Red. Mermaid. Off the shoulder. Just as Win ordered.
It’s the perfect dress for me, the color accenting my skin and hair.
The party begins in fifteen minutes but I’ve no intention of going downstairs until the event is in full swing.
My plan is to blend into the crowd. Watch, listen, and learn.
I pull on the three-inch stilettos, dyed red to match the dress, and draw in a deep breath.
Russian. English. It doesn’t matter. I’m the outsider in most crowds and I’ll be one tonight. I’ll hold my chin high and do my best to look relaxed and bored so that people don’t realize I’m listening.
A black dress would have suited my purpose better, but I’d had no choice. Was that intentional on Win’s part?
Crossing to the window of my room, which looks out over the drive, I watch as the first guests arrive. Men in black tuxes step out of the cars before they help the ladies out.
Some of the women are in dresses of every color, but many of them are in white. The candidates….
I smooth my hand down my red dress, I am purposefully dressed to not resemble them, which suits me just fine.
It doesn’t matter that Win might be the most handsome man in existence. He’s also a cold-hearted ogre.
And my plan does not account for romantic feelings of any kind.
But as I finally make my way out of my room and onto the second-floor landing, the noise from the crowd filters up to me.
I pause at the top of the stairs, looking down as Win greets his guests.
He holds the hand of some debutante, bringing the back of her fingers to his lips.
My breath catches as I watch, the tiniest trickle of jealousy moving down my spine.
I notch my chin, the ridiculousness of the emotion irritating me. Win is my jailer. If I’m honest, he’s almost as much of an enemy as my father. The man trying to stop me from doing what I came here to do. Use me for his own purposes.
I start down the stairs, taking my time as I survey the scene. It’s like every ball I’ve ever attended.
Full of people who think they are the very best, but they all look shallow and vapid to me. They don’t know pain. Strength.
The debutante Win had been greeting moves on, and he looks up at me. Our eyes lock and I feel the energy shift as his gaze travels down my body. He draws up, growing taller as I continue my slow glide down the stairs.
Every eye has settled on us and I realize, I’ve already ruined my plan of remaining behind the scenes. Every person in this foyer sees me and my connection to our host. I blame the dress.
But as I reach the marble floor of the entry, I dip into a curtsy fit for the queen.
Win reaches for my hand, pulling me up and bringing the back of my fingers to his lips.
Yesterday when he touched me, I felt the energy, but today, his lips against my skin are like lightning, the jolt moving through me with such force, I’m surprised my hair isn’t standing on end.
“Where did you learn to curtsy like that?”
A smile plays at my lips. “Oh, I’ve been taught all the pretty things.” And then I slowly remove my fingers from his grasp. “But don’t let me keep you from your guests.”
Pivoting, I find another man staring. Ken.
His frown deepens as he approaches. Ken is average height for a man, which means, in my heels, I’m a touch taller than he is.
He’s wearing a tux, his medium brown hair combed back. One might mistake Ken for a male wallflower. But I feel his edge as he approaches.
If he was unsure of me yesterday, today he has decided. I’m his enemy. “Family friend?” he hisses as his hand locks on my upper arm.
