Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 130286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130286 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
she lifted it with her fingers. “What is it?”
“It’s for tonight.”
The hairstylist, Fernando, admired the gift. “Very nice. Authentic?”
“Yes,” Lucian said. “From an antiques dealer outside of the city.”
“May I?” Fernando asked.
Evelyn still wasn’t sure what it was. It looked like a decorated sack of sorts. She handed it to the
hairdresser, who examined it admiringly and then placed it on her head. It was a hat or a band. The
peculiar way he had done her hair suddenly came together. The reflection blinking back at her was a
photograph from back in time.
Lucian smiled. “It’s a speakeasy party.”
“Speakeasy?” She knew that word. “Like from the days of Prohibition?”
“Yes. Everyone will be dressed in costumes from the 1920s era.”
“A costume party?” How fun! She’d never been to anything like that.
“Yes. I have your dress upstairs. I’ll wait while Fernando finishes up.”
Lucian disappeared into the front of the salon, and Fernando pinned the delicate cap over her hair.
She looked like she’d fallen back in time. It was amazing how he’d transformed her with a few curls
and some fancy makeup.
Lucian escorted her back to the penthouse. When they entered the master bedroom, a gorgeous
ivory gown was hanging from the sconce. She gasped. It was . . . majestic.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it. It’s so luxurious.” The soft material was like layered wisps of clouds running through her
fingers, weighted with tiny beads. Detailed bits of lace showed here and there, and the vintage accents told of tired fingers and handmade thoughtfulness. She decided she liked this era.
“It was worn by a famous singer in the twenties. There are photographs of her performing on stage
during that time.”
“Oh, Lucian . . .”
“Let me help you put it on.”
The material was so light, but layered in such a way the dress was weighted. She slipped out of her
clothing, careful not to muss her hair, and he helped her with the dress. It slid over her bare skin like a silken sheath.
“Do I need a bra?”
“No. Nothing underneath.”
The gathered fabric hung heavily over her shoulders. Cool beads weighed on her skin. He buttoned
up the back and turned her to the full-length mirror, his knuckles dragging seductively from her
shoulder to her elbow.
It was spectacular. Sheer layers of ivory draped over her unfettered breasts, resembling the attire of
a Greek goddess. The scoop over her chest was wide. Modesty was protected with an intricate shield
of lace, beaded in swirls of roses and white peacock feathers.
Beneath the swoop of the neckline, the dress fit to her hips, mimicking the same intricate lace
covering the span of her breasts. Midthigh, a seam traced to her legs, and billowy layers of the softest sheer silk gathered and poured to the ground like the clouded mist of a waterfall.
“You put the original wearer’s beauty to shame,” he said.
This was, perhaps, the first time she ever—truly—agreed with him in terms of her beauty. She
looked . . . picturesque. A shock of vanity had her blushing. She cleared her throat. “What are you
wearing?”
“A tux. Here, I have shoes and gloves for you.”
He bent to his knees and slid a pair of ivory closed toed shoes onto her feet. He carefully tightened
the buckle and stood. “I’ll be dressed in a few minutes, and then we can be on our way.”
He disappeared into the closet, and she allowed herself a few vain moments to admire her
reflection. Lucian emerged and she turned, drawing in a long breath. He had taken all of two minutes
to trump her beauty.
Broad shoulders were encased in black. The cut of his jacket was different than his usual tuxedo.
This one had tails. A starched white collar peeked over his white bow tie and a pristine, snowy vest
with diamond-encrusted buttons covered his chest. “Shall we?”
“You look fantastic.”
Paying the compliment no mind, he filled his pockets with the usual items and mumbled a quick
thank-you. As they walked through the lobby, guests stopped to stare. It was quite an experience.
Rather than fidget and worry what onlookers were thinking, she held her chin up with newfound
confidence she couldn’t recall discovering.
As they stepped onto the red runner with gold tassels, she looked for Dugan. He wasn’t there, nor
was the limo. A Patras attendant beamed and opened the door to a sleek Mercedes that had to be close
to a hundred years old.
“You rented an old car?”
“No. I own it.”
It was the color of the darkest chocolate. Long fenders bent like shapely legs. In her mind the car
was definitely female. The wheels had polished white walls. Rounded headlights protruded from the
chrome grille. It was all body with only a little cockpit left for passengers. If there was a roof, it was hidden. Caramel leather seats beckoned behind the slight metal-framed windshield.
“This may be the prettiest car I’ve ever seen.”
He squeezed her hand through her satin glove. “Get your license and it’s yours.”
She gaped at him. The doorman opened the passenger door—from the front, rather than the back the