“You don’t know what it’s like to be prey…” She’d said that to me once before.
“They call me the scotch king for a reason. I own the industry, and soon I’ll own the world. And as my queen, you don’t need to be afraid of anyone. You’re my possession, and no one will lay a hand on you. I promise.”
She breathed again, feeling my hands glide up her torso. “But I’m not your queen. I’m just your slave…”
I pulled her against my chest and rested my chin on her head. “Either way, you’re still untouchable.” I’d wanted to make Josephine my queen, but being royal in scotch didn’t mean anything to her. Now I needed the right woman for the spot. London couldn’t be the woman for that. She didn’t have the right blood, the right wealth. But she wasn’t nothing either. “You can hold your head high and look him in the eye without fear, Lovely. I’ve never seen you bow before. Don’t start now.”
Jacques looked London up and down, his face a mask as he examined her. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking until he expressed his feelings candidly. His fingertips rested against his lips as he circled her, looking at her specific measurements and her qualities.
I was certain making her look beautiful would be easy.
I sat on the gray couch, and his assistant brought me an expensive bottle of wine and two glasses. I didn’t care for wine, but I drank it to be polite. Some expensive brands of champagne were pleasing, mainly the ones with the highest alcohol content. I crossed my legs and watched London stand on the pedestal, her brown hair over one shoulder and body slumped with a lack of self-confidence. It was out of character for her to look that way, but she was being silently judged by a stranger.
After five minutes of silence, Jacques finally clapped his hands. “I’ve got it.” He disappeared into the back where all the gowns were stored. I didn’t know a lot about fashion, but I knew each dress was nearly one of a kind. They only made them in size zero to six, and even then, there were very of them. Otherwise, all the rich people would be wearing exactly the same thing.
London looked at herself in the mirror, an unreadable expression on her face. Her eyes were lifeless, and her shoulders weren’t straight. She still didn’t want to attend this dinner with me, but she’d stopped arguing about it.
Jacques returned. “Here.” He held a sweetheart-cut gown that was a mix of purple and pink fabric. Everything blended together well, having a slight shimmer that wasn’t overpowering. I didn’t know anything about fashion other than the kind of suits I preferred, but I knew that gown was extraordinary. “Put it on then come back out here and show it off.”
London took it by the hanger, her eyes roaming over the fabric like she was studying it with genuine interest. She walked into the fitting room and shut the curtain.
Jacques walked over to me, dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt. For a fashion expert, he wore the same drab outfit every time I saw him. It didn’t express any presence. “That’s one stunning girl.”
Since he was gay, his comment didn’t bother me. “I know.”
“She’s got the perfect cheekbones, the perfect eyes…that hourglass figure would look perfect on the runway. That dress is a little revealing for a fancy occasion, but I know she’ll pull it off. The second she puts it on, she’ll fall in love.”
I imagined London was a jeans and t-shirt kind of woman. She didn’t seem to care about my expensive cars or real estate. Her tastes were very singular, like fresh flowers in a vase or the sun breaking through the clouds on a cold winter day. She didn’t want things. She just needed something meaningful. “Hopefully. She doesn’t want to attend this party with me.”
“Maybe the dress will change her mind.”
London walked out a moment later and stepped onto the circular riser in the center of the room. The gown was the perfect height for her, and it fit her frame exactly the way Jacques predicted.
He clapped as he walked up behind her. “I knew it would be magnifiqué.” He ran his fingers along the side. “This color is perfect for your skin tone. And your shoulders can totally pull this off.” He walked around as he fluffed the gown, making her look like a model about to be photographed. He joined her on the stage then quickly threw up her hair, putting in a cute braid before he pinned it up. “You’ve got to keep your hair out of your face for this one. You have such nice collarbones, a slender neck, a perfect bust size…” He stepped back and admired her. “Mr. Donoghue, you have to buy this gown for her. I insist.”
I chuckled. “You’re quite the salesman.”
“This dress was made for her.” He walked around her. “Look at her.”
I knew she would look beautiful, but she really was breathtaking. I wanted to rip it off her and fuck her the way I did last night—with all that sweat and passion. She would steal the focus for my opening. People would forget why they were even there once they looked at her. “What do you think, Lovely?”
She stared at herself in the mirror then ran her fingers down the front. “It’s beautiful.”
“Then that’s settled.” Jacques clapped his hands once. “Take it off, and I’ll wrap it up for you. You got a quite a deal, Mr. Donoghue. The price just dropped to ten thousand euro.”
London did a double take. “This is a ten-thousand-dollar dress?”
For the first time, Jacques looked offended. “It’s Valentino, girl. Worth every penny.”
London shut her mouth, knowing anything else she said would get Jacques worked up. She left the stage and returned to the fitting room to get dressed.
Jacques was still flustered by her comment. “Some people don’t understand quality.”
I felt the need to defend her even though I shouldn’t. “She comes from humble beginnings. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
“Well, it’s time to drop the humility. If she’s with you, she’s a very rich woman.”
London and I sat in the back of the car while Dunbar drove us back to the house. London was quiet, having nothing to say after her comment at the studio. Ever since I’d told her she would be my date for the evening, she’d closed like a clam.
I didn’t care for it.
I hit the button on the ceiling and closed the divider between Dunbar and us.
London tensed, probably knowing what was coming.
“That dress looked stunning on you. I hope you like it.”
Her legs were crossed, and she clung to the window like she was trying to get away from me. “It’s gorgeous. I never thought something so expensive would hug my body.”
“I’ve hugged your body plenty of times,” I said with a smile.
She kept her gaze out the window. “I love it, but I don’t care for the price. That’s excessive, if you ask me.”
“You get what you pay for.”
“That dress couldn’t have cost more than a few hundred dollars to make.”
“That’s not the point. Its value extends beyond the fabric. You’ll get used to the finer things in life. Give it time.”