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Joseph replies, “Because Vivienne Cavendish is vile and we don’t want her near Mr. Crankypants. He deserves someone much less…”
Maeve jumps in. “Gold digger and murdery.”
We all burst out laughing. It seems like everyone knows what Vivienne is like.
“Have you read the statement his family released? They despise her and I swear she killed her husband on that flight.” Maeve says what everyone is thinking.
Confidentiality is king in the office; Joseph and I haven’t spoken about Vivienne since she left the other day.
Joseph says with confidence, “Karma will get her.”
“Amen to that,” I agree. It’s what I’m hoping for; justice for my family.
Joseph informed me that Nathan’s parents are attending the ball, which means I’ll finally come face-to-face with his father.
I inhale a deep breath. I might need a whiskey, or maybe even a distillery, to prepare me for that.
Sticking the clear self-adhesive wings of the bra to the side of one boob and then the other, I push the girls up to give them some much-needed cleavage. “This bra is great.” I check the sides, then my back, which is completely exposed and will work with the deep cowl back, then jump up and down to check how robust the bra is. “It’s even jiggle proof.”
“Great, now enough stalling and put the dress on.” Maeve urges me to move quicker.
I don’t blame her for being annoyed. I thought we’d be in and out of the dress shop within twenty minutes, but two hours later, we are still here.
I slip the golden ankle-length evening gown off the clothes hanger, step into the satin, and slide it up my body. Wiggling it up over my hips, I slip my arms through the holes to place the elegant straps on my shoulders and do up the concealed zipper under my armpit. I catch a glimpse of the draping cowl back in the mirror in front of me, reflecting in another behind me, and I feel a little zing of excitement.
I love it.
Stepping into a pair of gold-colored barely there bow-back high heels the assistant gave me to try on with the dresses and to boost my height, I smile at how utterly perfect they match the gold of the dress and buckle up the thin ankle straps.
“This is the one,” I say excitedly, almost squealing when I’m ready. “Look.” I push the curtain back quickly, causing it to swish back and forth, and reveal the decadent dress.
“Wow.” Joseph clasps his hands to his heart. “You look stunning.”
“Gorgeous.” Maeve beams, stands up, and walks to me. “Turn around.”
I do what she asks, showing them the back that’s much lower than I would usually pick, and peek back at them over my shoulder, my face feeling sore from smiling. “It’s perfect.” Then a little self-doubt kicks in, and I ask Maeve, “Can you see my scar? Is it too much?”
Maeve turns me around then grabs the tops of my shoulders and looks right at me, as if she’s staring directly into my darkness I feel sometimes. “Your scar is part of what makes you you. Embrace it.” She releases me from her hold, and I face the giant mirror on the wall at the far end of the changing rooms.
“I feel so glamourous.” I bounce my shoulders up and down with glee, feeling giddy.
“It elongates you,” Joseph says before finishing his last sip of champagne. “Your tan skin makes you look like you’re glowing and your dark hair oozes sexy glam. Everything, is just”—he chef’s kisses his fingers—“perfection.”
“It screams sophistication,” Maeve adds. “Now can we please go get something to eat? I’m starving. And I need to pee.” She dashes off in the direction of the restroom.
Joseph’s face appears over my shoulder and he stares at my reflection in the mirror, admiring my outfit. “You’re going to knock his socks off.”
“I don’t think so.” I can’t stop looking at the dress. It’s so pretty.
“Oh, I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And since you arrived, he’s been nice to me, and less cranky. And even when he is, you still manage to navigate his moods. You deserve this dress.” Joseph catches my eye in the mirror.
“He’s not so bad once you get to know him,” I say, defending him. He’s a man with many layers but when it’s just me and him, he’s different.
You do something to me.
When he made that confession along with struggling to eat and sleep because of me, I knew he was being serious. Nathan is careful with his words and his feelings, which I’m handling with care, but I’m not sure I am equipped to deal with them when I don’t even understand my own feelings for him. Although compartmentalizing and separating him from his father, as well as him from the business, is helping.
When it’s just us, it’s exactly that, just us, and nothing else matters in those moments. Part of me wishes that I could forget about seeking the truth while the other is determined to keep on looking.