The kiss in the Malibu basement had been a mistake.
Maeve realized this three weeks later as she stood in Carter's penthouse closet, surrounded by gowns she hadn't chosen, staring at her reflection in a full-length mirror. The woman looking back was polished, expensive, unrecognizable. Hair professionally styled. Makeup applied by Carter's personal aesthetician. A midnight blue Valentino gown that cost more than her mother's monthly treatment bills.
She looked like Elizabeth Langston. Carter's dead mother.
The realization made her skin crawl.
"The car is waiting," Carter called from the bedroom. "We need to leave in five minutes."
Another gala. Another performance. Another night of smiling while Carter's hand rested possessively on her lower back, steering her through conversations li
