Deceitfully Yours

13.

The dress I picked out lay neatly on my bed. It was a slim-fitting white dress with colorful flower patterns and short sleeves; a little too Southern bell but I wanted to leave a good impression and wearing bright colors was the first way to go about it.

As I straightened the strings of my thong around my hips, I couldn't help but wonder if Tristan was home yet.

Was it weird that my room smelt like him? It was almost like he'd been in here; like I could almost feel him. Or was I just hallucinating?

I shook my head and grabbed my dress. Slipping into it felt like immersing myself in a cloud of silk. I walked to the full-length mirror and took a moment to absorb the reflection before me. It was tailored to my shape, plain but elegant, short but not slutty short. It was perfect for meeting your fake husband's grandfather who I knew nothing about.

I wore my hair down and curled it in a way that further sophisticated my look. I didn't spend much time on my makeup. I had added concealer under my eyes, dabbed a little blush on my cheeks, and crossed a nude shade of lipstick over my lips.

Moving away, I walked to my table and took my ring. I fitted it on my finger as I pushed my feet into my white pumps. I picked up my white beaded purse right after and stepped out, crossing the empty hall to the stairs.

As I ascended down, I found Tristan pacing around the living room, a look of impatience etched across his face like a storm cloud. He was dressed in a blue T-shirt that set off the color of his eyes and dark denim that hugged his calves. His hair, looking disheveled like he ran his hand through it a couple of times, framed his face with casual grace, the strands gently reaching down to touch his shoulders.

Why didn't he cut his hair?

Not that I cared though.

He suddenly turned my way and his eyes darkened when they met mine but it wasn't of shimmering resentment or disdain, it was something else.

Something smoldered his gaze but I couldn't decipher it because it was gone in a flash, replaced by the familiar look of dissatisfaction I got too often. "I told you to be ready by one o'clock, Sienna," He scowled. "It's one thirty-five."

He called me by my name. My toes tingled in my shoes. It felt foreign hearing him say it.

I nibbled on my lip, running a nervous hand down my dress. "I'm sorry, I was... caught up in the shower."

The look he gave me told me he didn't believe me and I half expected him to make an argument out of it. I braced myself for the confrontation but all he did was shake his head, turn, and begin to walk away.

I didn't know if I was relieved or disappointed that he had no desire to argue with me but I followed behind nonetheless.

It was bright and hot outside. Phillip had the car ready for us. "Mademoiselle," he welcomed, holding the door open for me. I smiled and settled into the air-conditioned Sedan.

Thankfully, Ryder wasn't here today.

When he started to drive, it didn't take two seconds before Tristan yanked out his iPad and began to pore over it.

"The weather is nice." I started, hoping we could try to have a normal conversation instead of the suffocating silence.

His reply was a soft hum that nearly passed me.

I bit the inside of my cheek, searching for more words. "The car is also nice too. How many do you have?"

He typed away on his pad, answering lazily. "I've lost count."