Shadow Billionaire by Lucee Lovett Read Free Book Online

Damn. It's that
look again.
    She hated that
look.
    Their eyes
rolled on contact with her body, she'd never get used to their
disapproving gaze. However, Sasha suffered in silence at Rita, the
head-house keeper's tsks and her mother’s accompanying sounds of
displeasure. Rita continued to coil the tape measure around Sasha's
ample curves. This final measuring to ensure Sasha still fitted
into the dress, she’d tried on a month ago. “Dear, dear, Sasha.”
The middle-aged housekeeper reprimanded. “You've gained an inch.” A
sigh escaped pursed lips as she shook her head in defeat.
    “Have you been
into the pastries again, darling?” The stylish, thin Eleanor
Trenton, always bemoaning the state of her daughter's waistline.
Her mother disliked her weakness for pastries, and wished she'd
take a more health conscious approach to life.
    To Sasha, the
way her mother constantly dieted, and exercised equated to nothing
less than self-torture. Sasha didn't know what she would do if
unable to enjoy food the way she wanted to. Which consisted of her
eating whatever she liked, when she liked, consequences be
damned.
    “You know how
important tonight is.” Eleanor said, her head, echoing the movement
of the housekeeper’s.
    Eleanor Trenton
had her own ideas of how the perfect débutante should appear, and
behave, Sasha came nowhere close to her expectations. Eleanor
exasperated by her efforts to make her daughter proud of her
heritage. The family came from old money of noble birth, an
ancestry traced back to royalty. They were of blue blood and she
would be damned if she’d let her daughter taint her lineage in
anyway.
    Each eligible
bachelor invited tonight, handpicked based on his ancestry. Eleanor
had no doubt a suitable match would be found for her daughter.
Sasha would have her pick of the finest.
    Sasha exhaled
and wriggled away from Rita and her other attendants, reaching over
to trail her fingertips over the exquisitely tailored French gown,
made to bring a period theme into a modern dress. A silk emerald
low cut bodice with intricate diamond beading, with a long full
material skirt attached, straight fitted housing a discreet riven
in the side. Only visible when walking, she would wear to the party
in a few hours.
    “Honestly,
mother, I don't think an inch is going to make much of a
difference.”
    “Well, there's
the problem, dear.” Eleanor Swept over to her daughter in a cloud
of perfume, and righteous indignation, she stroked Sasha's cheek.
“If a garment is tailored, every micrometre makes a difference.” A
pained expression flashed through Eleanor's gaze, which shifted
between her daughter, and the sweeping gown hung on the bureau.
“With a bit of luck we'll manage to squeeze you into the dress with
the minimum fuss. No more snacks tonight.” She inserted, a slight
edge in her tone before softening the warning with a smile. “You
want to look your best for all the lovely young men we've
invited.”
    A cell phone
chirped, saved by the bell Sasha thought.
    She recognized
where her mother's tone led another lecture about her weight, and
the health issue associated with not being the perfect weight for
her mother.
    The sound
echoed through the room, frowning, Eleanor withdrew her phone from
her tailored designer slacks; a glance at the number. An
exasperated sigh left her lips before, she said.
    “I have to take
this," She waved her hand for everyone to continue doing what they
were doing. To Sasha she sighed, "The florist. God only knows what
they want at this stage of the game.” She proceeded her verbal
ream, with the person on the other line.
    Sasha glared at
her mother, her brow knitted, from the invitation list she had
seen, she wondered how “lovely” her mother expected any of the men
to be. To her recollection a fair few of them weren't as young as
her mother deemed to believe. Many reported as moneyed divorcees,
creeping towards their mid-thirties. Most of the other guests,
familiar acquaintance