle of the three of us. “To the bride, the prettiest flower in the Garde. May God bless you with many Baron babies.”

Her toast makes me grimace, but she doesn’t see it as she downs the shot in one gulp and slams it onto the leather armrest beside her.

“Okay, you guys have got to stop stealing my thunder,” Roxy whines. “I’m supposed to be making the toasts. Now you have to do another.”

Maeve coughs in response and narrows her light-brown eyes at Roxy. Her sour expression is almost funny, but even though Maeve is on her high horse tonight, guilt makes me want to give her a break.

“Maeve, you don’t have to take any shots. She’s just teasing you.”

My future sister-in-law’s disdain shifts to me. With her straight dirty-blonde hair slicked back by a designer headband and the disappointment on her face, she looks just like my fiancé. All she needs is a goatee.

“I won’t be called a snitch. The Garde prides itself on keeping secrets and I’ve kept my fair share.”

My forehead furrows at her pointed stare. I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about. Does she know how wild and crazy Roxy and I used to get on Bourbon Street and Frenchman Street back in New Orleans? That can’t be it, though, right? We were so careful not to get caught.

Before I can ask her to elaborate, Roxy pours and shoves another full glass into Maeve’s hand.

“Prove it. Drink up.”

Roxy stares at her deadpan, but I frown slightly behind the lip of my glass. They’re both up to something, although I doubt one knows the scheme of the other. Whatever their agendas are, I’m letting them sort it out. I’m much too on edge to deal with Maeve’s condescension tonight all by myself. It’s nice to have my friend defend me, even if she does have questionably toxic tendencies herself.

“No, you and Lacey go first. I just drank mine and neither of you have finished yours!”

“Jesus, Maeve, it’s not like I’m force-feeding you Belvedere and Dom Perignon. I was supposed to do the toast, and you stole my shine. Now you get to drink another so I can do mine and we don’t get bad luck.”

Maeve pouts but takes the glass, surprising me. I don’t know what her angle is. Like Roxy, I thought Maeve only wanted to come because her brother forced her to spy on me. He hates that I’m having a bachelorette party at all, let alone going to a burlesque show the night before I sign my life away for the Garde.

For my dad.

The thought settles me. He’s the reason I agreed to this arrangement in the first place. So for his sake, I crack on a new fake smile and keep trying to make the best of things.

“I’ll drink as many as you want, Rox.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“No, no, no. We don’t want the bride to be a lush on her bachelorette night!”

“Speak for yourself,” Roxy scoffs. “I can’t wait to get my girl sloshed.”

“She’s kidding, Maeve. I’m not getting drunk, I swear.”

I can’t if I’m going to dance tonight. Granted, Maeve doesn’t know what I have planned.

“Good,” Maeve answers with an approving nod. “Tomorrow’s an important day for you.”

“Why? What’s tomorrow?” Roxy asks and my heart stutters. “We already got our papayas waxed, her mom is taking care of the rehearsal dinner and wedding planning, and the actual event is Saturday. I thought tomorrow’s slate was free?”

Maeve might not be a snitch, but she’s definitely not as good at keeping secrets as she boasts. Only our families know that Monroe and I are signing the marriage license tomorrow morning. We don’t want anyone interfering with the legalities of the actual marriage and the Baron’s grand vision for a lavish rehearsal dinner party and a surprise, extravagant wedding—one that my mom has almost ripped her hair out trying to get perfect—is a flashing caution sign to anyone who might want to thwart our wedding to get a leg up in our society.

“Sorry, I meant Saturday…” Maeve rambles on, dropping secrets like a dump truck. “Saturday is important. As long as she doesn’t embarrass my family by then, all she’ll have to worry about soon is producing an heir.”

The words smack me in the chest and land between the three of us like a brick.

It’s no secret that the Garde treats its women like trinkets before we’re married and broodmares after, but to have another woman accept that fact so easily makes me scared for the future of the Garde.

“I don’t plan to sit idly by while my husband rules, you know. We don’t have to be trophy wives if we don’t want to be. Just look at my mom. While my father’s been in jail, she’s done a great job running his businesses.”

Maeve scoffs. “Only the ones the government didn’t seize for investigation. Good thing my brother is swooping in to save the day.”

I’m careful not to react so Roxy doesn’t notice that Maeve keeps revealing way too damn much with her drunken limo-ride confessions. I love Roxy, but her loyalty is to her family name, and the Muñozes have been unpredictable in their ties the past year. Garde men like her father are eager to barter—or even kill—for power whenever they sense weakness. As one of my father’s financial managers, Monroe’s testimony will be crucial to prove my dad’s innocence. Our families have kept the fact that he’s testifying a secret because we don’t want rival families like the Muñozes replaceing out how important Monroe is to my father’s freedom.

After my father’s first arrest, the sudden lack of brownnosing and ass-kissing was a stark difference from what I’d grown up around. Two years later, my dad was rearrested on new charges and the judge sent him back to jail. Now, he’s forced to stay there until his trial—which will be God knows when, thanks to the slow as fuck judicial system.

When he went away, there was a question as to whether the Garde would overthrow him, making my mom and I worry we might not even survive long enough to see the trial. If a patriarch dies without a son or brother to fill the void, the rest of the bloodline soon dies out with him under “mysterious circumstances” so fortunes are returned to the Garde and distributed among the remaining families.

But precedent said that death is the only way the Keeper position changes hands. Even behind bars, my father remains in full control of the Garde. Officers turn their heads when he uses his smuggled phone to negotiate alliances and the secrets he still protects keep me and my mom safe, too. Our society continues to thrive under his rule.

The only problem so far has been the McKennons, but nothing can keep them in line.

Even though we’ve never met, at one time, I was supposed to marry the heir to the McKennon name. I was nervous about the arrangement, but after meeting his sweet mother years ago, I got excited to marry him. When he broke our contract, I was devastated… at first. I soon learned he’s just like everyone else in this society. They all think my family backed out of the deal, but my father told me the truth.

Kian McKennon didn’t want me. He wanted power. And that made me furious.

He didn’t care that my father was framed and when he discarded me, I finally understood why my family has always hated theirs.

Thankfully, Monroe Baron stepped up and asked to marry me. The Garde doesn’t know he believes my father is innocent, so they think he’s a saint for debasing himself with me, the daughter of an alleged criminal.

But that’s what the Garde thinks, and Maeve knows better. Her loose lips have me boiling.

“I’ve done nothing to embarrass your family.”

“Whether you’re the embarrassment or your father is, it doesn’t matter. Once my brother is Keeper, the disgraced O’Sheas will be forgotten, just like the McKennons.”

“The O’Sheas will be forgotten?” Roxy’s eyes widen to the size of golf balls. “You may be the future Keeper’s sister, but Lacey’s still practically the Garde’s future queen.”

“No, no. That’s not what I meant.” Maeve shakes her head quickly. “I mean, the O’Shea’s disgrace will be forgotten.”

“But you said that the ‘disgraced O’Sheas’ will be forgotten,” I argue.

“Oh no. You just misheard me, silly. I wouldn’t say something like that.” She waves away the thought as if I’m the one who’s out of line here.

When my and Roxy’s faces don’t soften, Maeve laughs nervously and digs into her purse to retrieve a prescription bottle without a label.

“What’re you doing?” Roxy asks. “Is that Valium?”

“Just a little pill for my nerves.” Maeve pops the top skillfully one-handed.

“Wait,” I interrupt. “You’ve been drinking. Is that a good idea?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve done it before.”

“That’s not necessarily the same thing—”

She ignores me as she tips the bottle back like the shot she just took. The pills slide down the see-through orange plastic before she swiftly takes a few sips of liquor and swallows both.

I can’t tell how much she took, but when she’s done, she drops the bottle back into her chic purse and smiles at me like she didn’t just insult my family, pop sketchy pills, and chase them both with expensive vodka in a matter of seconds.

Roxy recovers more quickly than I do and slowly raises her shot glass between the three of us, stopping me from questioning Maeve further.

“On that disturbing note… to one dick for the rest of your life! And to the millions of dollars that will hopefully help you forget the one dick part. Cheers!”

Roxy clinks all of our glasses while I giggle and Maeve looks irreparably scandalized. Still, she knocks the shot back with us like a champ.

As soon as the liquid passes my taste buds, I hiss and shake my head, scrunching my eyes closed at the burn.

“Jesus, that’ll hit you in the ovaries,” I mutter, ignoring Maeve’s permanent expression of disapproval.

“Oh, I forgot!” Roxy digs through her purse before pulling out a small stack of index cards connected by a silver ring and handing them to me. “For you.”

My brow furrows until I read the curly pink cursive on the front written in Roxy’s handwriting, “Bitch of Honor Kidnappings.” I flip the paper cover to see a cutely decorated date card that says, “Waxed Papayas and Pedicures.” When I flip again, I see a “Stupid Rom-Com of Bride’s Choice,” an “Ovaries Deep in Booze Night Out,” and a “Wish You Were Still Single” card, followed by many more.

“You made this for me?” My chest twists at the thoughtfulness behind the gift.

Roxy shrugs and tries to put her best nonchalant Garde face back on. “You mentioned you were afraid we wouldn’t be able to hang out. Anytime you want to use those, just send me a pic and I’ll come kidnapping, no questions asked.”

“Roxy…” Tears fill my eyes. “That’s so sweet—”

Maeve snatches the cards from my hand and rips one out. “A ‘Wish You Were Still Single’ card? Really? I don’t think you’ll be needing this one. Ever.”

Roxy grabs the coupon book back and shoves it in her tight bodysuit before waving the ripped paper in the air. “You know what, Maeve? I think this one will be perfect for our girl tonight. There’s nothing like a bach party to make you want to be single again.”

“No. Lacey’s ‘single days’ were over when my brother arranged to marry her. He’s been waiting a long time for her family to follow through with this arrangement. She shouldn’t want to be hungover or do something stupid so close to the wedding.”

I want to argue with her out of spite, but she’s not wrong. It has been a long time. Years, in fact, but it’s the Garde way. We’re not supposed to get married until the birthday after our college graduation and not a day before.

One night. That’s all I have left of my single life.

Having to wait to get married is a godsend in our world, giving us a tiny sliver of freedom before our responsibilities weigh us down like chains. It’s soul-crushing to know I’m required to leave my passion behind while I stand by a man as he achieves his. Monroe has made it clear he only wants me for my name and my father’s position. Once I have a Baron heir, he can gain his inheritance and secure the society’s support for his political aspirations.

Women in the Garde are traded back and forth in exchange for power, like cards on a table, passing down dynasties and fortunes. Without a Garde-approved wife and heir, half of Monroe’s inheritance will either go to Maeve if she marries and has a child, or it’ll revert back to the Garde. The pay-to-play system is a ruthless and archaic practice, but that’s all the Garde is. Ruthless and archaic.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

Yet.

The thought whispers seductively across my mind, but I shove it away. Dancing is one thing, but a coup-like rebellion is not the wisest thing to think about when I’m sharing alcohol with my uptight future sister-in-law.

The limo slows to a stop, and Roxy does an excited shimmy in her seat. With anyone else, it’d look laughable, but the girl was one of the best dancers at the Bordeaux Conservatory, the performing arts school we both attended in New Orleans. Every move she makes is fluid and perfect, no matter what.

“We’re here!” she sings off-key and chugs some liquor out of the bottle. She sucks in an inhale and huffs before handing it to Maeve.

“Drink up, Mimi. Gotta loosen that stick up your ass.”

Maeve frowns but still takes a sip. Years of being told what to do trains most Garde women to be compliant. Considering the heavy-handed way the Baron has insisted on controlling my own life even before we get married, I don’t doubt that she’d jump off the glass wall of a nearby rooftop lounge if someone richer than her told her to do it.

“You too, future Mrs. Stick Up Her Ass.” Roxy winks at me as she retrieves another bottle of Dom from the limo’s cooler and hands it to me.

I chuckle as I lift it to my lips, wanting a sweet sip to take the edge off my anxiety, but my phone rings in the pocket of my dress.

“Shit.” I shove the bottle at Roxy, interrupting her taunting Maeve. I swear she’s getting her wasted on purpose. Roxy is notorious for drinking until she blacks out, and with the Valium in Maeve’s system, I might be babysitting on my bachelorette night.

I pull my phone from my pocket and glance quickly at the screen before bringing it to my ear.

“Monroe? We’re about to enter the club. Can I call you after?”

My fiancé scoffs back. He’s been pissed about me going to a male revue ever since Roxy and Tolie came up with the idea. His sister watches me through drunken, interested eyes, so I resist the urge to roll my own. Maeve probably won’t remember a damn thing about tonight, but it’s better to be safe than blackmailed.

Roxy looks quite pleased with herself, and realization sets in. She is trying to get Maeve drunk. Maybe she’s making sure Maeve won’t be able to tattle to Monroe about my dance? I was hoping for a “get married first, ask for forgiveness later” situation with him, but her not remembering it at all would work so much better in my favor.

“I don’t know why you have to go to this ridiculous show in the first place. It’s a glorified strip club, for God’s sake. It’s embarrassing that my future wife is going.”

“And where will your bachelor party be, hmm? A monastery?”

Monroe huffs. “Clearly not, but men are different. You shouldn’t be out gallivanting across town in a dress like that.”

I glance down. “How do you know what I’m wearing…”

When I look back up, I catch Maeve looking at everything but me.

Of course she ratted me out. She probably sent the group picture of the three of us to him as soon as we took it. I shouldn’t have expected anything less, honestly, I just didn’t realize she’d move so damn fast.

“Just remember, I have no problem postponing this wedding as punishment. I could even push it past your father’s trial. What would happen then? Exoneration is a lot harder to get than a ‘not guilty’ verdict. Don’t embarrass me tonight, Lacey.”

The air in my lungs freezes at his cold threat. The O’Shea part of me wants to rebel against his cocky attitude. How the fuck dare he try to intimidate me and use my father’s freedom against me?

But the reality of my situation calls for the fake, sparkly facade I reserve for the world that only wants to look at pretty things. Where I’m seen but not heard. And that part wants to cower in a corner.

My mouth chooses a mixture of both before logic kicks in.

“This is my bachelorette night, Monroe. I’m going to have a good time. Rouge is a Garde establishment. An O’Shea establishment, even. I’ll be safe from the paparazzi. My father’s people are loyal and I promise to call you after. Just like we negotiated.”

Monroe grumbles on the other end of the line, but I can’t quite make out what he’s saying. When he finally responds, I bristle at his tone.

“Don’t fucking bother, Lacey. I’ve tried to warn you. It’d be a shame if this whole thing falls apart because you got trashed like a bar slut. What will your father do in prison if he doesn’t have you as a bargaining chip? Garde loyalty only lasts for so long.”

I open my mouth to object but he hangs up on me. My heart races in my chest and I look to Roxy, prepared to beg her to just take me back home and end this night early.

“Maybe we can watch a rom-com or something instead—”

“Nope, here—” She shoves a shot of green liquid in my hand. “Drink this. A gift from Tolie.”

I eye the color with suspicion and smell licorice from the glass even before I sniff it.

“Oh god, what is it?”

Roxy snorts. “The green fairy. She’ll treat you right, babe. Don’t you worry about a thing tonight. Tolie and I have it all covered.” She tilts her head at a hiccuping Maeve, confirming my suspicions. “Whatever happens in Rouge, stays in Rouge.”

She winks and the stone elephant sitting on my chest lightens. I smile a little before tipping the shot back. It burns as it goes down and the strong licorice taste makes me grimace before I even swallow it. I shudder and fight the urge to cough it back up.

“Whew, that’s strong!”

Roxy chuckles. “It does the trick, though. Now let’s go throw ridiculous amounts of money at stunning half-naked men and women.”

On cue, one of Roxy’s bodyguards opens the limo door and the loud chaos that is Fremont Street echoes from both ends of the parking garage, bouncing against the wide walls and high concrete ceilings. We’re in Las Vegas proper at the Montmartre Hotel and Casino, one of the businesses my family owns, and bright-red LEDs along the ceiling are our only light.

It’s been ages since I’ve been in this part of town. I was in New Orleans for so long I’d almost forgotten what it’s like.

As soon as I hop out of the limo, I lock eyes with an enormous three-dimensional mural of a devil’s head spanning the wall from floor to ceiling. He’s holding the rotating blades of a destroyed red windmill as if he’s in the process of decimating the idyllic French village painted behind him. The art pays homage to both the underworld and the original Moulin Rouge cabaret in Paris. The club’s door resides inside the devil’s large, wide-open mouth and a red carpet rolls onto the stone sidewalk like a long red tongue. Music blares from the entryway and a shiver of excitement ripples through me.

“Don’t worry,” Roxy whispers to me once she climbs out of the limo. “I’ll make sure that card gets put to good use tonight.”

She loops her arm in mine and grins while pointing at the neon-red sign above the windmill’s slowly rotating blades.

“Welcome to Rouge, Lacey.”