I’d taken the long royal-purple garment bag in confusion. My heart had fluttered at the gold lettering that read Cunningham Couture across one side. I’d unzipped the bag to find the most stunning forest-green lace dress in existence. I’d shimmied into the thing and found that it fit like a dress, wrapping up and around my neck with a full open back. It hugged my waist and down to mid-thigh before fanning out to my feet. The color looked stunning against my long pale hair and my fair skin.
It had come with a small handwritten note.
Wear me.
—Jane
A pair of high heels with red lacquered bottoms that cost a fortune were also attached. And I wanted to turn it all down. I had returned everything from Bergdorf that day, except the dress since I’d been planning to wear it to the event. I could not keep an Elizabeth Cunningham original. But Jane had refused to even take my calls all day.
And here I was. Stepping up to the cameras in strappy black Louboutin fuck-me heels and a one-of-a-kind designer dress. It almost felt like putting on armor. Heading into an Upper East Side event felt like going into battle.
Cameras flashed. Journalists called out for questions. We walked across a red carpet. And it was over. It took only a matter of minutes, and my anxiety had been for nothing. Go figure.
I held my head high as I walked into Trinity nightclub. I was on Lewis Warren’s arm. He was dressed to kill in a Tom Ford tuxedo. We were here at the bequest of the owner. I even knew one of the models in Elizabeth Cunningham’s collection for the event. Maybe I did belong after all.
Then, the toe of my shoe caught on the front of my dress, and I stumbled. Thankfully, Lewis’s arm was still around my waist. He steadied me before I fell on my face. Or worse…ripped the one-of-a-kind dress.
“Easy there,” he said with a laugh.
My face turned the color of a tomato. “So embarrassing.”
On second thought, fake it till you make it seemed more realistic.
I hurried with Lewis out of the spotlight and took in the club. It was enormous, even bigger than I would have guessed. A stage and runway took up the center of the room. Cunningham Couture’s logo was tastefully displayed around in gold across purple banners. One entire wall was floor-to-ceiling glass with discreet exits onto a heated balcony. A long bar lined either side of the room, and waiters in tuxedos were carrying champagne flutes amid the crowd. Jane had said that DJ Damon Stone was playing for the crowd tonight, and I could hear his telltale style coming in from the speakers.
All in all, it was outstanding. Jane had really outdone herself.
“Ah!” a voice shrieked from behind us as Lewis claimed two glasses of champagne for us. “You made it!”
I turned around in time for Etta to throw herself into my arms.
“We made it,” I said, pulling back to smile at her.
She was a smidgen shorter than me, even in her sky-high heels. She had on a skintight dress with studded details that showed off her curvy frame. The gold highlighter on her light-brown cheeks was flawless. Her box braids were artfully swept into a bun. She looked like a vixen.
“Oh, look, my little sister is here,” Lewis drawled.
“Brother, I was going to say that you look dapper tonight, but I take it back,” Etta quipped.
“Where is my well-behaved sibling?”
Etta rolled her eyes, which were heavily lined in black coal and fake lashes. “Fuck well behaved.”
I just laughed. I enjoyed their antics.
“Come on, Natalie. We can’t expect my brother to be a gentleman. I’ll take you back to see Charlie.”
Etta looped her arm with mine and veered me toward the stage door. Etta winked at the guy guarding the door, and he opened it for her.
“Sorry, no men backstage at this point,” the guy said to Lewis.
Lewis arched an eyebrow. “Do you know who I am?”
“Oh, give it a rest,” Etta said with a laugh. “We’ll be in and out in a minute. Go get us drinks. Something strong.” She winked at him and then dragged me through the door.
I glanced back at Lewis and shrugged. “See you in a minute.”
He shook his head and started speaking to the guard, who didn’t seem to care in the slightest that he was Lewis Warren.
As I turned back around, the world transformed. We’d gone from bumping tunes, clientele dressed to the nines, and floating champagne to half-naked models, a strong smell of hairspray, and glitter flying everywhere. And yet, I felt more comfortable here than out there. I was going to have to thank Melanie for that one. One too many dance recitals back in the day.
“Charlie!” Etta called. She grasped my hand and then moved through the chaos toward her sister, who stood out in all of her beautiful glory. “Look who I brought with me.”