Page 12 of Chasing the Flame (The Sacred Flames Of Ruin #1)
I’ve been hiding in this fucking house for two days, avoiding Jettson and his crew like they have the plague.
I would say the solitude is pleasant, but it really isn’t.
No, it’s more like the embarrassment that’s been embedded in my chest has sent me into an anxiety tailspin that I can’t quite seem to shake.
The foreboding feeling has come back full force, and I suspect it has to do with tonight’s dinner.
It seems like Luke always knows when I’m about to be pushed to my breaking point.
He’s pulled back his usual snide comments, deciding to play the charming husband since yesterday evening.
It almost makes me wonder where this man has been hiding, because it reminds me of the man I fell in love with over five years ago.
It was only when Luke called me from the office this morning that I realized he had another ulterior motive.
Luke wasn’t being kind because he loves me or felt bad about his actions. Or the fact that he’s gaslighting me about the strange noises I keep hearing.
No, he was simply giving me time to get my shit together so he could push the next uncomfortable situation on me.
Namely, a fancy dinner at the only restaurant in town—The Gilded Oak.
It’s a dinner where he plans to mingle with some corporate bigwigs who are coming to inspect the work he’s been doing over the last week.
I know what Luke expects of me: silent, obedient, the pretty housewife who looks good on his arm.
Tonight is a show, one that is meant to put him on display and elevate their opinion of him.
He’s looking for me to sweeten the pot by pretending to be interested in the gentleman’s conversations, while catering to the wives they’ll likely bring with them.
It’ll be an insufferable night, and I’m sure it will end in disaster. Fear has run rampant in my mind, and I haven’t been able to quiet the intrusive thoughts that seem to hit at the worst possible moments.
Like now, I’m fresh out of the shower, and all I can think about is how Luke will get drunk, and I’ll end up having to drive us home.
Then, he’ll be an ass for the rest of the evening over something innocent I’ve said or done.
It’s a cycle we never seem to break, and it gets increasingly volatile for me.
Begging doesn’t work anymore. It’s better just to take the abuse than to try to get him to stop. It never ends well for me anyway.
Shuddering, I release a shaky breath before looking myself head-on in the mirror.
My typically fiery locks are damp from the shower, my eyes dull and dead-looking.
My bottom lip quivers, and I allow myself several minutes of crying before shaking my head, tugging the towel tighter against my frame, and heading straight for our bedroom.
My walk-in closet is enormous, filled with designer labels, more clothes and shoes than I even know what to do with.
I don’t wear half of this anymore. My fingers graze along the delicate fabrics of silk, chiffon, satins, and furs, all a distant memory of another life.
I land on the perfect cocktail dress, a sleek emerald green number that falls just below my knees.
It’s modest yet classy, and it shows off my curves in all the right ways without being vulgar .
I pair it with a gold set of slingback heels, several gold bangles, and my favorite diamond stud earrings.
Once my outfit choice is selected, I fix my hair and makeup.
I never apply much. I often prefer a natural look, as my complexion is one of my favorite things about myself.
I love the freckles that dust my nose and cheeks and never want to detract from them.
So, mascara, a hint of blush, and a deep red lip is all I choose.
Once my hair is curled, I finish getting dressed and grab my velvety gold handbag, heading toward the front door. Luke is already waiting for me, dressed in a crisp black suit and a hunter green tie. It looks like we fucking planned this and my stomach twists, my nerves taking over the show.
“You look beautiful, pet.”
His gaze lands on my outfit, taking in every bit of my ensemble.
I wait, knowing from experience that I'll be expected to change if something doesn’t meet his approval.
After a moment, he nods, and I grant him a small smile, glad I’ve done nothing to anger him so early in the night.
“Thank you,” I murmur, taking his outstretched hand.
He leads me out of the front door and down the steps to his black Armada, opening the passenger side door for me.
He’s buttering me up for something, though I’m not sure what.
Once I’m in the car, he slides into the driver’s seat, and we head down the road toward the woods that separate us from the city of Liberty.
The ride to The Gilded Oak is quiet, the car seeping with a tension that I can’t quite put a name to.
It’s a thick quiet, settling into my stomach with a deep sense of trepidation, sending a tremor down my spine.
The rest of the drive into town passes by in a blur, as I try to quell the growing anxiety pooling in my belly .
I can’t shake the feeling that this dinner means something important. Though try as I might, I can’t pinpoint what it is. All too soon, we come onto the main road and find ourselves in Liberty.
Brick buildings line Main Street, and they’ve seen better days. A bunch of small businesses that’ll barely stay afloat as it is in this economy.
I catch titles like Mae’s Necessities, Dawn’s Dog Grooming, and Tonia’s Hair and Nail Salon Emporium.
The last one makes me smile, and I wonder if I’ll have time to schedule a manicure this week.
There’s a post office, a town hall in the center of the town square, and the grand staircase is utterly charming.
It reminds me of that famous movie, the one with Michael J. Fox and that guy with the crazy white hair. It has an antiquated charm, and I find myself enchanted with the old-fashioned street lights and signs.
We stop in front of a restaurant that looks out of place in this small town.
Classy and elegant is an understatement, and I feel ridiculously underdressed.
The building is nestled in a grove of trees that tower above it, providing the perfect canopy of shade in the evening light.
Dark wood, iron railings, and metal light fixtures give the restaurant a rustic but modern feel.
After we park, I hop out of the car, not bothering to wait for Luke. Grabbing my smartphone, I snap photos of the gorgeous backdrop before me.
“Come along,” Luke says, his voice lethally quiet.
I jolt, quickly placing my phone back in my bag, coming to Luke’s side. “This meeting is crucial. There’s a lot of funding for the plant riding on this dinner. Do you understand?” He asks, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear .
My stomach churns, but I nod in agreement, and his smile brightens. “Good, let’s go.” He grabs my hand, placing it in the crook of his arm as we take the stairs. The industrial and rustic elements of the restaurant are entwined together seamlessly.
The oak door that greets us is intricately carved with swirling patterns, and the iron handle clicks as Luke opens the door.
Inside, we’re met with dim lighting and lush, dark green walls in the center of the room.
Dark brick accents, copper, and iron elements line the walls in perfectly placed points.
None of it is overwhelming or gaudy. No, all of it creates a picturesque scene.
A long, U-shaped table sits before the brick wall, showcasing a beautiful bar with what appears to be top-shelf liquor on full display behind it. Industrial-looking stools line the counter, and several patrons fill the seats, sipping on elegantly designed drinks.
It isn’t long before the hostess greets us, a young-looking thing with dark brown hair and honey-brown colored eyes.
She seems to know precisely who Luke and I are, which doesn’t surprise me, considering the town is small, and Luke tends to name-drop wherever he goes.
The Blackthorne’s are prominent figures of society, no matter how you dice it.
Luke swears they’re ‘old money’, having inherited from ancestors long ago.
None of that ever really mattered to me. I had my career and pursuits, and knew what I wanted from a relationship. Luke saw an opportunity to mold an impressionable woman into his image. At twenty-five, I hadn’t seen much of the world—until Luke.
I’m not sure why I’m so focused on the past. Maybe I’m trying to convince myself that this move will be different. That he will be different.
I know better, he’s already proven he’s incapable of change.
All too soon, we’re seated at a booth in the back of the room.
The dark leather is incredible, and the booth is shaped like a half circle.
The dark wooden table is decorated with elegant china covered in gold leaves, ecru tones, and swirling patterns.
Matching hunter green napkins secured neatly around gold silverware are placed beside our plates, and the hostess has already taken it upon herself to place two glasses of house wine on the table.
No one else is here, so we slide in, taking a corner of the oversized booth.
Raising the elegant wine glass to my lips, I take my first sip, utterly enthralled with the divine flavor.
Luke’s gaze turns disapproving, but I can’t bring myself to give a single flying fuck.
I’m going to enjoy this wine, and he can fucking deal with it.
The wine is sweet, with hints of tangy spices mixed throughout. There’s a flavor in this wine I can’t quite put my finger on, but before I can think on it too long, a beautiful blonde bombshell comes our way.