Chapter 24
The iridescent dress glimmers against the fading afternoon light as I pull it over my body.
The beautiful charmeuse glides over my skin, and as I move in front of the mirror, I notice how snugly it wraps itself around every inch of me that it touches.
Its hem brushes against my toes, and opens into an upside-down V-cut that ends at the middle of my right thigh.
Pink, lavender, green, blue, silver, golden – the dress changes its color with each twist.
I turn sideways, and smile when I notice the low-cut back – exactly how I wanted it. My tattoo is on full display, with the swan appearing prettier than it is because of the subtle glint in my dress.
I push my shoulder forward and arch my back as I continue to inspect myself in the mirror, and the feathers inked on my skin shift with my movements.
Julian had driven over to the estate earlier today to safely deliver the dress to me. Mave had been the one to bring it up to my room, and when I’d opened the garment bag, I’d had to hold my breath upon seeing just how stunning the dress looked.
I turn again, and then stare at my reflection in the mirror.
I haven’t done much of anything to hide the scar on my right cheek. To be honest, I don’t exactly want to hide it. It’s just another remnant of the battle I won against my mom’s cruelty, so I’d much rather flaunt it than conceal it under layers of makeup.
The elites at the gala will notice it for sure, but no one will dare to inquire after it.
It’s been four days since Mom’s episode. The redness on the other side of my face has all but vanished, and the finger imprints on my neck, too, have faded. The bruises on my stomach and ribs, though, have darkened. They hurt, sure, but not as much as they initially did, so at least there’s that.
I let go of a breath as I grab a comb and a few pins, then quickly tie my hair into an effortless French Twist. I spritz some perfume on my neck and wrists, and am about to step away from the mirror when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
“It’s open.”
A couple of seconds pass, then Mave pokes his head in and searches my room until his eyes meet mine.
“Hey,” he says around a smile, and walks over to me.
“How do I look?” I ask as I smooth my hands over the front of my dress.
He stops in front of me and slides his hands into the pockets of his pants.
He’s dressed in a white suit, with a black accent tie, black lapels, and silver cufflinks. His hair is coiffed, his facial hair is trimmed, and the familiar smell of his spice-and-mint cologne puts me at ease – ease in the fact that he’s going to be by my side tonight.
“Absolutely radiant,” he tells me, then scans my face. “You sure you wanna go, though?”
“Julian worked so hard on this dress. It’d be a shame not to show it off.”
Mave shakes his head. “You know that’s not enough, Nettie.”
“I know,” I say. “But I really do wanna go, Mave. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Uncle Chase, so I’d like to change that.
Also…” I quirk a brow. “There’s gonna be free champagne.
I don’t even remember the last time I got drunk off my ass, and because I’ve got you to look after me tonight, I plan on downing as much booze as I can.
” What I don’t say out loud, or show, is my unwillingness in wanting to come face-to-face with my mother.
I haven’t seen her or heard from her since the morning she attacked me, and as much as I wish I could keep things that way, I know it’ll be impossible to avoid her tonight.
Mave seems unconvinced of my claims, but chuckles anyway.
“Sure, but just know that if you throw up on yourself, I’m not going to clean you up.
Been there, done that. You’re not a cooperative drunk, and you sing – awfully too, might I add – while you’re inebriated, so there’s always a chance that I might lose my eardrums. Little good that’ll do for my professional career. ”
My lips twitch as I look up at him. “You’re so full of shit.”
“I’ll record you the next time you do it. Tonight, perhaps.”
“As if I’ll give you the satisfaction, you asshole,” I tell him, making him chuckle again.
“Ready to head out, then?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.” I quickly touch up my gloss, grab my white clutch from the dressing table, put on my silver spool-heel tie ups, and glance at my reflection in the mirror one more time.
I am an anomaly. A deviation from sanity.
A beautiful disaster.
And I’ve got this. I know I’ve fucking got this.