The Scotch Queen (Scotch 2)

After five minutes of silence, Jacques finally clapped his hands. “I’ve got it.” He disappeared into the back where all the gowns were stored. I didn’t know a lot about fashion, but I knew each dress was nearly one of a kind. They only made them in size zero to six, and even then, there were very of them. Otherwise, all the rich people would be wearing exactly the same thing.

London looked at herself in the mirror, an unreadable expression on her face. Her eyes were lifeless, and her shoulders weren’t straight. She still didn’t want to attend this dinner with me, but she’d stopped arguing about it.

Jacques returned. “Here.” He held a sweetheart-cut gown that was a mix of purple and pink fabric. Everything blended together well, having a slight shimmer that wasn’t overpowering. I didn’t know anything about fashion other than the kind of suits I preferred, but I knew that gown was extraordinary. “Put it on then come back out here and show it off.”

London took it by the hanger, her eyes roaming over the fabric like she was studying it with genuine interest. She walked into the fitting room and shut the curtain.

Jacques walked over to me, dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt. For a fashion expert, he wore the same drab outfit every time I saw him. It didn’t express any presence. “That’s one stunning girl.”

Since he was gay, his comment didn’t bother me. “I know.”

“She’s got the perfect cheekbones, the perfect eyes…that hourglass figure would look perfect on the runway. That dress is a little revealing for a fancy occasion, but I know she’ll pull it off. The second she puts it on, she’ll fall in love.”

I imagined London was a jeans and t-shirt kind of woman. She didn’t seem to care about my expensive cars or real estate. Her tastes were very singular, like fresh flowers in a vase or the sun breaking through the clouds on a cold winter day. She didn’t want things. She just needed something meaningful. “Hopefully. She doesn’t want to attend this party with me.”

“Maybe the dress will change her mind.”

London walked out a moment later and stepped onto the circular riser in the center of the room. The gown was the perfect height for her, and it fit her frame exactly the way Jacques predicted.

He clapped as he walked up behind her. “I knew it would be magnifiqué.” He ran his fingers along the side. “This color is perfect for your skin tone. And your shoulders can totally pull this off.” He walked around as he fluffed the gown, making her look like a model about to be photographed. He joined her on the stage then quickly threw up her hair, putting in a cute braid before he pinned it up. “You’ve got to keep your hair out of your face for this one. You have such nice collarbones, a slender neck, a perfect bust size…” He stepped back and admired her. “Mr. Donoghue, you have to buy this gown for her. I insist.”

I chuckled. “You’re quite the salesman.”

“This dress was made for her.” He walked around her. “Look at her.”

I knew she would look beautiful, but she really was breathtaking. I wanted to rip it off her and fuck her the way I did last night—with all that sweat and passion. She would steal the focus for my opening. People would forget why they were even there once they looked at her. “What do you think, Lovely?”

She stared at herself in the mirror then ran her fingers down the front. “It’s beautiful.”

“Then that’s settled.” Jacques clapped his hands once. “Take it off, and I’ll wrap it up for you. You got a quite a deal, Mr. Donoghue. The price just dropped to ten thousand euro.”

London did a double take. “This is a ten-thousand-dollar dress?”

For the first time, Jacques looked offended. “It’s Valentino, girl. Worth every penny.”

London shut her mouth, knowing anything else she said would get Jacques worked up. She left the stage and returned to the fitting room to get dressed.

Jacques was still flustered by her comment. “Some people don’t understand quality.”

I felt the need to defend her even though I shouldn’t. “She comes from humble beginnings. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Well, it’s time to drop the humility. If she’s with you, she’s a very rich woman.”

London and I sat in the back of the car while Dunbar drove us back to the house. London was quiet, having nothing to say after her comment at the studio. Ever since I’d told her she would be my date for the evening, she’d closed like a clam.

I didn’t care for it.

I hit the button on the ceiling and closed the divider between Dunbar and us.

London tensed, probably knowing what was coming.

“That dress looked stunning on you. I hope you like it.”