“I’ll drink to that.”
She laughs, and we drink. It’s too smooth going down and warms my belly while Delphine reaches for the bottle again.
“So, tell me,” she says while refilling our glasses, “how’s the painting going?”
“I haven’t started yet. I thought about painting your parents.”
She shakes her head. “That won’t impress them.”
“What if I painted you?”
“Absolutely not. I’m not the subject who will win you this contest.” She hands me what looks like a triple shot. “Dig deeper. It will come to you. Authenticity is always appreciated.”
I down the booze, almost understanding what she’s telling me. It’s obvious she’s talking in code, but why?
“So, who?”
She studies me. “Pardon?”
“Who will win me this contract?” I smile sweetly.
“Ah, you’re competitive. I forgot you came from a family of pro athletes.”
In that moment, it’s like Delphine sees me. She knows I can read the invisible messages between the lines. “If we’re being honest, you already know who you need to paint.” She moves to her closet. “I don’t know how you’re going to pull it off, but somehow, you will.”
I glance around the room and shake my head, but I’m smiling. “You have too much faith in me.”
I imagine what it must’ve been like to grow up here.
“Maybe I do,” she says. “But you still have to convince my parents. Sometimes, they’re difficult, but don’t give up. Paint your heart, and there’s no way you won’t get chosen. Everyone will see what I see in you,” she promises.
I can hear fabric rustling. More hangers move, and then she strolls from the closet with red silk. When it catches the light, it shifts to black. “This. Perfect for a chameleon. You look sweet, but I know you’re deadly. I see a lot of myself in you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As you should.”
I hold the dress up to my body. It’s a weapon with delicate straps and a back cut low enough to leave almost nothing to the imagination.
“I hope you’re ready to turn heads. Put it on. Let’s check the fit.”
I smirk, and she guides me toward the bathroom.
When I close the door, I check the label inside the dress. It’s in a different language, but I can tell it’s expensive. I remove my bra and slide the silk over my body. It’s cool and weightless against my skin. The neckline gives a peek of what lies beneath. When I turn to check the back, I grin at how much bare skin is on display.
This look is bold.
When I return to Delphine, she lets out a low whistle.
“You look unattainable.”
This makes me laugh. “I am.”
She grins and sits me in the vanity chair. “Makeup?”
“Do your best,” I say, giving her control.
She pulls out golden compacts with crystals encrusted around the edges and works on my face like a professional, contouring and highlighting my cheekbones. After applying crimson lipstick, she steps back to examine her work.
