The emerald dress

“Chloé? How did you do it?”

Amelia's face looks a mixture of surprise and terror denoted by her hands instinctively reaching for her neck.

“ How did I do it?”, My smile remains sarcastic.

 “You know, dear Amelia, sometimes I get the impression, or almost always, that I'm not fighting on your side, but against you”

“What's that now, Francisca?”, She protests as she closes the door behind her with her heel, a pure fear that someone would overhear our conversation, “We are friends! 

“ Friends…”, I slowly repeat the word, savoring each syllable as my fingers travel across the counter looking for a way to make this conversation more interesting.  

A silver knife is the one chosen and panic sets in Amelia's gaze. 

“ Are you afraid of her friend, dear Amelia” 

“ No!, She swallows dryly, “ I know you would never do that, Francisca, we are allies!” 

“ Oh yes, we're allies... Now do you remember that, Amelia?”, I take three slow steps in her direction. 

“ You had a thousand chances to get me into this party and even so, you preferred to leave me outside, abandoned to my own devices!”

- I couldn't, Jean, he's very suspicious. And I know you would succeed, Francisca! You are the wife of one of the biggest bosses of the Italian mafia. 

What a terrible time to be funny and falling into laughter is inevitable. She insists on the theatrics still with her hands clasped around her neck. 

“ Actually, you thought I wouldn't make it, Amelia! Because that's the difference between you and me, you like to underestimate me while I wouldn't, even if you are a dandy who would never get her hands dirty like I do... - I run my finger along the blade of the knife to make sure how sharp it is”

“ You're being unfair, Fran! I helped you escape from Anthony, I keep his whereabouts a secret, and thanks to me, he never found you”

“ Is that so, Amelia?” 

She doesn't answer and I take her silence as a "no".

Her fingers glued to her neck become more trembling. A somewhat unusual posture, especially coming from her. And looking more closely, something glows discreetly under her thin fingers.

“ What are you hiding there?”

“It's nothing…”

“ Take your hands off your neck, Amelia”

“ Francisca…”

“That's an order!”

Your fingers come loose from your skin and a delicate gold necklace filled with small diamonds is displayed. It's the jewel my father gave me for my 17th birthday and which disappeared on my wedding day. I intended to wear it, but instead, I was left with the necklace that Anthony gave me as an engagement present to wear and that one on Amelia's neck, I never found it again.

“ So that's it, dear Amelia, you want Anthony for yourself?”

“ I can explain…”, She pleads, but in vain.

“ I'm not naive. I know you don't love him or want him, deep down you just want to be like me, to have everything I had…”

“ No, Francisca! You're totally wrong”, She insists, you must think I believe in fairies.

“ I'll tell you a secret…”,  I spin the metal between my fingers.

“ To be like me, you would have to have lost your mother when you were a child, discover that your father killed men without mercy, and deal with the fact that your sister ran away, leaving behind you a bloody inheritance, all this, being only thirteen years old…”

I take two more steps and there is no more space between us than the tip of the knife resting against your cheek.

“ Then conform, Amelia!”, I raise my voice, pulling the necklace from her neck and she lets out a small groan of pain. The marks soon appear and a huge scratch forms on her porcelain skin.

“ Stop torturing me, Francisca…”, she murmurs in a hoarse voice, possibly holding back tears, her pride wouldn't let her cry.

“ Have I mentioned how much I love your dress? It's a shame if it were to rip…”

" No, s'il vous plaît! I beg you, it was a special gift, I can't find another one like it anywhere! 

As soon as she closed her mouth, I lightly ran the cold metal from her face to her cleavage where her beautiful dress began.  The fabric surrendered easily to the sharp blade and in fractions of a second a long cut totally exposed Amelia's half-naked torso.

“Stop! she shouts” 

Which made everything better. However, I don't have that much time to spend with that bitch.

“ Tonight, Amelia, I hope I have served to make you understand once and for all that you, nor anyone else, can stop me. - This time, I threw the knife in the direction of the cabinets, getting it stuck in the wood”

I take a deep breath and return to my glasses that are to be taken to the party waiters.

“Excuse me, madam!”

━━━━━━✧♛✧━━━━━━

Slow music, men chatting among themselves and women whispering with yellow smiles, nothing surprising or uplifting. Always too plastered by the rules of coexistence, that one would easily mistake the men for robots uniformed in black suits and moving around just to get a drink. On the other hand, the women are the heroes of the evening, they save the scene by giving it some color and warmth by silently competing among themselves who is the best dressed at the party, a spot now free after I tore the best dress in the room. However, no outfit compares to the one Amelia wore, even if I made a rag out of the remains of the dress. 

His workmanship was all perfect, the fabric moved at the slightest sway of the hips, and although the color chosen suggested the discretion necessary for such an environment, it was capable of being the most splendid, turning the woman wearing it into a walking emerald stone. 

Whoever designed this dress knew the decor of Jean's huge drawing room. The cream walls, the light brown sofas, the huge white bookshelves containing books with brown, red and black covers; the incandescent lighting that puts every little gesture to the test, no matter how hard I try to keep a low profile in a corner so as not to be noticed. 

Whoever designed Amelia's dress didn't make just one outfit, but combined all these elements together in perfect harmony.  No doubt crafted by an extremely perfectionist mind. And if Jean is who I think he is, mathematics is exact, so 2+2 is four, Mr. Arnault plus Mr. Laurent from the past resulted in a strong friendship between Jean and Adam Arnault, the heir sworn to death by Papa.

During all these years, I didn't try to know much about him beyond the obvious: a famous man who inherited one of the most famous surnames and business brand in Paris. A playboy, I deduced, was not worth getting my hands dirty and risking a story that was kept in the vault of the minds of those who survived to tell. But if he was the mastermind of Amelia's dress, I now understand Mr. Arnault's fear of handing over his golden goose. The guy has talent and that probably made the family business take off. Too bad he had a vision so late, his soul was already sold and there is nothing that could be done. 

Would he be Amelia's lover? The man she desperately tries to impress while fucking Anthony in hopes of power? Would Mr. Arnault and Laurent have told her anything before he died?

So many questions that need answers, but the one that matters right now is only one: are they or are they not the sons of the men who died in the name of my family's honor?

Because if they are, Amelia is one step away from the secret and possesses in her hands the most sought after head by Anthony's vain and murderous ego....

━━━━━━✧♛✧━━━━━━

I waited for the toast, when everyone gathered in the room, except for Amelia who must have been sulking in a corner mourning her dress or planning her revenge, as if anyone could still get anything out of me. But from her, yes, you can get a lot. Just like me, she doesn't love Anthony, in case they are lovers. Again, he is being made a podium, where one climbs to get something he can offer. Nothing more! 

Anthony would be a rude escort for dates where one drinks champagne with glasses floating between one's fingers while chatting about arts and whatever other subjects are on the rise. Topics that never interested him, no matter how hard my father tried to instill in him the spirit of high class. But his persistence was overcome by the field years of Anthony's youth, which never left. If he hadn't been good at business or I hadn't found myself so vulnerable with my father's unexpected death, I would never have married him. 

I sneak out as the glasses crackle and distraction is present among all the guests, so I venture into the first free hallway I can find. I don't know the layout of the house, which makes my choices difficult, and I don't know how much time I have left to search for the office, the sanctuary of a lawyer. Unless Jean is organized enough to make it clear to his guests that it is a restricted area for those eager for a hotter-than-hot party getaway. 

“ I can't believe it!”, My eyes glance at a notice taped to the third door on the right. 

 Is Monsieur Jean being unpredictable or is it my lucky day? 

Before approaching, I look everywhere, there is no one there, but a shiver runs down my spine, as I think how much my life could change by turning this knob...