The invitation
1074 Words
Evelyn stood by the window of her studio, staring down at the neatly embossed envelope in her hand. The wax seal, a deep wine red, bore the emblem of one of the city’s most elite art galas—The Aureum Night Showcase. Her name was etched in gold calligraphy across the front.
“Are you going to open that or just admire it?” Jules asked, raising a brow as she sipped her smoothie from the couch.
Evelyn blinked and tore the seal gently. She unfolded the thick ivory cardstock, scanning the letter.
You are formally invited to showcase your work at the annual Aureum Night Showcase, hosted by the Sinclair Foundation. Formal attire required. Date: Friday, 7 PM.
Her breath caught. “This is huge.”
Jules sat up straighter. “Like, big big?”
“This is career-changing big.”
At that moment, her phone buzzed on the table. A message from Sophia: Come in at noon. We need to prep. And yes, you’re welcome.
---
By noon, Evelyn was at the gallery, her sketchbook clutched tightly under her arm. Sophia stood in the middle of the floor, clipboard in hand and glasses perched dangerously close to the tip of her nose.
“You’re late,” she said without looking up.
“It’s 12:02.”
Sophia finally looked at her. “And two minutes is enough for a guest curator to change their mind. Come on.”
She led Evelyn to the back office, where an array of files, paint swatches, and layout boards covered the table.
“Your pieces need to be curated by tomorrow evening,” Sophia announced. “I’ve already selected four. But I need you to finish the fifth. The new series.”
Evelyn’s heart rate quickened. “That’s not finished.”
“You’ll finish it.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I am.”
Evelyn couldn’t help the grin tugging at her lips. Sophia always did have that maddening way of pushing her into growth.
---
The rest of the afternoon blurred into prep. Evelyn worked closely with Sophia and the interns, choosing frames, measuring dimensions, and finalizing lighting placements. Her hands were covered in graphite and paint by 4 PM, but she didn’t care.
Back at the studio, Jules was sprawled out on Evelyn’s bed, thumbing through fashion magazines.
“You need a showstopper dress,” Jules declared. “I’m talking drama. Red carpet energy. Maybe something with a slit. Or glitter. Or both.”
Evelyn collapsed beside her. “I haven’t even thought about what I’m wearing.”
“You’re about to. Because I booked us an appointment at midnight with Fabienne.”
Evelyn groaned. “You didn’t.”
“She owes me. Remember when I introduced her to my cousin who runs the film studio?”
“Fine.”
---
Later during the day, while trying on gowns under Fabienne’s critical gaze, “None of these dresses would do.... you know what take the this card, Jules, and you and Eve should go to this boutique and get something jaw-dropping.”
“Already ahead of you,” Jules said from the doorway, holding her handbag and keys. “Let’s go, Eve.”
---
An hour later, Evelyn and Jules were in one of the city's top designer boutiques. Racks of shimmering gowns stretched in every direction. Soft music played in the background, and the scent of expensive perfume hung in the air.
Evelyn tried on dress after dress—silk, satin, velvet—each more luxurious than the last. But Jules was ruthless. “No. Too boring. Too pink. Too safe.”
Then Evelyn stepped out in a deep emerald green gown, with a slit that teased just enough and a neckline that made her collarbones glow.
Jules nearly dropped her phone. “Stop. That’s the one.”
Evelyn looked in the mirror. The dress hugged her in all the right places, making her look elegant, confident—worthy.
Other shoppers glanced over, a few even offering compliments.
“You look incredible,” one woman said, smiling.
Before Evelyn could reply, a tall man with perfectly styled hair and a sleek grey suit approached them. He had the kind of polished charm that belonged on magazine covers.
“You should definitely get that one,” he said, smile smooth. “It was made for you.”
Jules raised a brow.
The man extended a business card. “I’m Nolan. I manage the boutique. If you ever need something custom—or if you’d consider modeling for one of our campaigns—we’d be lucky to have you.”
Evelyn blushed. “That’s… very kind.”
“Would you mind if I got your number?” he asked casually.
There was a beat of silence.
Evelyn glanced at Jules, who was watching with barely concealed amusement.
“Actually,” Evelyn said with a polite smile, “I’m flattered, but I’m sort of seeing someone.”
Nolan nodded gracefully. “He’s lucky.”
Once he walked away, Jules leaned in. “Sort of seeing someone, huh?”
“Don’t,” Evelyn warned, but she was already smiling. Jules let out a low whistle. “You’re going to make someone forget their own name.”
Evelyn turned slowly. “You think Ryan will come?”
“Oh, he’ll come,” Jules said. “And he’ll regret wearing a suit. Because he’ll want to rip it off just to keep up with how good you look.”
Evelyn laughed, cheeks warm. But even as she smiled, the weight of the upcoming showcase settled on her again. Her career. Her art. The exposure.
And, of course, Ryan.
She wondered how he’d look under the lights of Aureum Night.
But first—she had to make it through the preparation without completely losing her mind.
---
By Thursday, she was running on caffeine and adrenaline. The fifth piece was nearly finished—an abstract portrait of a woman standing in a storm, eyes closed, colors blending like waves. It felt…right. Like something true.
Sophia nodded at it silently that evening before locking up the gallery. “It’ll do.”
Which, in Sophia-speak, was high praise.
Evelyn stepped out into the night air, her phone buzzing with a text from Ryan.
Heard you’re taking over the city Friday. Save me a dance.
She smiled.
Only if you bring that blue suit.
Friday was coming. And so was everything else
- Writer
