Page 18 of Temptation and Tyranny

Bianca met me at the front door, extremely happy that I was home early. I ate a quick snack, and then went to my bedroom.

I stood in front of my closet, staring at the contents with a growing sense of despair. I quickly called Joanna. “Jo,” I whined, “I have nothing to wear!”

Joanna’s laugh echoed through my cell phone. “Don’t be dramatic, Al. I’m sure we can find something suitable. I’ll be over as soon as I close down the clinic for the evening.”

An hour and a half later, Joanna appeared in my bedroom doorway, already looking stunning in a sleek black dress that hugged her curves perfectly. I felt a pang of envy—Joanna always seemed to know exactly how to dress for any occasion life threw at her. Her arms were weighed down with several garment bags. She laid them down on the bed carefully.

“Did you just forget to buy a dress?” she asked, half-laughing, half-scolding.

“I thought I had some things, but when I put them on, none of them seemed right.” This was a big event, and I wanted to represent myself and our clinic well. Most of the garments I owned were either practical clothes for work or a few dressy outfits for nights out. Nothing that would work for this event.

Joanna nodded, grabbing the first garment bag on the bed. “Here,” she said. “What about this?” She pulled out a deep emerald-green dress out of the garment bag. It had a sweetheart neckline that plunged quite a bit, but delicate lace allowed for more modesty. It was backless, and a bit more daring than anything I’d worn before.

“I don’t know,” I hesitated, biting the inside of my cheek. “Isn’t it a bit...too much?”

Joanna shook her head firmly. “It’s perfect. Everyone is going to be dressed the same way. Try it on.”

Reluctantly, I slipped into the dress. The silk felt cool against my skin, and as I turned to look in the mirror, I had to admit Joanna was right. The dress fitlike a glove, accentuating my curves in all the right places. The deep green complimented my olive skin tone, making my eyes look larger. The dress was a tad longer than it should have been, given the fact that Joanna was taller than me, but with the right heels it would work.

“See?” Joanna said smugly. “You look incredible. Now, let’s do something about that hair.”

An hour later, after much fussing and a minor mascara crisis, we were finally ready. Joanna had worked her magic, transforming my usually flat and boring hair into soft waves that framed my face. With lots of smoky eyeshadow and a swipe of red lipstick, I barely recognized myself.

Joanna came up behind me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Look at you, Al. Beautiful, confident, and ready to take on the world—or at least a roomful of Paris elite.”

I giggled nervously, a bit taken aback by how I looked. I hardly wore make-up to begin with, and I couldn’t remember a time I’d had so much on.

As we made our way downstairs to the waiting taxi, I felt a mix of excitement and nerves fluttering in my stomach. This wasn’t just about looking good or mingling with the upper crust of Parisian society. Tonight was about making a difference, about contributing to a cause I believed in.

The cab ride to the venue was filled with Joanna’s excited chatter about who we might see and what the night might hold. I half-listened, my mind already at the information booth, running through the talking points I’d prepared.

As we pulled up to the hotel where the gala wasbeing held, I took a deep breath. “Ready?” Joanna asked, squeezing my hand.

I nodded, summoning my courage. “Ready.”

We stepped out of the taxi, the cool evening air kissing our skin. The hotel was lit up like a fairytale castle, with spotlights illuminating its ornate façade. A red carpet stretched from the curb to the entrance, lined with photographers snapping pictures of the arriving guests.

“Remember,” Joanna whispered as we made our way inside, “you look amazing, you’re brilliant at what you do, and you’re here to make a difference. Just be yourself.”

I smiled gratefully at her. “Thanks, Jo. What would I do without you?”

As we entered the grand ballroom, I was momentarily overwhelmed by the sight. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the room. Tables draped in pristine white linen were artfully arranged around a dance floor, each centerpiece a small work of art. The air was filled with the soft strains of a string quartet and the buzz of conversation.

As we made our way to our assigned booth, I scanned the room, taking in the glittering crowd. That’s when I saw him, and my heart nearly stopped. Fear gripped my stomach, and I fought the urge to turn and run.

My father, Laurent Rousseau, stood near the bar, looking every inch the successful businessman in his expensive suit and neatly combed hair. To anyone else, he would appear to be just another wealthy donor. But I knew better. I knew the truth behind his carefullycultivated image, the truth of backhanded deals and the trail of carnage he left behind.

“Al? What’s wrong?” Joanna asked, noticing my sudden silence.

I forced a smile, but I knew my face must be full of tension. “Nothing. Just a little overwhelmed.” I tried to quickly move away from his line of sight.

But it was too late. My father had spotted me and was now making his way through the crowd towards us. I straightened my spine, preparing myself for the inevitable confrontation.

“Allegra,” he said smoothly as he approached, his voice carrying just a hint of his disapproval. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Father,” I replied coolly. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Joanna’s eyes widened at the word ‘father,’ but to her credit, she didn’t say anything.

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