Chapter 8 - Silk, Steel, and Diamonds
The dress arrived at four o’clock the following afternoon.
It wasn't the gaudy, over-embellished silk that Victoria Vance wore. It was midnight blue, made of heavyweight French crepe that flowed like liquid night over my frame, cutting across my collarbone with understated elegance. A pair of diamond drop earrings—vintage Caruso family heirlooms—hung beside my neck, catching the soft light of the chandelier.
When I stepped into the grand foyer, Lucy was standing at the base of the marble staircase, wearing a matching pale-blue velvet dress with shiny patent-leather shoes.
"Mommy," Lucy gasped, her eyes shining like twin stars. "You look like a queen."
"You look like a princess," I whispered, kneeling down to hug her gently so as not to wrinkle the fabric. "Remember what Mrs. Gable told you? You're staying with her and Marco in the private suite upstairs. You don't open the door for anyone except Gabriel or me."
"I know," Lucy nodded solemnly. "Mr. Gabriel gave me a radio. He said if I hear thunder, I just press the red button."
I looked up to see Gabriel standing at the entrance. In his bespoke black tuxedo, with his broad shoulders and commanding presence, he looked every bit the dark emperor of New York high finance. But the look in his eyes when he took in my appearance made my breath catch in my throat.
He descended the stairs slowly, never taking his eyes off mine.
"You look breathtaking, Elena," he said, his voice husky and low.
"I feel like an imposter," I admitted honestly, my hands trembling as I adjusted the silk clutch against my waist.
"An imposter tries to mimic what she isn't," Gabriel said, offering his arm. "You carry the weight of five years of survival with dignity. That makes you more noble than anyone in that ballroom."
We took his armored Maybach into the heart of Manhattan. The rain had ceased, leaving the asphalt slick and reflecting the neon glare of the city. As we approached the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where the Harbor Trust Gala was being held, the line of paparazzi flashes illuminated the night sky like lightning.
"Ready?" Gabriel asked, his hand covering mine over his knee. His touch was warm, grounding me against the rising panic.
"No," I confessed. "But Lucy is watching. I can't fail her."
"You won't," Gabriel smiled faintly. "Walk tall, Elena. Tonight, you own the floor."
The car door opened. The roar of shouting photographers and clicking shutters hit us like a tidal wave. Gabriel stepped out first, offering his hand to guide me onto the red carpet.
The moment my sapphire gown swept across the entrance, the flashbulbs exploded with frantic energy. Whispers swept through the gathering crowd like wildfire.
*"Who is she?"*
*"Is that Caruso? Who is that woman?"*
*"Look at the necklace—that’s the Caruso sapphire!"*
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Gabriel ignored them all, keeping his arm firmly around my waist as we ascended the grand stone steps and pushed through the bronze doors into the lions' den.
***
