The dress arrived in a long, sleek black box, delivered by a solemn-looking courier from a boutique whose name was whispered in society pages. I hadn't chosen it. Cameron had.
I opened the box, parting layers of tissue paper as fine as moth wings. The fabric within was the color of a midnight sky just before it deepens to black—a dark, shimmering navy. It was not a dress meant to shout. It was a dress meant to command a silent, unwavering attention.
It was simple. A column of heavy silk satin, cut on a bias so it would drape and move with a life of its own. One shoulder was bare, the fabric sweeping across the torso and falling in a clean, severe line to the floor. There were no sequins, no feathers, no ruffles. Its power was in its absence, in the stark confidence of its lines.
It was
