Page 6 of Carved in Ruin

She pulls back, that same smile plastered across her face. “Nothing,” she says, brushing it off like it’s no big deal, but there’s something in her eyes. Mischief.

Before I can press her, she grabs my arm and drags me toward the bed, where two dresses are laid out. Both stunning, shimmering under the soft light. She points to the one on the right. “That one’s yours.”

It’s black, long, with thin straps and a deep V-neck. The cups are draped in delicate golden chains, and the same chains hug the waist. It’s gorgeous—dangerous-looking even. The kind of dress you wear when you want to be noticed. When you want to be remembered.

I grab the dress, draping it over my body. I stand in front of the mirror, staring at the gold chains catching the light just right. Layla stands behind me, her reflection in the mirror as she watches.

“Father always gets you the best dresses,” she says, a touch of envy in her voice.

I don’t want to lie or make her feel worse, so I say, “You’re right, I’m sorry, it’s unfair… but yours is pretty too.” I glance at her red dress, equally stunning but in a more subtle way.

Layla nods, her fingers running over the fabric of her own dress. She moves to sit on the bed, her face a little more serious. “How are you feeling? You get to see your childhood friend again.”

I pause, letting out a breath. “I’m… excited, but I’m also a little nervous. Things changed.”

Layla’s hand moves to caress the red dress lying beside her, and she swallows before asking, “Do you have a crush on him or something? You blush whenever he’s mentioned.”

Her question catches me off guard, and embarrassment rushes through me. The thought of admitting I want him, only for him to reject me, feels too risky. Too painful. So I laugh, waving it off quickly. “Oh no, he’s a man-whore. I could never.”

Layla narrows her eyes at me, pressing further. “Are you sure? I could give you a couple of tips, you know I’m good with men,” she teases, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“I’m sure,” I reply, keeping my voice steady.

“Okay. I’m going to go get ready.” She stands up, smoothing her pants. “Do you want help with anything?”

I hesitate for a second. “Yes, actually. Can you help me curl my hair when you’re done?”

Layla grins. “Of course.” She gives me a playful wink before walking out, dress in hand.

I slip into my dress, the fabric hugging my body in all the right places. The black material makes my waist look impossibly tiny, cinching me in just right, while my hips curve out, giving me that hourglass shape I never quite see on normal days.

The deep V-neck plunges daringly low, and the thin golden chains over my chest create the illusion that my breasts are much bigger than they are. For once, I don’t feel self-conscious about my body. I can’t help but run my hands down my sides, feeling the way the fabric molds to me. It’s like the dress was made to be seen by him.

I move over to the corner where I’ve got a mess of heels. Black, nude, silver… Nothing feels right. I need something that stands out. Finally, I spot them, burgundy stilettos, six-inch heels. I slide them on, the rich color contrasting with the black dress. Perfect. I take a couple of steps, wobbling at first, nearly tripping on the edge of the rug. My heart skips a beat as I stumble, but I catch myself quickly, straightening up.

After a few more steps, I get the hang of it, walking more confidently, even if my legs are working twice as hard. Rafael is huge, towering over everyone at six foot five. Compared to him, my five-foot-four frame is tiny.

I sit at my vanity, starting with foundation, blending it in quick and smooth. I’ve done this a thousand times for endless events. Next, a sweep of blush to bring some life to my pale skin, then I move on to my eyes—smoky and dark to make my icy blue orbs stand out. Lining them with black, I smudge the corners for a sultry edge.

A quick swipe of nude lipstick finishes the look. By the time I’m done, I barely recognize myself.

Layla walks in, her eyes widening as she takes me in. “Wow,” she whispers.

“You like it?” I ask shyly.

“Like it? I love it. You look like a beauty queen.”

“Thank you,” I smile. She looks stunning too, in her red dress. “You’re even prettier,” I say honestly.

Layla grins, picking up the curling iron and motioning for me to sit at the vanity. “Sit down. Let’s make those waves happen,”she says. She starts curling my pin-straight hair, transforming it into loose waves.

Just as Layla finishes curling my hair and is puffing it out for volume, our father walks in. He stops in his tracks, staring at me as if he’s never seen me before. It feels like an eternity, and I swear I hear him whisper a curse under his breath. Finally, he shakes off whatever spell I cast on him and strides over, kissing my forehead.

“You look gorgeous,” he says. He turns to Layla. “You too.” A rush of happiness fills me as I watch my sister receive his attention as well.

He glances at the clock, and I’m baffled at how quickly time has slipped away. “He’ll be here in about an hour,” he says, and a wave of nerves crashes over me. We nod, but as he heads for the door, he turns back, his expression serious. “On your best behavior.”

Jeez. We get it Father. He certainly wants to make a good impression, well, it’s Rafael Ivanov, who doesn’t want to impress him?

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