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I glance away, heat creeping up my neck as I recall wearing the same outfit for days without a change of clothes.
"Oh, that's not necessary," I say quickly, replacing the box lid. "This sort of event is a little out of my depth. I wouldn't want to embarrass Antonio or your family." The thought of spending the entire day getting primped and preened alongside Antonio's elegant mother is utterly intimidating.
Elena arches one carefully sculpted eyebrow. "Nonsense. If you've handled staying alone in this house surrounded by my boys, surely you can manage a simple charity ball." She steps closer to the bed and delicately lifts the box lid once more with manicured fingers.
"Now, please try on the gown so I can see the fit," she urges gently but firmly, in a tone that brokers no argument. "I believe it will suit you nicely."
Under her scrutinizing gaze, I reluctantly slip the shimmering midnight blue gown over my head. The cool silk cascades down my body, molding to every curve. Elena steps behind me to efficiently button up the long row of tiny pearlescent buttons running along the back. When I catch my reflection in the ornate mirror atop the vanity, I'm stunned. The elegant gown hugs my slender frame flawlessly, as if it was tailored specifically for my measurements. Paired with the glittering sapphire earrings and lustrous pearl necklace, I'm transformed - I look like a lady of high society rather than a grad student who lives in yoga pants.
"Perfect," Elena pronounces crisply, admiration glinting in her eyes. For the first time since I was brought here, it seems I've managed to impress someone. The realization sends an unexpected rush of pride through me. I turn this way and that, watching the dress shimmer and move with my body.
Elena rests her hands lightly on my shoulders, peering at my reflection in the mirror. "You look beautiful, my dear. Now come, we must start preparing you for the gala tonight."
Apprehension twists my stomach, but I follow dutifully as Elena leads me into the opulent ensuite bathroom, which is nearly as large as my modest college apartment. She directs me to sit at the gilded vanity while she gathers various products and tools, calling in her personal squad of servants and stylists.
Soon my hair and makeup are being carefully styled by Elena and two of her most trusted maids, as I nibble on flaky croissants with strawberry jam and sip cappuccino. Elena thoughtfully had the spread brought up, though I suspect it's as much to keep me occupied as it is hospitality.
As they work, twisting and pinning my chestnut waves into an elaborate updo, Elena chats about the preparations being made for tonight's soiree - the flowers, menus, entertainment and guest list. But soon, the conversation takes a more serious turn.
"You know, Clara, when Antonio first mentioned bringing you here, I'll admit I had my reservations," Elena says, her voice lowered conspiratorially as she tousles my hair with product. "Inviting an outsider into the family circle, even temporarily, carries certain risks, as I'm sure you understand."
I stare down at my hands, unsure how to respond. Of course, I know exactly what kind of criminals the Riccis are. That's what makes all of this so terrifying and morally complicated.
Sensing my unease, Elena gently tilts my chin up until our eyes meet in the mirror. "But you've proven yourself quite resilient during your time here. Learning to hold your tongue, choose your battles wisely, assert yourself without seeming disloyal - these are the skills a woman must master to survive and thrive in this world."
I tense, heat flooding my cheeks. She makes it sound like I'm being groomed for something. Like I actually belong here.
"Tonight will provide a fine learning opportunity," she continues matter-of-factly. "So I really must insist you attend, for your own benefit."
I open my mouth to protest further, but Elena silences me with one manicured finger pressed lightly to my lips.
"Just one evening, Clara," she cajoles. "There are no expectations beyond mingling for charity."
Her tone brokers no room for further debate. I slump back in the chair, resignation mingling with building dread. "Thank you for everything you've done for me today," I say quietly as a maid finishes dusting my face with shimmery powder. "The gown, shoes, jewelry...you've made me feel like royalty." That much, at least, is true. I've never worn anything so extravagant and feminine in my life.
"Of course, darling." Elena pats my hand in a motherly fashion, though the warmth doesn't reach her eyes. "I'm happy to host you as part of the family, even if only for the evening." Elena squeezes my shoulder gently. "There now, all done. You look flawless. Shall we go see if the boys are ready?"
Elena leads me back into the bedroom. She retrieves a sleek black clutch and drapes a cashmere shawl around my bare shoulders. Taking my arm, she guides me out the bedroom door and down the sweeping staircase. My heart pounds as I descend, knowing the rest of the powerful Ricci men await below. I pray I can get through this event unscathed.
* * *
A few hours later, I'm escorted into the ballroom just as the first guests are arriving. It is even more spectacular than that first intimidating night I came here as their unwilling guest. With its soaring ceilings and marble floors, it looks like something out of an old Hollywood film.
Glinting crystals from three enormous chandeliers cast flickering rainbows across the pristine white marble, making the whole room sparkle. The soft murmur of conversation and tinkling laughter from elegant socialites mixes with the delicate notes of a live string orchestra playing Vivaldi. Crisply uniformed waiters in white gloves deftly weave through the crowded foyer, balancing trays of bubbling champagne coupes, fluted glasses filled with pale golden liquid. Others proffer hors d'oeuvres on silver platters - tender lamb chops glazed with honey and rosemary, seared scallops on cucumber slices, and plump oysters topped with caviar and crème fraîche.
The mingled scents of expensive French perfume, night blooming jasmine from the elaborate flower arrangements, and delectable cuisine envelop me as I descend the last few stairs. Everywhere I look are women adorned in glittering couture gowns, dripping in diamonds that catch and refract the chandelier light, casting prisms around the room. The elite gentlemen cut imposing figures in their tailored tuxedos and perfectly polished wingtips. I recognize actors, athletes, musicians and models mingling among the politicians and fellow mafiosos that make up the Riccis' social circle.
Antonio mentioned that New York's upper crust enjoys currying favor with the powerful crime family, but seeing it first hand makes my head spin. Near the open bar on the far side of the ballroom, I spot long-haired rockstar Liam Gallagher chatting up a statuesque blonde. Even the notoriously reclusive guitarist makes an appearance to pay respects to the Riccis.
"Champagne?"
I'm startled from my awed observations by a server offering a crystal flute plucked from his polished silver platter. I accept it with murmured thanks, taking a slow sip of the effervescent liquid to steady my nerves. The delicate bubbles dance on my tongue, imparting hints of peach and honeysuckle.
As I mill awkwardly through the crowd, unsure what to do with myself, a striking older woman in a curve-hugging scarlet gown catches my eye. She looks vaguely familiar, though I can't place her. Working up my courage, I approach her during a lull in her conversation.
"Good evening," I greet her politely. "I hope you're having a wonderful time tonight."
The woman turns to me with a gracious smile, her world-weary eyes radiating warmth and wisdom earned from decades in the spotlight. "Why thank you, my dear. The Riccis certainly know how to throw a lavish affair."
