The use of her real name actually made her flinch, though she hid it quickly with little more than a sharp glare toward Trest.
Then he said “Jessica Arristaire”, and her eyes blew wide. There was a moment, just half a heartbeat, where she felt her hand moving up to cover her scar subconsciously before she realized what she was doing and forced it down again.
What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the—
“Wife.”
FUCK.
If they’d had the time, she would have gaped at him. Or hit him. Possibly both.
But it was too late, he’d said it, and she’d worked enough cons in her life to know the importance of commitment to an unexpected snag. So she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into his side with a slow, knowing smile toward the servant hovering in the doorway. “Yes,” she purred, “wife.”
She reached up to stroke Trest’s jaw lightly, giving him a sugary sweet smile and eyes that promised murder, before returning her attention to their guest. “And it is something of a...recent arrangement. I’m sure you understand newlyweds prefer a, ah...a bit of time to themselves?” She smirked, eyebrow arched meaningfully, then tipped her chin up as imperiously as she could manage—trying to channel a noblewoman despite her distinctly less than noble current situation—and made a little shooing motion toward the door. “Be a dear and come back later, would you?”
After I fucking STRANGLE your employer, preferably.