6. Xavier #2
The second was silver. Sleek, modern, with geometric cutouts that showed glimpses of skin. Kim looked like she was about to attend a futuristic gala, not a family dinner.
"Too much," I said.
She nodded and disappeared again.
The third was pale pink. Soft, romantic, with a full skirt that made her look like a princess in a fairy tale. It was beautiful. It was also completely wrong for her.
"It's not you," I said.
She raised an eyebrow. "You know what's me?"
"I know that's not."
More dresses. A black one that was too severe. A green one that washed her out. A blue one that was pretty but forgettable.
Then she stepped out in a deep navy gown.
My coffee cup stopped halfway to my mouth.
The dress was simple. Elegant. It hugged her curves without being provocative, the fabric draping like it had been made for her body. The color brought out the warmth in her skin, the darkness of her eyes. A subtle slit revealed a glimpse of her leg when she walked.
She looked like herself, but more. Like someone had found the volume dial on Kim Young and turned it up.
"That one," I said. My voice came out rough.
Renata nodded approvingly. "Excellent choice. Now, hair and makeup."
They sat Kim down at my dining table and went to work. I should have given them privacy, should have retreated to my bedroom or my office. Instead, I stayed at the breakfast bar, watching.
They let her hair down. I'd never seen it down before. It fell past her shoulders in dark waves. They added something that made it shine under the lights.
The makeup was subtle. An emphasis on her eyes, making them look larger and deeper. A soft pink on her lips. A glow to her skin that made her look lit from within.
When they were finished, she stood.
My lungs forgot how to work.
She was beautiful. She was always beautiful, in that quiet, understated way that didn't demand attention. But this was different.
This was Kim Young transformed, elevated, turned into something that belonged in galleries and magazines and places where people paid money just to look.
The heels added three inches to her height. She wobbled slightly when she walked, clearly not used to them, and somehow that made it better.
"You look beautiful." The words escaped before I could stop them. Her eyes widened. Color rose in her cheeks, visible even under the makeup. I scrambled to recover. "I mean... appropriate. You look appropriate. For the dinner. Very... suitable."
Kim's mouth quirked. "Smooth recovery."
"I try."
"You fail." But she was almost smiling.
"We should go," I said, clearing my throat. "Don't want to be late."
I grabbed my jacket from the closet. Slipped the velvet box into my pocket while her back was turned.
Time to make this convincing.
The drive to the estate took forty-five minutes. Kim sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window. I watched her reflection in the glass. Her hands smoothed her dress, once, twice, three times. She was nervous, and she was trying not to show it.
I reached over and placed my hand on hers.
She tensed. Turned to look at me.
"You're going to wrinkle the fabric," I said.
"I'm fine."
"You're not." I didn't move my hand. "But that's okay. They're a scary bunch. I get it."
"I'm not scared."
"Okay."
She was quiet for a moment. Then, so softly I almost missed it, she said, "What if they don't believe us?"
"They will."
"But what if they don't? What if they see right through this? Through me?"
I squeezed her hand gently. "You're going to be okay," I said. "Yes, they're intimidating. Yes, they'll ask hard questions. I'm the only fun one in this family, and I'll be right beside you the whole time. You have nothing to worry about."
I let go of her hand and turned back to the road. Ten minutes later, we pulled through the gates of the Dubois estate.
I heard Kim's breath catch.
The house rose before us like something out of a period drama. Stone and ivy and too many windows to count. A circular driveway, a fountain—of course, a fountain—and manicured gardens stretching into the darkness.
I parked the car and turned to face her. "Ready?"
"No."
"Good answer." I got out and walked around to open her door. I offered my hand. "Let's do this."
She took my hand and let me help her out. Her palm was warm, her fingers slim. I felt a slight tremor running through her, the nerves she was trying so hard to hide. I didn't let go.
"We should look like a couple," I murmured, stepping closer. "That means touching."
"I know."
"I'm going to put my arm around your waist. Is that okay?"
She nodded stiffly.
I released her hand and slid my arm around her, my palm settling against the curve of her hip. She fit against my side like she belonged there. My heart did something strange. A skip, a stutter, something I firmly ignored.
"Now we walk," I said. "Slowly. We want to look like we've done this a thousand times."
We moved toward the front door in sync. Her heels clicked on the stone. My hand pressed warm against her waist. Anyone watching would see a couple in love, comfortable with each other, natural.
No one would know my pulse was racing.
The front door flew open before we reached it. My mother rushed out, arms already spread wide, tears already glistening in her eyes.
"Xavier!" She pulled me into a hug, then immediately released me to turn to Kim. "And you must be Kim. Oh, you're beautiful. Even more beautiful than Xavier said. Come here, come here."
Before Kim could react, my mother had wrapped her in an embrace. Kim stood frozen for a moment, arms at her sides, clearly unsure what to do. Then, slowly, her hands came up to pat my mother's back.
"It's lovely to meet you, Mrs. Dubois."
"Helena. Please." My mother pulled back, cupping Kim's face in her hands. "Oh, I can see why he's so taken with you. Those eyes. And that dress! Is that Isabelle's work?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"She has wonderful taste." My mother finally released her and beamed at both of us. "Come in, come in. Everyone's waiting."
She ushered us through the door and into the cavernous foyer. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, and family portraits lining the walls. Kim's eyes moved over everything, assessing. Her expression gave nothing away.
We followed my mother into the formal dining room.
They were all there. Sebastian was at the head of the table, because of course Sebastian was at the head of the table.
Aria was beside him, her smile warm and welcoming.
My grandmother, at the other end, was watching our entrance with sharp, calculating eyes.
And beside my grandmother, an empty chair where my sister usually sat.
"Isabelle sends her apologies," my grandmother said. "She had business in Milan."
"Of course, she did." I guided Kim toward the table. "Everyone, this is Kim. Kim, this is everyone."
Sebastian stood and extended his hand. "Kim. Welcome."
His voice was neutral. His eyes were not. They moved over Kim with the same assessing look he gave everyone, searching for weaknesses, for tells.
Kim shook his hand firmly. "Mr. Dubois."
"Sebastian, please." He released her hand. "We're all family here."
Aria was next, pulling Kim into a brief hug. "Ignore Sebastian's interrogation face. He can't help it. It's genetic." She stepped back, grinning. "I'm Aria. And I already like you."
"You've known her for thirty seconds," Sebastian said.
"I'm a quick judge of character." Aria linked her arm through Kim's and led her toward the table. "Come, sit. Tell me everything. How did you meet? What do you see in Xavier? How much is he paying you to put up with him?"
How did she figure it out so quickly? "I'm joking." I breathed a sigh of relief when she winked at Kim. "Mostly."
Dinner was served. Course after course of food Kim barely touched, though she made a good show of eating. I sat beside her, close enough that our arms brushed when we moved. Playing the part. Making it look real.
The conversation flowed around us. Sebastian discussed business. Aria asked about Kim's background, her dreams, and what she hoped for her future. Kim answered carefully, honestly, revealing enough to seem open without giving away anything too personal.
My grandmother watched. And waited.
Finally, between the main course and dessert, she spoke.
"Kim." Her voice was pleasant. A trap dressed up as kindness. "Tell me. How did you and Xavier meet? I don’t imagine his lackluster corporate attitude would have attracted you.”
“Grandmother!”
“What? I’m sure everyone would agree with me.”
The table went quiet.
Kim set down her fork. Her eyes met my grandmother's without flinching.
"Actually… you’re right.” She turned to smile at me. “We did meet outside the office at first.”
I frowned. What? When? Was she about to make something up? I tried to communicate with her through my eyes. Don't lie, they’ll figure it out. But she was already looking at my grandmother again.
“I was working," she said. "At a bar in Brooklyn. It was late, and a group of men came in. They'd been drinking. One of them was... inappropriate with me."
Wait… I remembered that. That was her?
"Xavier stopped him. He didn't have to. It wasn't his problem. But he stepped in anyway. And then he made sure I was okay."
"How gallant." My grandmother's tone was unreadable.
"I thought so." Kim glanced at me. Our eyes met. "That was when I first noticed him.”
How did I not recognize her? Kim was too beautiful to go unnoticed.
"But you work for him now," my grandmother pressed. "Isn't that complicated?"
Kim shrugged. "It's unconventional. But I've learned not to fight things that feel right."
Aria made a soft sound. I looked over to see her pressing her hand to her chest. "That's so romantic."
"Xavier." Isabelle's voice came from behind us. I turned to see my sister standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. She must have arrived late, slipped in without fanfare. "Since when are you a gentleman?"
"Since always," I protested.