Page 87 of When Worlds Collide
“Ditto.”
Chapter 27
We joined a queue of black cars lining up to park outside of the ENT building – a conveyor belt of luxury vehicles, each one depositing its celebrity contents out onto a red carpet, flanked on either side by crowds of fans and press photographers.
We’d already gone through the routine on the short drive over: Jihoon would get out on the red carpet and go into the building that way. I, along with the other, less important – or more secretive – guests, would be dropped off in the basement car park entrance away from prying eyes.
I was fully on board with this plan. I was. There was also another part of me… a part that longed to be able to get out of the car with Jihoon. To feel him put his arm around me as we walked together into the building. I had to acknowledge this feeling, even as the very idea of outing myself as his girlfriend in front of the world and leaving myself open to all the scrutiny that wouldcome… terrified me. But, I reasoned, it wasn’t that I wanted the fame; Christ no. I wanted… I wanted to not have to be a secret.
But that wasn’t the world we lived in, so for now, I pushed it down.
As we drew closer to that stripe of burgundy that lined the pavement to the shining front doors, I drew further and further away, as though distance alone could shield me from the waiting camera lenses.
Jihoon watched me silently, his brow furrowed.
Eventually, I felt the handbrake being pulled as we stopped. Jihoon turned to me, leaning over to where I huddled in the seat. He closed the distance between us for one, brief moment, and pressed his warm lips to mine.
“I love you.”
When the car door opened a few heartbeats later, Jihoon was already back in position, as close to his door as possible, angled toward the exit so he could step out quickly, whilst also blocking the interior with his body. The door shut behind him, dividing us.
He, amongst the flashing cameras and shouted attempts at gaining his attention, and me, hiding in the backseat of a car.
I only had a few moments to watch Jihoon on the red carpet before we pulled away. I marvelled at the way he slid his hands into his pockets, so casual you might have thought he was on the way to meet some mates at the bar.
It didn’t take long to circle the building and follow the other cars heading into the underground car park for ENT. As we drove closer to the centre, where the service elevator was, I noticed other guests sliding out of cars, similarly dressed to me, and I wondered how many of them were in my position.
My stomach churned with nerves as we pulled up. The driver hopped out and over to my door before I could open it myself, and I slid out as gracefully as I could. I nodded at him, gratefully, before turning my attention to the little lobby containing the elevators. The heavy fire doors were propped open, so I just walked in, hearing the SUV behind me drive away.
Stranded.
Taking a deep breath, I moved into the industrially-lit room, suddenly feeling a little silly in all my finery, but the sight of more ball gowns, and tuxedos reassured me.
A petite woman, probably around my age, was standing just inside the area next to a small round table with a clipboard and a box of ribbons, which I eyed curiously. She had a sharply-cut, short hairstyle that bobbed as she moved. She seemed familiar.
I pulled my dress up so I wouldn’t trip, revealing the tattoo of vines and flowers that wound around my foot and ankle, noticing how pretty the contrast between the coloured flowers looked next to the storm grey of the dress. I noticed the attendant looking as well, and I hastily dropped the hem.
“Chodaejang juseyo,” she chirped, with a polite nod.
I held out the invitation card to her. It didn’t have Jihoon’s name on it, only the envelope had, so at least I had a measure of discretion.
The woman peered up at me, curiously, and I wondered what she thought she saw through my elaborate mask and dramatic makeup.
The woman pulled out a length of snowy white ribbon from the basket, and gestured to my wrist. I held it out and watched as she carefully tied it on, securing it with a metal clasp.
Once done, she gestured to the elevator and said – this time in English – “Top floor.”
I thanked her and stepped aside as the line moved forward.
The elevator filled with a handful of other guests, all dressed just as finely – though I noticed, with some self-consciousness, that all of them were dressed more modestly than I was. My bare arms and shoulders felt suddenly chilled.
The doors opened up into a corridor that split in two directions, but I didn’t need to try and find where I was going, because right in front of me opened up an enormous pair of double doors, beyond which was clearly where the party was being held. ‘Ball room’ was definitely an accurate term for the cavernously large room. It looked like it spanned most of the length and width of the building, with three walls being entirely floor-to-ceiling windows, and even from over here, I could see that they offered a spectacular view of Seoul.
The room was decorated unbelievably to look like the ballroom scene from Beauty and the Beast, but it was for grown-ups. There were candelabras on every surface, and chandeliers dripped from the ceilings in glittering, multifaceted droplets that shone like fire as the rotating light fixtures projected shimmering light that somehow mimicked snowfall.
Heavy drapes hung from the ceilings to frame the windows at intervals, falling to the ground in elegant heaps. There were banquet tables lined up against one whole wall, a seemingly-endless row of food that spanned several different cultures. The way it piled up in towers, or was served on massive, silver serving platters, I imagined I could hear the faint strains of ‘Be our guest’, and I smiled.
I wondered if they had any ‘grey stuff’, I hear it's delicious.
