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Spilled Wine and Silver Linings
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2024-11-28 10:32:31Isabella
I let out a breath of relief as I walked off the dance floor. Thank God that was over. The spotlight, the forced smile, the awkward yet strangely pleasant dance with Logan—it was all behind me now. I headed straight for the bar, desperate for a moment to myself and something to steady my nerves.
“Champagne, please,” I said, and the bartender quickly handed me a flute.
The cool bubbles fizzed against my lips, and I allowed myself a moment to savor the taste. For the first time all evening, I felt a flicker of calm. That flicker lasted about ten seconds.
“Well, if it isn’t Cinderella herself,” a saccharine voice drawled behind me.
I turned to see Clarissa, my new stepsister, looking me up and down with an expression that screamed condescension. She was dressed to the nines, of course, in a figure-hugging red gown that practically screamed for attention.
“Clarissa,” I greeted, my voice flat.
She tilted her head, her smile cold and calculating. “You know, I wasn’t sure how you’d clean up, but I suppose gold does a decent job of hiding flaws.”
I rolled my eyes. Subtlety was clearly not her strong suit. “And here I thought this was a wedding, not an audition for Mean Girls.”
Her expression hardened, the fake smile slipping for a moment before she recovered. “I’m just saying, darling, it must be exhausting for someone like you to keep up in our world.”
I took a long sip of my champagne, pretending her words didn’t sting. “The feeling’s mutual,” I replied dryly.
Her smile morphed into a smirk, and before I could react, she “accidentally” tipped her glass of red wine forward, spilling it all over my dress.
“Oh no,” she said, her tone oozing mock concern. “I’m so clumsy. I hope that wasn’t your only dress.”
I glanced down at the dark stain spreading across the shimmering gold fabric. It was a mess, and the sickly-sweet triumph in her eyes told me she knew it. But instead of the anger she was clearly hoping for, a surprising wave of amusement washed over me.
I looked up at her and smiled. “Thank you,” I said, my voice light and sincere.
Her brow furrowed. “What?”
“Really,” I continued, setting my glass down on the bar. “You just did me a favor. This dress isn’t exactly my style. Now I get to change into something I actually like.”
Clarissa stared at me, her smirk faltering as confusion clouded her face.
I laughed softly, the sound genuine, and stepped around her. “Enjoy the rest of the reception,” I said over my shoulder.
As I walked away, a small, victorious smile tugged at my lips. As I was walking up the stairs, I peeked down and saw Logan talking to Clarissa. She was laughing.
I narrowed my eyes. Seriously? Did they plan it? How petty!
As I reached the guest room where I’d stashed my things, I allowed myself a small, private smile. Let them laugh. Let them think they’d won. I’d play the long game, keep my cool, and remind myself that their petty games couldn’t touch me.
The gold gown pooled at my feet as I stepped out of it with relief. I reached for the blue dress I’d brought, the one I should have been wearing all along.
The fit was snug; the way it hugged my waist and flared out at just the right point. But then came the tricky part—the zipper. I twisted and contorted, trying to reach it, but the angle was impossible. My fingers barely grazed the tab, and I let out an exasperated sigh.
Just as I considered giving up and putting the gold dress back on, there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” I called absentmindedly, still focused on the zipper.
Assuming it was Misha, the stylist, I didn’t even glance at the door. “Can you help me with this?” I said aloud, gesturing vaguely toward my back.
I felt the warmth of hands at my waist, steadying the fabric, followed by the smooth glide of the zipper being tugged upward.
The hands weren’t as delicate as I expected; the touch was firmer, more confident. A strange tingle ran down my spine as the zipper reached the top. The silence stretched, and a faint whiff of cologne—woodsy, clean, distinctly masculine—drifted toward me.
I froze.
Turning slowly, my heart leapt into my throat. Standing there, far too close for comfort, was Logan.
For a moment, we just stared at each other. My brain short-circuited, trying to process what had just happened.
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