Chapter 9:THE RED DRESS
844 Words
The box had arrived at 5:00 PM. Inside was a dress that was less of a garment and more of a weapon.
It was crimson red, made of a heavy satin that flowed like liquid ruby. It was strapless, with a sweetheart neckline and a slit that ran dangerously high up her left thigh.
Elena stared at herself in the full-length mirror of the penthouse bedroom. She barely recognized the woman reflecting back. The red fabric made her skin look porcelain pale and her dark hair look like midnight. She looked dangerous. She looked expensive.
She stepped into the pair of gold stilettos that had come with the dress. She stood two inches taller now.
"I can do this," she whispered to the mirror. "It's just a costume. I'm playing a role."
A knock came at the door.
"Enter," she called out, her voice steadier than she felt.
Julian walked in. He was wearing a tuxedo—classic black, tailored to perfection, with a black bow tie. He looked like every woman’s fantasy and every businessman’s nightmare.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her.
His eyes started at her shoes, traveled up the slit in the dress, lingered on her waist, and finally met her eyes. For a moment, the room was completely silent. The air crackled with that strange, magnetic tension that kept happening between them.
"Red," Julian said, his voice low and raspy. "I knew it would suit you."
"It's... a bit much, isn't it?" Elena asked, nervously smoothing the fabric over her hip. "The slit is very high."
"It is designed to get attention," Julian said, walking over to her. He stood behind her, looking at their reflection in the mirror. He looked like the devil, and she looked like the temptation. "Tonight, we are selling a fairy tale. You need to look like a prize I won."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a diamond necklace. It was a simple, elegant chain with a single ruby drop that matched her dress.
"Turn around," he commanded.
Elena turned. Julian’s fingers brushed the nape of her neck as he fastened the clasp. His touch was electric.
"Tonight is the Metropol Charity Gala," he murmured into her ear. "Everyone will be there. My competitors. The press. My exes. You must not falter, Elena. If you look scared, they will smell blood."
"I'm not scared," Elena lied.
Julian stepped back and offered his arm. "Good. Then let’s go make some headlines."
The arrival was chaos.
As soon as the limousine pulled up to the red carpet, the world exploded in flashes of white light. The screaming of the paparazzi was deafening.
“Julian! Julian! Over here!”
“Who is she?”
“Is that the new wife?”
Elena felt a wave of panic. She had seen celebrities on TV, but being in the middle of it was terrifying. She hesitated as the door opened.
Julian’s hand gripped hers firmly. "Look at me," he commanded.
She looked at him. His face was calm, his jaw set.
"Smile," he whispered. "Hold my arm. Do not let go. And whatever you do, do not look down."
He pulled her out of the car.
The noise intensified. Click-click-click-click.
Julian slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. It was a possessive gesture, marking her as his territory.
"Who is she, Julian?" a reporter shouted, shoving a microphone toward them.
Julian stopped. He looked directly into the camera, a charming, fake smile playing on his lips.
"Gentlemen," Julian said, his voice smooth and projecting over the crowd. "I would like to introduce you to my wife. Mrs. Elena Thorne."
The crowd gasped. The questions exploded. “When did you meet?” “Was it a secret wedding?”
"We prefer to keep our private life private," Julian said, winking at the camera. He looked down at Elena, his eyes softening with an emotion that looked terrifyingly real. "But when you meet the love of your life, you don't wait. Do you, darling?"
Elena’s heart hammered against her ribs. She looked up at him, forcing a smile that reached her eyes.
"No," she said, her voice clear. "You don't wait."
Julian leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. The cameras went wild.
"Come, my love," he whispered against her skin. "Let’s go inside."
He guided her up the stairs, his hand firm on her waist, shielding her from the madness.
As they passed through the heavy velvet curtains and into the ballroom, the noise of the paparazzi faded, replaced by the soft sound of a string quartet and the clinking of champagne glasses.
Hundreds of heads turned. The elite of New York stopped talking and stared.
"Breathe," Julian whispered, leaning close to her ear so it looked like an intimate moment. "The first part is done. Now comes the hard part."
Elena looked at the sea of judging eyes. "What's the hard part?"
"Now," Julian said, tightening his grip on her waist. "We have to dance."
- Writer
