Page 19 of Valentine Masquerade
Carefully, Abi unzips the bag, revealing the most stunning baby pink masquerade ball gown.
I cover my mouth with my hand, equal parts shocked and overwhelmed by her generosity.
“But that’s not all.” She practically skips to her walk-in wardrobe, which also has a door at the back that leads to her very own library.
She returns with a shoebox in her hands.
“Wouldn’t be complete without a killer pair of heels.”
Lifting the lid, I find the most gorgeous pair of shoes I have ever seen. They must have cost a small fortune.
“Oh. My. Goodness.”
I reach out and take one from the box.
They are simply ethereal, a butterfly high heel adorned in champagne glitter across the wing and heel. A shoe sent straight from heaven… or in my case, from my best friend Abi.
“Try them on, Ari,” she says, taking out the other one.
“I don’t even know what to say,” I admit. I know I should probably be mad that she’s likely spent a small fortune on me, but I can’t find it in me. I’m too overwhelmed with gratitude.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, my hands shake as I slide them onto my feet and buckle the delicate strap at the ankle.
I push to my feet. They’re a perfect fit. I walk over to her floor-length mirror, turning to the side and moving my foot as I take in how beautiful they are.
“Thank you,” I say, springing towards her and pulling her in for a hug.
“You don’t have to thank me. Just promise me you’ll enjoy every second of it.”
She begins to pull the dress out of the bag.
“Shall we make sure it fits?”
I nod as I take in every detail.“It’s even better than I remember.I feel like this is something out of a fairytale and you’re my fairy godmother.”
Abi just laughs and shakes her head. “Happy to be considered family, but maybe less of a mother, if you please. Makes me sound old.”
I chuckle. “Sister, it is then.” Because that’s what she is to me. She’s more than a friend, she’s family.
“It’s as if you want me to cry,” she says, sniffing back tears.
“Would I?” I ask, my palm covering my heart.
There’s a noise outside her bedroom door before it opens, and in saunters her housekeeper’s son, Sebastian. It’s hard not to stare, he has a powerful presence.
“Ever heard of fucking knocking?” she asks with clear disdain in her tone.
He arches a brow. “Sorry, your highness. I didn’t think you were home.”
She passes me the dress, then puts her hand on her hip, and raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, really? Sounds like a lie to me. So do pray tell why you’re even in my room in the first place?” she asks, tapping her foot.
Unlike most people, he’s not the least bit intimidated as he steps into her space and stares her down.
I swear I catch a flicker of longing before it’s replaced with indifference.
“My mum said you might want this. I was going to leave it on your dressing table,” he replies, reaching for her hand.
