Page 82 of Wallflower
Violet gasps, her free hand flying to her cheek. “Victoria Hall!”
I fight a satisfied grin, though, by the look on Victoria’s face, I’m not hiding shit. Victoria has dressed me for the last ten years, and she’s one of the few people I’d consider a friend.
The world-renowned designer of haute couture rolls her cherry-red lips and takes Violet’s stunned expression as her cue to approach. I jog down the few steps to relieve her of the garment bags and suitcase, and she gives me a nod of thanks before climbing the steps and offering Violet her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she says.
Violet’s mouth remains open in a little “O” as she accepts Victoria’s greeting, and when it’s clear that words are beyond Violet right now, Victoria puts a gentle arm around her shoulders and guides her toward the front door.
“I think we’ll get started,” she says.
“Good idea.” I nod toward Simone, the hair and makeup artist Victoria recommended. “I’ll bring that up. You go ahead.”
I follow the women up the stairs to Violet’s room, detouring to my bedroom to hang the second garment bag in my closet, then return with the additional suitcase. Victoria and Simone murmur quietly together as they move into the bathroom to set up, so I pull a stunned Violet to the side of the room with the plan to revive her with a little mouth-to-mouth.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
Violet casts a sideways look toward the bathroom. “That’s Victoria Hall!” she whispers. “I cannot believe I’m wearing a Victoria Hall design tonight. Chord, this is… This is too much. I don’t know if I can do it.”
“You’re going to be spectacular tonight. I just want you to enjoy this experience, okay? Let me be the one to worry—if there’s anything to worry about, which there isn’t. Your only job is to enjoy the moment. Deal?”
She shakes her head with an overwhelmed little laugh. “Okay. Deal.”
After one more kiss, I release Violet into the care of Simone for… whatever it is that women do in these situations. Victoria hovers nearby, and I beckon her over.
“So, you’ll let me know when it’s time to give Violet the dress?” I whisper.
Victoria rests a hand on my arm. “I won’t forget. I’m looking forward to it almost as much as you are.”
I seriously doubt that, but I thank her with a grateful smile and leave the room.
After a workout and a sandwich, I hit the shower. For the first time since I got to the ranch, I take extra care shaving, put product through my hair, splash on cologne, and then unzip the black designer tux Victoria made for the event. Everything fits perfectly. Pants that give just enough to be comfortable. A tailored jacket with satin lapels and a simple white pocket square that buttons in at my waist. White shirt with black buttons. Platinum cuff links. Black leather shoes. A bow tie I’ve got no clue what to do with, so I loop it under my collar and leave it loose for Victoria to take care of later.
I unbox the new Rolex I ordered for the occasion and attach it to my wrist, then dip into the jeweler’s bag again to retrieve two more black velvet boxes. I head downstairs and set them on the hall table just as a black stretch limousine pulls up outside and Victoria appears at the top of the staircase. My stomach tightens, and I climb to meet her.
“Are we ready?” I ask.
She takes one look at my bow tie and shakes her head before expertly fixing it. “We’re ready.”
My heart doesn’t race this hard in even the toughest games as I follow Victoria to Violet’s bedroom. She’s standing in front of the oversized full-length mirror in a long, flowing robe, her hair a perfectly styled crown of glossy chocolate curls. Her professionally applied makeup is subtle and accentuates her big eyes, thick lashes, and full mouth, yet simple enough to complement her natural blush.
“You look wonderful,” she says breathily before considering me with a puzzled smile. “But what are you doing in here?”
“Turn around,” I tell her, my voice gravelly with overwhelm, and with that same curious expression, she slowly spins to face the mirror.
I accept a scrap of silk from Simone as I cross the room, and Violet watches my reflection as I stand behind her and carefully cover her eyes with the soft teal fabric.
“Chord?” she whispers as I tie the silk around her hair with reverent movements. “What’s going on?”
I ghost my hands over her arms and she shivers even with the fabric between my fingers and her skin, and I set my lips to her ear. “Do you trust me?”
Her pink lips part with a shaky breath, and she nods. “I do.”
“Then relax, Wallflower. It’ll all make sense very soon.”
With reluctant steps, I back away from Violet and nod to Victoria. She unzips the garment bag holding Violet’s dress and carefully removes it from the hanger. It’s stunning—so much more vibrant and alive than I imagined from the sketches—and my breath catches with anticipation. As beautiful as it is now, it’ll be a thousand times more magnificent when Violet is wearing it. I can’t wait to see her face light up when she recognizes the design.
With competent, professional care, Victoria and Simone ease Violet out of her robe and help her step into the gown. She trusts their quiet instructions implicitly, moving her body as they direct, and my mouth is dry as they finally fasten the zipper and arrange the layers of the skirt just so.
