Taming Pierce

20

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T A T I A
20 | lion's den

The Pierce's residence is straight out of a fairy tale. I am acquainted with some of its sordid history, mainly because this isn't the Pierces' home; it belongs to Lizzie. The incident from two years ago went viral on social media. Lizzie's brief speech at Winston Clarke's funeral had left my jaw hanging when I first stumbled upon it while scrolling through Instagram.

Tonight, returning here and having to confront her again knots my stomach. When the BMW's doors swing open, I step out with unsteady legs. I gaze up at the sprawling mansion ahead, dwarfing everything around it. The grand entrance stands wide open, ushering in a procession of extravagantly dressed guests. Everything sparkles, and the orchestra playing inside carries even from this distance.

Reece wears an irritated expression as he strides toward the mansion, leaving me to follow.

"I feel like I'm walking into a lion's den," I confess, my eyes unable to break away from the majestic palace before me.

I grew up in a mansion too. Casteel's house is probably even bigger compared to this place but there is something about this particular building that seems to be crafted from magic. It is like I am in a fantasy world, attending a ball thrown by a queen.

But then Gloria Pierce does put an image of a queen.

Reece stops, half turning to me. "May I ask why?"

I meet his eyes, hesitating to spill my thoughts but seeing the sincere look in his eyes gives me courage.

"Lizzie is inside. I have no idea how she feels about me."

"I assure you that you're absolutely right in thinking she no longer cares for you," he says, walking up to me.

"Ouch!" I cringe at his words. "Way to rub salt on the wound, mister."

Reece traces his knuckles up my bare shoulder, causing a hot shiver to run through me. The pit of my stomach churns with something wild.

"I don't sugarcoat," he says, dropping his hand. "But here's the thing—who cares what she thinks of you? The only thing you need to care about is that you look like heaven tonight and you're going there as my plus one, my fiancée, my better half. If anyone dares to make you uncomfortable, let me know. They won't like the consequences."

He speaks with a straight face that makes me smile a little.

"Even if it's Lizzie?" I ask.

A frown catches his lips, pinching his eyebrows together. "Lizzie won't make you uncomfortable."

"How are you so sure?"

"Because she might be angry with you but she's still Lizzie. She always forgives..." He sighs, a regretful air enveloping him. "...unless you're me."

I touch his hand, squeezing my fingers around his.

"I forgot that I'm not the only one who hurt her," I say softly.

If he minds me mentioning the past, he doesn't display it. He gives me the crook of his arm to hold.

"Come."

I hook my arm into his, relishing his warmth as we approach the front door. Unlike the other guests, no one dares to halt him to scrutinize his invitation. We step into the foyer, where a handful of people engage in conversations. My eyes are drawn to the colossal paintings adorning the walls, their presence lingering as we turn and enter a hall transformed into something akin to heaven.