Page 23 of The Sounds of Her
“No, mom. I’ve got it. Thanks anyway,” I mutter.
“Don’t mumble, Brooke. Now, my car is waiting.”
Millie hasn’t had to interrupt us. Of course, mom has ruined my life in a mere five minutes, instead of the fifteen I’d asked Millie for. Rather than fake air kisses, I get a reminder to be ready and looking my best at eight on Saturday night, then she leaves on a cloud of Chanel.
Millie appears in the doorway. “How bad is it?”
“You have no idea.”
On Saturday afternoon, I take a quick shower, careful to avoid wetting the hair I’ve had styled at my usual salon this morning. My nail polish is selected and I’m about to sit down to do my toes when my apartment buzzer rings.
I’m not expecting anyone but am not surprised when a delivery man arrives at my door with a garment bag.
I already picked out what I intend to wear tonight. It is my most expensive dress, which I rarely wear, but I have to wear something impressive to avoid my mother’s ire.
The Alexander McQueen floor length LBD I keep for special occasions is perfect for tonight, even if it is from a couple of seasons ago.
I accept the delivery and take the bag to my bedroom. After hanging it on the back of the door, I hold my robe at my throat and stare at it. I feel like a fifteen-year-old all over again, being told where to go, what to wear and who I can and can’t talk to.
I’m not that girl anymore and I do not have to wear this dress. With that thought in my head I go back out to the sitting room and paint my toenails coral pink, they will match the lipstick I’m going to wear. A whole hour and a phone call with a client later, I go back to my room and stare at the garment bag.
“Ok, open it. You don’t have to wear it,” I mutter as I step forward and pull down the zip.
Pushing the bag off the shoulders of the hanger, I let it pool on the ground as I stare at the dress.
It couldn’t be any more different from the one hanging on my closet door right now. For one, it’s Valentino Couture. Its blood red, strapless and although it is a slim line floor length dress, it has an extra wraparound skirt that has a bow at the waistline, falling in ruffles down the sides, with a short train at the back.
It’s stunning, the fabric is luxurious, the design is beautiful.
I hate it.
I know I’m going to wear it and that makes me furious. I stare at my toes. The colour I painted them is going to clash with this dress. That can be my act of rebellion. A smile stretches my lips.
Game on mom.
Roman arrives on time, probably at the threat of death from my mother. I make him wait for me on the street.
I roll my eyes at the limo, but he is handsome in his tuxedo. His blonde hair is styled, his face clean shaven, and he has a chin dimple. He looks like a Ken doll.
“Hi Brooke, it’s so nice to see you again, you look beautiful,” he leans forward as if to kiss my cheek, but I lean back and for a second he doesn’t know what to do. “Sorry,” he ducks his head and holds out his hand instead.
It’s clammy so I shake fast, then draw back my hand, noting how his eyes linger on my chest. “You too, Roman.”
Roman has a reputation for being a ladies’ man and I’m on guard to deflect any advances and let him know this is a onetime thing.
He stares for a moment, then gives me a rueful smile. “You don’t want to go tonight, do you?”
“What?” I ask in surprise. Shit, am I that obvious? “I guess you never grow out of having to do what your parents tell you.”
“Tell me about it,” he laughs. “I won’t take it personally and I won’t complain about having a beautiful woman on my arm, even if she is reluctant. I hope the evening isn’t awful for you and I swear I’ll do everything I can to make it a little better.”
Well, okay then. Maybe it won’t be so bad. We get into the car, and I feel even better when Roman pours us two glasses of champagne. He makes small talk, but he isn’t annoying or intrusive, thankfully.
The Gala is being held at the Ziegfeld Ballroom in Midtown. We head inside, avoiding and ignoring the camera flashes. The grand ballroom is decorated in white and gold and with elaborate centre pieces on the tables. There’s an orchestral band playing music in the corner. The place is packed and fortunately, I don’t see my mother yet.
Roman leads us to the bar and gets us champagne. He’s greeted by everyone and I’m happy to let him do all the talking. If people want to assume I’m the arm candy, that is fine by me.
My phone has been buzzing in my purse for a while. I’d complained about tonight to Jenna a couple of days ago, but right before I left, I sent a photo of me in the dress to the group chat. I turn and take out my phone to check it’s nothing important.