Chapter 2

### Chapter 2

As the room tilted one way in the chatter, Ellie Winfield and Rose Whitney looked more pleased with themselves by the second.

Rose lifted her chin at me.

"You little slut. Talking to the mistress of the Winfield house like that. I think you're tired of living."

I didn't rise to it. I just found it funny.

"You want to marry Philip Winfield, don't you? Fine. I'll let you have him. But," I touched my left cheek, already swelling, and fixed my eyes on her, "first, keep your mouths clean. Otherwise, we'll see who's tired of living."

"Second, this gown is mine. Take it off, or don't blame me for what comes next."

Rose froze, then flushed with rage. "Take it off yourself, you—"

Her eyes darted, and she suddenly snatched up the scissors beside her.

"I'll ruin it before I hand it over. Philip won't blame me anyway."

The blade was already driving toward the gown.

My eyelid twitched. Without a second thought I spun into a kick, my right foot landing clean on her wrist.

"Ah!"

The scissors flew and clattered into the corner.

Rose clutched her wrist, red and swelling, her face twisting with pain. "You—you dare kick me? You want me to have Philip come in here and finish you off?"

Just then the door of the dressing room was kicked open.

A tall young man walked in, two bodyguards behind him.

His eyes went to Rose's hand cradling her wrist, and his brow drew tight.

"Rose, what happened?"

Rose's eyes reddened. Ellie got there first, jabbing a finger at my face and shrieking. "Philip, this shrew not only cursed at me, she hit Rose the second Rose kindly tried to help her into the gown. Teach her a lesson, now!"

So this was Philip Winfield.

Only now did he slide a glance at me. "Rebecca Fletcher?"

"Yes." I met his eyes, calm.

The man's face was no worse than a movie star's, and he had a good build too. A pity. On looks alone, I'd rather liked him.

"Philip, our wedding, let's just—"

Before "call it off" could leave my mouth, he cut in, impatient. "Cursing my mother, hitting my foster sister. This is how you were raised?"

"Today you either put on the bridesmaid dress like a good girl, or you get out and don't let me see your face again."

That lit my temper.

"Mr. Winfield, on the day you're supposed to marry me, you were messing around with your so-called foster sister and got my gown dirty."

"And your mother just slapped me. Then you walk in and the first thing out of your mouth is that I have no manners?"

The corner of Philip's mouth curled into an arrogant sneer.

"My mother slapped you to teach you some sense. Or did you actually think you were the young Mrs. Winfield already? Besides, it's just a cheap gown."

His voice dripped with scorn.

"I'll pay the cleaning fee. Happy now?"

Was this about cleaning?

I clenched my fist. "Philip, that gown was custom-made for me by the head of my department."

From the request to the design to the finished piece, that gown had taken two full months. To make sure it reached the wedding on time, my director had even chartered a plane to fly it over.

"So what?" Philip looked over my bare face, contempt spilling out of his eyes. "I have no idea what my father was thinking, insisting I marry some broke country girl clawing her way up."

"Since you're so set on marrying into the Winfields, then put on the bridesmaid dress like a good girl and the wedding goes ahead as planned. Make one more scene, and—"

He paused, spacing out each word.

"I have a hundred ways to make that sad little workplace of yours disappear."

For a second I thought I'd misheard. No one had ever been this brazen, threatening to make my workplace disappear.

I honestly didn't know whether to be angry or to laugh.

I'd sat on a plane for over ten hours through the night and rushed straight to the wedding without shaking off a minute of the jet lag. And it turned out my husband-to-be was this kind of man, sizing people up through the eyes of a dog.

Besides, when had I ever said I was set on marrying him?