Chapter 14: Public Ice

Tucker chose a deep red silk dress that hung to her curves with deliberate accuracy. Just scandalous enough to inspire gossip, the slit rode high on her thigh, elegant enough to pass the cool inspection of the elite society of the city. Her raven-black hair, pulled into a neat chignon, left her neck naked, exquisite, exposed.

Tucker shined against her earlobes, choosing diamond earrings that caught the light with every stride she made beside him. She presented herself as a queen. She was invisible, though, beside Tucker Beaumont. Since they got out of the limousine, he had not looked at her. He had not extended his arm or touched her hand. Not even a word. Not a cursory look at it.

To most of the world, they were the ideal pair. Energy and grace. Water and ice. Fire also But Scarlet thought of a mannequin paraded for exhibition draped in silk and diamonds. Dressed in a black tuxedo that hung to his form like it had been poured over his body, Tucker strolled deliberately across the sea of faces.

She was striking. commanding. His dark brown hair was meticulously combed back to expose the sharp arch of his brow and the sculpted jawline. His eyes were blue and icy as winter ice swept the room, contemptuous, inscrutable.

They strolled side by side but apart in worlds. He said, "Smile," low and clipped, not looking at her.

She pushed a nice curving lip shape. "That's all I'm let to do here, isn't it?" His mouth moved, but he uttered nothing. They stopped just before a group of contributors next to the great staircase. Turning to welcome them was Senator Lowell and his wife, a pearl-draped socialite with the appeal of a coiled snake. "Mr. Beaumont," the senator responded, reaching out a hand. always a delight. "Senator," Tucker answered fluidly, his handshake strong, his smile polished.

The woman continued, eyes scanning Scarlet like a fashion critic evaluating a painting: "And this must be your gorgeous wife." Scarlet reached out with trained grace. "Scarlet Langston Beaumont," she whispered with a velvet over steel voice.

"It's wonderful to meet you. " Oh, your gown is beautiful, sweetheart," the woman said. "Tucker has really good taste." "His taste is legendary," Scar said, the corner of her mouth flickering in something between irony and delight. The talk drifted on, synthetic and light, full of compliments that tasted like poison and sweetness.

Though Scarlet's face hurt from smiling, Tucker stayed a marble monument: beautiful, elegant, and completely cold. She detested this aspect of the marriage the pretense. The output. The false oneness hiding no warmth behind it. Still, every so often she caught him staring at her. not quite transparently Just faint flickers his eyes across her profile, the way her bare shoulder curved, the way her lips moved as she smiled at a joke.

She was unsure of what burned more the simmering simmer of those snatched looks or the humiliation of being ignored. The songs changed to a waltz. Couples walking the ballroom in perfect sync created a quiet beauty. If only to seem good, Scarlet anticipated Tucker to present his hand. He turned instead silently and headed for Gabrielle Richards. Scarlet's breath hitched.

The cousin of Gabrielle Tucker wore sparkling silver, her tall, elegant frame gliding with feline grace. Her blonde hair curled in waves down her back, and as Tucker approached her, her lips twisted into a triumphant smile. He handed her his hand. led her down to the floor. Not once did he turn to check on Scarlet. Alone, Scarlet sank her heart under the velvet of her bodice.

Eyes turned back to her once more, evaluating. She passed the drinking table and heard murmurs. She must feel like a shadow next to him.

"I heard he wed her in order to honor a contract. Simple convenience. She does, however, play the character really brilliantly. See her looking like royalty and handled like furniture. The smile of Scarlet was unbroken. Her spine corrected, though, and she moved with careful elegance toward the side of the ballroom, away from the artificial grins and gold-drenched chandeliers. Standing close to the floor-to-ceiling windows, she gazed out at the city lights dancing like diamonds on velvet.

Her mirror stared back at her gorgeous, calm, and so painfully hollow. "Lonely in paradise?" From behind her deep, fluid, male voice emerged. She turned slightly and saw an unfamiliar man. Tall, probably in his fifties, he had graying temples and a wolfish smirk.

His stance was unusually laid back for someone in this kind of environment, and his tuxedo was somewhat rumpled. She squinted narrow-wise. Would you kindly let me know? He grinned. "Not now." But when I see one, I understand a lonely heart. She answered coolly, "I'm not lonely." He raised his brow. "He has not looked at you once; you are here with the most potent man in this city. If that is not lonely, I have no idea what is. Scarlet turned her away. "Beautify your evening." He refrained from pushing. But his smile stayed long after she turned away. Tucker came back to her side later as the event started to shrink and attendees started to flow under sparkling arches.

"Let's go," he stated sharply. She remained silent. Just strolled beside him toward the limousine. Silence enveloped the trip back home. Glancing out the window, she watched the city fade. Tucker sat rigidly, gazing directly ahead. briefly on the seat, his hand brushed hers briefly, but he withdrew fast, as though touching burnt him. Marble flooring echoed underfoot in Beaumont Manor. She followed him just to the master suite. She instead started toward the study. She puzzled herself as to why. Perhaps she needed somewhere she wouldn't be on show. Perhaps all she needed was to breathe naturally without trying.

The study had cedarwood and leather smells. Warm and manly. His smell hung on the walls. She moved deliberately toward the desk. Under a haphazard folder, she noticed a barely discernible glossy paper corner. She grabbed it free. It featured a picture. faded; old. Her heart froze. She was her and Tucker's friend. Years earlier. Laughing on the shore, arms entangled, sun in their hair. He looked at her as though she were his whole universe.

Tears ablaze behind her eyes, she sat in the leather chair, staring at it. The door behind her snapped closed. She swung around. Tucker stood in the door opening. Now his eyes were not frigid. They were something else quite different. Tucker's presence permeated the entryway like a storm cloud about to break. Stillness hung around the void separating him from Scar, laden with all unspoken. He entered, and her fingers tightened on the edges of the picture, which shook slightly in her hand. His eye stayed not toward the image. It stayed on her face, her mouth, the little elevation of her chest with every breath.

That staring was no more apathetic. Dark and seeking, as though he were attempting to recall the version of her from that picture. She whispered softly, shattering the stillness, "You kept it." Tucker said not anything. Scarlet gulped and stood gently. "You buried it under papers and contracts, as if it were useless. But you did not toss it away. "It's old," he said, too precisely. "Has nothing at all." Then why did you hide it rather than burn it? His jaw shut. "I owe you explanations not here. "No," she answered, approaching very closely. But I believe you owe one to yourself. Tucker's gaze strayed to the picture she held. Put it back. Not for you is this office. She set the picture carefully on the desk, but her eyes stayed away from him.

Nothing in this house suits me. Remember me as your paper wife? A favor you outfit in silk and jewels depending on what fits you. He moved so quickly she hardly saw the distance between them vanish. One hand gripped the desk next to her, the other skimming the surface behind her back to enclose her without touching her. "You think this is easy for me?" His voice was low and crisp, but it had something else raw about it. "Seeing you float around these halls, looking like everything I desired and nothing I could trust?" The voice of Scarlet caught in her throat. Then quit pretending you don't care. His eyes grew black.

"And what, Scarlet?" And then? He was not waiting for a response, though. He turned aside and withdrew into the shell he knew best. "Get some rest," he urged sharply, heading toward the door. "We have still another event tomorrow. You will have to go back looking the part. Behind him the door snapped closed. Scarlet stayed there a while longer, her pulse hammering in her ears. Still on the desk, that picture was a shadow of who they once were, challenging her to remember. That evening she had trouble sleeping. Arriving with its customary stillness, the next morning When Tucker woke, his side of the bed was unbroken, and she was already gone. A note in his exact, frigid script rested on her nightstand. 7:00 PM. Tower of Harrington: Dinner for business. Choose your dress appropriately. Not "please." Neither a greeting. only guidelines. She crumpled the note in her hand and then straightened it once more. She could not determine; something in her stirred resistance or yearning. Surely both. She stood before the mirror in a navy silk gown by evening that trailed behind her like midnight smoke and kissed her curves.

Her hair curved in gentle curls down her back, the way Tucker used to appreciate it before all between them crumbled. She entered silently as the limo came. Tucker was seated there, legs crossed, staring at his phone already. He had a perfectly cut suit, a clean white shirt, and a watch glinting at his wrist like a control emblem. When she arrived, he turned, not looking. Scarlet settled next to him, their bodies close but unaltered.

Right away, the tension was electric. Every hill in the way brought their knees perilously close. From the corner of his eye, every turn of her robe seemed to draw him in. Still, quiet reigned. She turned to him at last, voice steady but slightly edged. "Do I get a script this time or just play the smiling wife again??" Tucker reached into his pocket and at last turned to face her. His phone His eyes lowered to her lips and then shot back to meet her gaze.

"You look... nice." That was hardly a compliment. That was a confession, sharp-edged and reluctant. Scarlet wrinkled his brow. "Be cautious, Tucker. That almost sounded like human nature. Behind his eyes, something flickering seemed nearly like the man he used to be. Their shoulders brushed then as the vehicle rounded a tight corner. His hand moved naturally and brushed hers. Warm, transient and residual. She stayed put instead of withdrawing. Neither he nor others. Their hands stayed there, fingers almost touching, breath stuck between their bodies like a held secret for a second too long. She turned gently to meet him, her eyes already fixed on his, softer now, conflicted.

The automobile came to a stop then. And he was gone once more, first adjusting his jacket, then restoring his mask. Then scarlet. Inside Harrington Tower, the restaurant glowed in gold and the subdued buzz of jazz. individual, privileged. Glass walls stared out over the city skyline, and tables were arranged like islands meant to keep secrets in and eyes out. The waitress knew Tucker right away and brought them to a quiet corner table.

Scarlet seated and then saw someone already walking from the opposite side of the room. Gina Richards. Just the right timing. Perfectly poisonous. This time she wore white silk that glowed against her honey-blonde hair. Her presence thundered even if her heels hardly made a sound. She said gently, "Tucker," kissing his cheek. "Did not know this was a three-person dinner." Scarlet flipped over in her stomach. Tucker's jaw tensed, but his voice stayed smooth. I extended an invitation to you. There will be business expansion on Arizona's side involving your father. You should pick up the nuances. Gabrielle grinned at Scarlet, glittering eyes. So good to meet you once more, Scarlet.

You have improved so much in assuming the part. Some of us were born for the stage, Scar said coldly. Sitting, Gabrielle crossed her legs like a queen on a throne. She cast no glance at Tucker. She never needed to. Her whole stance exuded an acquaintance with history. There was the waiter carrying menus. Gabrielle looked at hers hardly at all. She remarked, whirling her wine, "You do know what you've gotten into, don't you?" Scarlet caught her gaze.

"I came into a marriage. The same one you are circling like a vulture. Gabrielle laughed, with a low, velvety sound. Oh sweetheart, this is not a marriage. Playing chess is what we do. Simply the pawn believing she is a queen. The tone of Scarlet stayed composed. And you are the knight that loses every time she charges. Under the table, Tucker clenched his palm into a fist. But he said nothing at all. Dinner went on in a haze of polite war and hidden threats. Tucker talked about figures and logistics, the Arizona expansion, but the true discourse spun under the surface glares, secret meanings, and lingering stares. Scarlet's blood was buzzing not from sugar but from anger by the time dessert showed along. Tucker had never stood up for her once. Not a word to check Gabrielle's sharp tongue with.

Scarlet got into her seat with a stillness that shouted as they headed back to the limos. Tucker came next. She responded last, her voice low: "You let her do it." Eyes forward, he added, "I invited her for business." You let her make me seem bad. She only has power if you allow her to reach you. She spun abruptly to face him. You consider that to be strength? While someone tears me down, standing here? His eyes locked tight with hers. "I think fighting every small insult makes you weak." Then maybe I am weak, she shot back. Right now, I want to pull off this outfit and yell.

He approached closely, voice like velvet over iron. Then do it. She came to a stop. His fingers moved deliberately across her thigh softly. For a moment, just to check. "You look just fantastic in it," he said gently. Then he withdrew once more, as though the moment had never happened. The limos came to a stop. They went back to the estate. Neither addressed it. But Scarlet woke herself up in the gloom of her room that evening. Then faint sounds started to emanate.

Sliding under her door is paper. Heart hammering, she got up and opened it. Not noted here. handwriting. slanted writing. Look at the people you trust. Not every member in this house wants you living. Chest tense, she turned away from the door, clutching the message. Then there came a second sound. a squeak. The door leading from the bedroom. Gradually it opened. Not one person was present either.