Chapter 9 The lady in red
The bedroom was a battlefield of discarded fabrics and open makeup palettes. Usually, my closet looked like a bag of Skittles had exploded, but today, Maya was on a mission to dismantle my "bubbly daycare" aesthetic.
"No, no, and absolutely not," Maya said, tossing a floral yellow skirt onto the growing pile on the floor. "Today, you are not the girl who bakes cupcakes. Today, you are a woman going to the cinema with a man who thinks you’re his ‘spark.’ We are going for impact."
"Maya, it’s just a movie!" I protested, standing in my slip. "I feel weird not wearing my colors. I feel like I'm wearing a costume."
"Exactly," Maya smirked, reaching deep into the back of her own wardrobe. She pulled out a garment that seemed to shimmer even in the dim room—a red, tight mini-dress with a daringly low back. "Try this. It’s the color of passion, danger, and 'I don't care if you're a Grinch.'"
I stared at the dress in denial. "I can’t wear that. It’s too tight, the back is practically non-existent, and Mom will have a heart attack."
"Mom will be fine. Wear it for you," Maya insisted, shoving me toward the mirror.
When I finally zipped it up, I gasped. The red hugged every curve, making me look older, sharper, and undeniably stunning. I paired it with my gold stilettos and a small gold clutch. Maya worked like a whirlwind on my face, ditching the light pinks for a sultry bronze eye and a bold red lip that matched the dress.
"Girl," Maya teased, dusting highlighter onto my cheekbones. "If Victor’s heart doesn’t restart when he sees you in this, he really is made of stone. You’re glowing."
"I'm terrified," I whispered, checking the time. The Blackwood car would be here in thirty minutes.
I walked into the living room, and the house went silent. My father looked up from his tea, his eyes wide. "Elena? You look... different. Beautiful, but different."
"Our little girl is growing up," my mother added, her eyes misty. "You look like a movie star, sweetheart."
The black sedan arrived at the curb exactly on time. I stepped in, the leather seats cool against my bare back, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Ten minutes after the sedan pulled away, a heavy knock echoed through our front door. Maya, still in the living room playing with Leo, opened it to find Liam. He looked exhausted, his eyes full of regret, holding a massive bouquet of lilies—my favorite.
"Maya," he said, his voice cracking. "Is she here? I need to talk to her. I shouldn't have said those things. I was a fool."
Maya stepped out onto the porch, closing the door halfway behind her to keep the conversation private. She felt a pang of guilt, but her loyalty was to her sister's peace.
"She’s not here, Liam," Maya said softly, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.
"Where is she? At the bakery? I'll go there," he said, already turning toward his car.
"No, Liam. She went out... to get some air. She hasn't been herself since the vacation. She needed to just be alone for a while. You really hurt her, Liam. She needs space to breathe before she can look at you again."
Liam slumped, the flowers drooping in his hand. "I just wanted to fix it. Tell her I called? Tell her I’m sorry?"
"I’ll tell her," Maya promised, watching him walk back to his car with his head down. She sighed, looking at the road. "Good luck, El," she whispered to the wind.
The elevator doors at the Blackwood estate opened to the basement, but it didn't feel like a basement today. Victor was waiting by the glass wall. He was dressed in a crisp black button-down, his hair perfectly swept back. When the doors clicked open and I stepped out, he froze.
He didn't speak for a full minute. His dark eyes traveled from my gold heels up the length of the red dress, lingering on my shoulders before meeting my gaze.
"Elena," he breathed, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. "I thought you were the sunshine. I didn't realize you were the fire too."
"Is it too much?" I asked, suddenly feeling shy.
"It’s not enough," he countered, a rare, brilliant smile breaking across his face. "You look... breathtaking. I’ve spent my life surrounded by beautiful things, but none of them have ever made me lose my breath like this."
The drive to the private cinema was charged with a new kind of energy. We weren't patient and carer anymore. We were something else. Inside the dark, plush theater, the movie began, but I could barely focus on the screen. Victor’s hand rested on the armrest of his chair, inches from mine.
During a particularly tense scene in the film, I felt his fingers brush against my wrist. I didn't pull away. He slid his hand into mine, his grip firm and warm. The "spark" he had written about in the note wasn't just a metaphor—it was a physical current passing between us. We sat like that for the entire two hours, our fingers interlaced in the dark, the rest of the world—Liam, my family, the tragedy of his accident—melting away into the shadows.
After the movie, as we sat in the back of the van on the way back, the silence was comfortable. He looked at me, his expression more vulnerable than I had ever seen it.
"I didn't think I could feel this," he whispered, his thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. "I thought my life was over. But when I’m with you, I forget about the chair. I forget about the dark."
I leaned my head against his shoulder, the silk of my dress rustling. "I see you, Victor. Not the chair. Just you."
I was falling, and I was falling fast. As the car pulled up to the Hill, I realized I was no longer the girl in the colorful clothes. I was a woman caught in a magnetic pull that was as beautiful as it was dangerous.