The trunk of the car was full of expensive shopping bags when Mark pulled away from the boutique. The ride back to the mansion was just as silent as the ride out, but the air inside the car felt different now.
Fabio finally lowered the financial paper he’d been reading. He turned his head and looked at me.
“The Velvet Note starts at ten tonight,” he stated. “I want you there by nine-thirty for soundcheck. I expect you to have practiced.”
“I will, Fabio.”
He leaned his arm on the center console, narrowing the space between us slightly.
“I want you to wear the red dress tonight, Tiana.”
The directive, simple as it was, landed like a small, exquisite shock. He was telling me what to wear. He was asserting his ownership of my performance—and my appearance—on his stage. It was controlling
