Chapter 11; Fashion Event
Vanessa’s POV
“Are you absolutely certain this dress doesn’t make me look like I’m trying too hard?” I asked, twirling around in front of Emma as she reclined on her sofa, eating a bowl of popcorn.
Emma's eyes scanned me with her usual thoughtful glance, but rather than offering a remark, they broke into a huge smile. “Nessa, you look stunning. Stop doubting yourself for two seconds, will you?”
The purple evening gown I’d chosen hugged my torso and flared out slightly at the waist, its flowing fabric pooling around my ankles. It was elegant without being over the top, which had been my goal. Still, I couldn’t help but feel out of place even imagining myself at a high-profile fashion event.
Emma set the bowl aside and squatted with her elbows on her knees. “However, let's return to the real question,” she quipped, her smile now teasingly wicked. “Why are you, specifically, Sergie Ivanov's companion for this? I mean, he could’ve picked anyone. And yet, he chose you. Interesting, isn’t it?”
I rolled my eyes, fiddling with the straps of the dress out of a little anxiety. “It’s not like that, Emma. He asked because it’s a professional thing. I’m part of his creative team now, remember? This is just about making connections for the project.”
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed knowingly, her grin widening. “Professional, sure. But let’s be real—he didn’t have to ask you to be his plus one. He could have just sent you an invitation or asked you to network with the other designers. But no, he’s taking you. You know what that means, right?”
I exhaled, not daring to look her in the eye as I nervously ran my fingers over the bottom of my dress. “It means absolutely nothing, Em. Even if it did—and it doesn't—Sergie Ivanov is not someone who stares at me like that.”
“Oh Nessa,” Emma said, making a show of sympathy and tossing a popcorn kernel at me. “You’re so adorably clueless sometimes. The man sees something in you. And I don’t mean just your art.”
I caught the popcorn mid-air and threw it back at her. “Enough, okay? I’m not looking for anything like that. Besides, he’s way out of my league. Anyway, the thing is, I have to somehow make it through the night among Manhattan's richest crowd without falling on my face,” I should have said.
Emma shrugged, her grin softening into a warm smile. “You’ll do fine. And Nessa? Not surprisingly, I assume that Sergie treats the true you well. Whether it’s professional or personal, he values you. So stop second-guessing yourself and just enjoy the evening.”
I nodded; her words took hold even though I remained flooded with neurophysiological tension. “Thanks, Em. I’ll try.”
“Just remember,” she added as I grabbed my jacket, “if he doesn’t say nice things about that dress, I want you to text me the minute you can so I can legitimately claim him blind.”
Sergie’s POV
The car stopped right in front of the small brownstone that Vanessa's friend shared with her fiancé. She'd told me. I’d been surprised when Vanessa had given me the address—not because it was unexpected but because it spoke to how grounded she was. She wasn’t caught up in the glitz and glamour that so many people in my circle chased relentlessly.
Peeking out of the car, I double-checked that the cuff of my suit coat fit snugly as I approached the door. The driver waited patiently, but I barely noticed him; my thoughts were already focused on the evening ahead.
Opening the door, Vanessa stepped through; for that fraction of a second, I held my breath.
She wore a flowing purple gown that shimmered faintly under the streetlights, its elegant simplicity highlighting her natural beauty. Her hair draped to one side and fell down her back in relaxed ringlets. The sight of her standing there nervously clutching a small purse sent a jolt through me that I hadn’t anticipated.
“You look...” I paused, searching for the right word. “Stunning.”
Vanessa turned red; her gaze flitted around as she smoothed the fabric of her dress. “Thank you! You look... very dashing yourself.”
I chuckled softly and gestured toward the car. “Shall we?”
She nodded cautiously down the stairs as I held her arm. The moment her hand slipped into the crook of my elbow, I was struck by how natural it felt—as if this wasn’t our first time attending an event together.
The drive to the venue was quiet but comfortable. Vanessa would sometimes look out the window while stroking the frame of her handbag with her fingers. I could sense her nerves, but I knew she’d hold her own; she always did. By the time we arrived, the party was already in full swing. The grand ballroom glittered under spotlights and shone with sleek designer cocktail gowns. Voices rose and sank in peaks while New York's elite discussed and mingled; champagne glasses clinked in hands.
I fixed my eyes on Vanessa as we crossed the threshold and tracked the subtle constriction of her pupils as a result of all the excitement around us. However, standing tall, she kept her chin up straight and took in this room all at once.
“Relax,” I murmured, leaning slightly toward her. “You belong here as much as anyone else.”
She looked at me; for a second, I glimpsed uncertainty lurking beneath the surface of her powerful statement. But then she nodded and squared her shoulders.
As we walked through the throng, several recognizable faces stopped to say hello; their gazes inevitably fell on Vanessa. I knew they were curious about who she was and why she was by my side. However, Vanessa managed to answer their questions seamlessly; her genuineness shone through every interaction.
“She’s a breath of fresh air,” one of the board members told me privately after Vanessa stepped away to get a drink. “Not many people compare to her at these sorts of events.”
I glanced toward her and watched as she laughed softly at something one of the waitstaff said. She didn’t swagger to get everyone’s attention; yet she left an impression.
“She’s a natural,” I said—but truthfully speaking, it was nothing less than that. Later in the evening, I encountered Vanessa by one of the large windows where a flute stood filled with champagne. The skyline of the city bloomed behind her; Manhattan's lights sparkled like a sea of stars.
“Enjoying yourself?” I asked as I stepped beside her.
She turned to me with a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s... overwhelming but in a good way. Thank you for bringing me.”
“You earned your place here,” I said firmly—perhaps firmer than intended—“Don’t forget that.”
Her smile softened; for a moment we stood in companionable silence while the noise of the event faded into the background.
“It all just seems otherworldly,” she admitted as she gazed back up at the sprawling cityscape beyond us. “Like it’s too big for someone like me.”
I turned to her with a serious expression. “Vanessa, you’re not ‘someone like you.’ You’re you—and that’s exactly why you belong here.”
She fixed her gaze on me; our eyes met as if pleading for confirmation about whether I truly meant it or not. When our gazes locked again, I gave her a glimpse into what I meant.
Before either of us could say anything else, someone called attention to introduce the start of that evening's presentations. The remainder of the event passed in a haze of speeches and networking conversations filled with hushed tones; nevertheless, my focus increasingly gravitated toward Vanessa.
She stood out—not because of her gown or our connection—but because of her authenticity. While others maneuvered through the evening with practiced charm, Vanessa simply existed.
As night finally came to an end, I led her back to the car; once more our arms floated together seamlessly.
Glancing at her through my rearview mirror as we drove away from Manhattan's glow—I caught sight of her lost in thought while looking out at passing lights—and wondered what might be swirling around in that beautiful mind of hers.
When we arrived back at Emma's place, I immediately got out of the car and helped Vanessa step out by offering my hand.
“Thanks for tonight,” she whispered while looking into my eyes.
“No,” I replied softly but firmly. “Thank you.”
And with that simple exchange—she disappeared inside—leaving me standing on the sidewalk with only echoes of her presence lingering in the cold night air.