Vivienne
"A little higher with the silk drapes!" I called out, my voice sounding thin and tired, as I had been shouting for hours, all because of Phoebe.
As soon as I woke up on the morning of Roman's celebration, she had hurried into the kitchen where I was washing the dishes. Dressed in a sharp, expensive suit, her heels clicking loudly on the ground, she hadn't even looked at me as she dropped a thick binder of event contracts onto the marble counter.
"The event coordinator has suddenly come down with a migraine," she had said, her voice dripping with that practiced, cold annoyance. "Since you are doing nothing but sitting around here being a burden and a leech, you will go to the hall immediately because I am putting you in charge of the ceremony."
"Putting me in charge? I have no idea what they're planning and I…"
"Oh, shut up!" she yelled at me. "You have no say in this, Vivienne. You will oversee the workers and ensure everything is perfect. If the Sinclair family arrives and finds fault with the decorations," she pointed a finger towards me, "I will make sure Roman finds out exactly how you have failed him."
Phoebe didn't give me a chance to protest or even explain myself before walking out of the kitchen.
Four hours later, I stood at the center of the room, ensuring everything was in place.
The physical labor of the last four hours was starting to take its toll on me. My neck ached from looking up, and my fingers were stained with dust and sap from the lilies.
With a weary exhale, I gathered the thick mass of my long, dark brown hair and twisted it into a tight knot at the nape of my neck. I secured it firmly with a simple tie I kept on my wrist.
I didn't need a mirror to know I looked like a servant. My olive skin was washed out under the harsh work lights, and my simple slacks and faded sweater stood out in place of the expensive decorations in the hall.
This was not how I had imagined today turning out. I had imagined spending my anniversary differently. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, imagining Roman taking my hand and leading me to a quiet table for two.
I imagined a version of him that remembered the girl who had stayed up until dawn fixing his business strategies—but instead, I was here decorating a room for a man who had called me a "leech" only hours ago.
I was setting the stage for his triumph, knowing that when the party actually started, I would be expected to disappear into the shadows as always.
"Goodness," I groaned, rubbing my aching forehead as I fluttered my eyes open and noticed that the decorations were already set in place.
The hours soon blurred into a haze of physical exhaustion. For the rest of the afternoon, I spent it hauling crates of crystal, directing the placement of centerpieces, and ensuring the lighting hit the stage at the exact angle Roman preferred.
By the time the final workman cleared the floor, the first luxury sedans were already pulling up to the valet outside.
Realizing the time had escaped me, a jolt of panic shot through my chest. I couldn't be seen like this. I hurried toward the back of the hall, grabbing the small garment bag I had brought from the house that morning.
As I ducked toward the corridor leading to the dressing rooms, I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness building up inside of me. Inside the bag was a simple, midnight-blue silk slip dress. It was the same dress I had worn to our very first date three years ago. It was the only beautiful thing I owned.
Phoebe had made it very clear over the years that I did not need a new wardrobe. "Why would you need designer gowns?" she would sneer whenever I lingered near a shop window. "You don't go anywhere important, and we shouldn't waste my son's hard-earned money on dressing up a house girl."
In my rush to reach the privacy of the dressing area, I rounded a sharp corner near the executive washrooms and slammed directly into a broad, solid chest.
"Oh! I… I'm so sorry!" I gasped as the impact sent a jolt through my shoulder. My garment bag nearly slipped from my hand as I stumbled back, my eyes fixed firmly on the floor out of habit and embarrassment.
"No worries," a voice replied.
It was the deepest voice I had ever heard, and it was strangely calm even amidst the chaos I had just caused.
The voice didn't have the jagged edge of Roman's impatience or the high-pitched vitriol I was used to from the Wests.
"I am so sorry," I murmured again, not daring to look up and meet his gaze. I was too conscious of my dusty sweater and my messy hair.
Without another word, I brushed past him, my heart racing as I ducked into the dressing room and locked the door behind me.
I splashed cold water on my face as I reached the sink, scrubbing away the dust of the hall. Then I let down my long, dark brown hair, brushing it until it fell in soft, elegant waves over my shoulders.
Then immediately, I slipped into the midnight-blue dress; it fit a little looser than it had three years ago, which was proof of the stress of my marriage, but the color still made my hazel eyes pop.
When I finally finished dressing and stepped back out into the main hall, the transformation of the space stole my breath.
The hall was now packed with the elite of the city—a sea of tuxedos and designer gowns. The entire space was bathed in a deep, ethereal emerald green and shimmering gold.
The emerald uplighting highlighted the edges of the white lilies, making the hall appear like a lush, royal forest. The scent of expensive perfume and aged scotch filled the air, mingling with the soft hum of a live string quartet.
I did a great job, I thought as I stood at the edge of the crowd, smoothing the silk of my old dress.
My eyes wandered around until they landed on Roman, who was currently holding a glass of wine as he laughed with a group of investors. I was here, but as I looked at the sea of strangers, I realized that I had never felt more like an outsider in my own life.
I just stood there staring at Roman, who was standing near the center of the hall, looking every bit the conquering hero in a crisp white tuxedo that made his dark hair and stormy grey eyes appear even more intense.
He looked magnificent, unlike me, who looked plain and boring. But I didn't care. I took a step towards him and stopped abruptly when I saw a woman walking toward him and anchor her arm possessively with his.
Isabella Sinclair.