Filed to story: The Daughter in the Shadows (Yunice) Book by Una Norris
The maid froze. “He didn’t say that specifically.”
Yunice turned the doorknob, but it was locked. She didn’t press the matter, just gave it a try, then let it go.
Her gaze lingered on the door she’d never been allowed to enter. And then she remembered something Wyatt had once told her.
He said that every piece of clothing on her was made by his own hands.
Back then, she’d been too focused on Nora to really care about that comment.
But now, standing in front of the room next to her closet, she remembered her clothes – none of them had logos. Could they all really have been made by Wyatt?
What kind of obsession was that?
Was it because he’d grown up poor, with barely enough to wear or eat, and developed some kind of intense need to make everything himself?
Yunice turned and walked into the closet.
Just as she was picking a gown, the stylist arrived.
“Mrs. Cooper, I didn’t expect you to have such great taste. This dress is absolutely perfect for you!” the stylist gushed in a high-pitched voice, clearly surprised by her fashion sense.
Yunice caught the subtext immediately. Outsiders all thought she was uncultured and unpresentable. But growing up, she’d had her father’s love, Margaret’s care, and a seat at the Powell family table. She’d absorbed the habits of high society since childhood.
It was only after Elsie entered the Saunders family that she lost everything – lost the right to choose, to dress, to even live like a person.
When you’re just trying to survive, who has the luxury to care about fashion?
Two hours later, Wyatt called to pick Yunice up.
She grabbed her purse, which, as always, had silver needles tucked inside, and beneath the compact powder case lay a stash of emergency medicinal powder.
When you’re out in the world, protecting yourself comes first.
Out in the courtyard, Wyatt leaned against the car. He only looked up once Yunice stepped outside. She was dressed in a solid periwinkle gown, shimmering with flecks of light as she walked.
The gown was adorned with over a thousand real diamonds. Though tiny, each one had a dazzling cut.
What truly made the dress stand out, though, was the fabric: a dreamy cashmere, dyed the delicate hue of Fairy’s Kiss hydrangeas.
As Yunice lifted her skirt slightly and stepped closer, Wyatt took her hand and gave her ensemble a sweeping glance.
She could tell he was very pleased. She had noticed long ago that Wyatt took a strange pleasure in dressing her up. She never did figure out why.
In the car, Yunice sat upright, back stiff and careful not to wrinkle her gown.
Wyatt glanced sideways at her awkward posture and asked, “What, am I that unapproachable?”
Yunice didn’t move. “The stylist said the fabric’s delicate. If it creases, those rich ladies will laugh at me.”
Wyatt scoffed. “Only poor people worry about that.”
Yunice glanced at him. Fair enough-he had every right to call others poor.
Wellinges Pharma had been the first to develop a drug to control the current virus outbreak. They’d made a killing. Who wouldn’t curse Wyatt under their breath for being so damn lucky?!
Wyatt said, “Come here.”
She could tell-he wanted her to sit on his lap.
She refused. “It’ll wrinkle the gown.”
Expensive dresses always had one fatal flaw: beautiful, but fragile-pretty junk.
Wyatt reached for her waist and pulled her easily onto his lap. “If it wrinkles, just tell them your husband did it. What, is that hard to admit?”
Yunice was speechless.
Unable to win against him, she gave up and stayed there.
Gala invitation:
Jordan, driving in front, caught a glimpse in the rearview mirror and-without a word-pressed the button to raise the partition.
With her perched on his lap, Wyatt had a perfect view of the slender, pale nape of her neck.
Her skin was porcelain-white, and under the soft light, a fine layer of barely visible fuzz shimmered at the base of her hairline.
Soft. Delicate.
Yunice shifted slightly and glanced warily at him.
Wyatt didn’t even try to hide his gaze. He tilted his head, that perfectly sculpted face curling into a possessive, predatory smile.
He knew she could feel what was pressing against her-but he didn’t see the need to hide it.
“I can’t help it,” he said.
Even with layers of clothing between them, Yunice couldn’t completely ignore it.
She glanced at him again.
His face was far too close. His features were so sharp, so symmetrical, so striking that being this close made it hard to breathe.
Especially when he looked at someone-his gaze never wavered. That intensity, wrapped in barely contained heat, always made the other person look away first.
Yunice liked to think of herself as calm and rational. But faced with a face like this, she had to admire-nature had outdone itself.
She raised her hand, her slender white fingers trailing slowly along the bridge of his nose.
“You’re really good-looking.”
Yunice didn’t remember much about Wyatt’s mother, but she figured his looks must’ve come from her.
He and Paul looked nothing alike.
Wyatt didn’t mind the compliment one bit. His looks were something everyone acknowledged.
He stared at her and said, “Then you’d better keep an eye on me. A lot of people want a piece.”
“They dare?” Yunice knew all too well that plenty of ambitious women used every trick in the book to climb the ladder.
But she hadn’t heard of anything like that happening around Wyatt.
No-actually, there was something.
If Maine was telling the truth, then Wyatt and Nora’s relationship had started because the Johnson family openly offered up their daughter-and Wyatt had accepted.
The moment Nora came to mind, Yunice felt a lump in her throat as she sat on Wyatt’s lap.
She gently pushed away from him and moved to sit beside him.
Wyatt watched her reaction, his gaze darkening.