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“Raphael says to be ready for seven.” Sylvia goes to leave, but I reach out for her hand and pull her back.
“Please stay. I’ve never had to get ready for a party before,” I admit, feeling my cheeks flush when I hear how pathetic that sounds.
“I don’t think I’ll be much use to you.” The old woman chuckles to herself.
“Just keep me company while I’m getting ready. It’ll help calm my nerves,” I beg, and thankfully she decides to take pity on me, blowing out a breath before sitting herself on the stool beside my vanity station.
“Do you think I should wear my hair up or down?” I stand in front of the full-length mirror, scrunching my hair in my hand and testing how it looks piled on top of my head.
“Raphael likes it when you wear it in that braid, the one you do when it falls over your shoulder.” She waves her finger at me while her other hand helps itself to a strawberry bon bon from the sweet bowl beside her.
“He told you that?” I ask, surprised. I can’t imagine Rafe talking to Sylvia or anyone else about me unless it’s giving them an order.
“Don’t be silly. Raphael doesn’t admit to having weaknesses.” She chuckles. “I know because I’ve known him for a long time. He does this weird thing with his mouth when you wear your hair that way.” She tries to copy one of Rafe’s expressions, attempting to tense her wrinkly jaw and making her bottom lip disappear into her mouth. It makes me giggle.
“Trust me…” She stands up from the stool and steps up behind me, taking my hair in her hand and twisting it together as she hangs it over my shoulder. “…You have an effect on him that I’ve never seen before.”
“You really care about him, don’t you?” I study the warmth on her face through the mirror.
“With my whole heart,” she answers sincerely. “Raphael is the closest to a son I’ll ever have.” She smiles fondly back at me through our reflection.
It gives me a little hope. Surely, Rafe can’t be that bad a person if he has the affection of someone like Sylvia.
A knock at the door startles us both, and Sylvia rushes off to answer it. When I peek over my shoulder, I notice Ricardo handing over a shoe box and a small brown paper bag. The frown doesn’t budge from his face, even when Sylvia thanks him.
“Shoes and makeup,” she explains, placing the shoes on the bed and then starting to empty the contents of the bag onto the vanity.
“Let’s get you ready.” Armed with a brand-new makeup brush, she comes at me.
* * *
It’s almost time to leave, and I’ve been ready for over an hour. Sylvia had to go and prepare dinner for Rafe’s staff. So I’ve been alone, pacing the floor in my room and growing more anxious by the second. I’ve checked and reapplied my lip gloss twice, I’ve practiced walking in these far too high-heeled shoes that match the color of the dress I’m wearing, and now I’m watching the clock tick through the final few minutes before it’s time to leave.
I check myself in the mirror one last time. The dress Rafe provided fits like it was made for me, and I tug it down over my thighs for what has to be the twentieth time since I put it on before stepping out into the corridor. The guard at my door does a double take when he sees me. Up to now, he’s only ever seen me wearing a white shirt, and I nod him a polite smile as I proceed toward the stairs. I hear the door behind me click open and quickly spin around. My tummy flips when I take in the sight of Raphael stepping out of his room, setting the cuffs of his tuxedo jacket in place. He stops when he sees me, his eyes absorbing me as they make a path from my shoes to my thighs and then over the lace that covers my body.
He looks so handsome in a suit that it steals all the breath from my lungs. And when he smiles that wicked smile from beneath his hooded eyes, I have to stop myself from running at him and climbing him.
“You look beautiful.” He steps toward me, his finger reaching up to touch one of the loose strands of hair that settle around my face, then looking between us, he admires my dress.
“Sylvia has exceptional taste.” His smirk confirms my suspicions that Sylvia had absolutely nothing to do with what I’m wearing. I watch his hand move around my body, gently resting on my ass and turning me around to guide me toward the stairs.
He keeps it there as we move through the house, and by the time we get to the car, my skin is prickling for more of his touch.
Ricardo stands waiting by the car, and he opens the back door as soon as he sees us. I thank him sarcastically as I get inside, then shuffle over the seat to make room for Rafe beside me.
“Thank you,” I feel an urge to show Rafe my gratitude as the car pulls out of the huge iron gates.
“For what?” He looks back at me, furrowing his brow as if I’ve confused him.
“The dress, the shoes, no one's ever given me gifts like these before,” I explain, running my fingers over the expensive dress I’m wearing. None of what’s happening to me feels real. Of all the things I thought I’d be feeling when I was taken by this man, privileged wasn’t one of them.
“You're welcome.” He lifts his chin at me, but it’s clear that my appreciation has disturbed him.
“So what kind of party is this?” I attempt to make more conversation while keeping the excitement in my voice to a minimum.
“A boring one,” Rafe tells me flatly, his fingers tapping impatiently at the door handle and his eyes now avoiding contact with mine.
“Is there such a thing as a boring party?” I laugh awkwardly. Despite how strange this all is, I want to have a good time tonight. Rafe is such a serious person I struggle to imagine him having fun.
