"Thank you," I said to Claire, meaning it more deeply than the woman could know. "For everything."
"Have a wonderful evening," Claire said, packing up her supplies. "You're absolutely stunning. Something tells me you'll be the most captivating piece in that gallery."
I let Claire out and ten minutes later, I stood at my front door, clutching the small purse that Claire had declared perfect for the outfit. Through the window, I could see a sleek black car waiting at the curb, its driver standing beside the open rear door.
This was it. No turning back now.
But as I slid into the leather seat, I realized I didn't want to turn back. Whatever this was with Julian, whatever it meant, I wanted to see it through. I wanted to step into his world, into this evening he'd crafted for me, and see what happened next.
The drive downtown passed in a blur of city lights and nervous anticipation. I tried texting Julian once more, wanting to thank him for everything, but my phone showed the message as delivered but unread.
I recalled he said he would pick me up. Old doubts worming their way in from his week of indifferent texts, and now, no Julian here to pick me up
Maybe he's busy getting ready too,I told myself, though doubt was settling in at the edges of my confidence.
The car pulled up to the gallery, and out the car’s window, I could see photographers clustered outside, their cameras ready to capture whoever emerged from the expensive vehicles arriving at the curb.
Oh God,I thought.There are photographers.
The driver came around to open my door, and I took a deep breath, trying to channel the confidence that Claire had built into my appearance. I was wearing Julian's creation, carrying his vision of me, and that had to count for something.
I accepted the driver's hand and stepped out of the car, immediately feeling the cool evening air against my skin and the weight of curious eyes assessing me. The photographers took a few shots, but without recognizing me, they quickly turned their attention elsewhere.
9
Julian
"Sir! Sir, you need to wake up!"
I jolted awake to find Roy shaking my shoulder, the late afternoon sun streaming through my office windows. My neck was stiff from sleeping on the couch, and my mouth felt like cotton.
"What time is it?" I rasped, struggling to sit up.
"Six-fifteen," Roy said, his usually composed demeanor cracked with worry. "The gallery opening starts at seven-thirty. If you want Henry to take you—"
"Shit." I was on my feet instantly, my mind calculating travel time. With Friday evening traffic, my driver wouldn't get me to Vivienne until well after seven-thirty. "No time for the car, have Henry pick her up and I'll arrive separately."
Roy's eyes widened. "Sir?"
I was already moving toward the small bathroom attached to my office. "I'm taking the bike."
"But you never—"
"Tonight I will."
I had never taken my motorcycle to a formal event—it wasn't a part of the image I’d carefully cultivated. Not part of the controlled persona I presented to the fashion world. But tonight, I didn't care about image or expectations. I only cared about being there when Vivienne arrived since I wouldn't have time to pick her up myself.
The shower was quick and brutal, ice-cold water shocking me fully awake. I pulled on the outfit I'd selected for tonight—a black suit I'd tailored specifically to complement Vivienne's dress, with subtle emerald details that would tie us together without being over-the-top. Everything had to be perfect.
Twenty minutes later, I was weaving through downtown traffic on my Aston Martin AMB 001 Pro, the city blurring past in streaks of light and shadow. I'd forgotten howmuch I loved evening rides, the evening lights along with the control, the speed, the way the world simplified when it was just me and the machine.
I pulled up to the gallery just as a sleek black car, my car, I realized, glided to the curb. I parked hastily, not caring about protocol or appearance, my attention focused entirely on the woman stepping out of the vehicle.
Vivienne.
My driver—Henry, I thought distantly—was helping her from the car with professional courtesy, and I felt an unexpected stab of jealousy at the man's hand on her elbow, at being witness to her beauty first.
She was breathtaking. The dress I'd created fit her like a dream, the emerald silk catching the light from the gallery's entrance and making her skin glow like warm honey. Her hair was swept up in an elegant twist that showcased the delicate line of her neck, and when she turned slightly, I caught sight of the earrings I'd commissioned catching the light.
