Boss Lady

Scars To Your Beautiful

"For you, ma'am.", the server smiled and handed me the glass of champagne. As I pulled my hand back, I noticed a scrap of paper in my palm. I grinned a little. Some secret admirer perhaps?

The after party was in full swing, so I moved into the shadows of the balcony into the shadows of the starless Monégasque sky. In the dim light, I read a short message written in red ink in a horrible scribbly handwriting.

"I never will forget the way you look tonight...
The lady in red, the lady in red"

And encased within that paper was a single rose petal. I smelled the tiny  petal and laughed to myself. What a surprising gesture! But who was this mystery person who had written to me? Surely I didn't have fanclubs of men or womenchasing me around with love letters.

I turned the note back when another scribble held my attention.

"9 o'clock. 120 steps."

As quietly as I could I slipped away from the crowd. It was a Herculean task not to get stopped by someone because everybody wanted to talk to me after the wildly successful show.

I counted 120 steps to the left and reached a table covered with pretty white table cloth.A ceramic vase sat as the centerpiece and in it was a huge bouquet of bloodred roses in full bloom. I closed my eyes and smelled their sweet fragrance. Placed on the flowers was another scrap of paper to continue this treasure hunt. I decided to play along. I had an idea to who this could be but if it was who I thought it was then the wait would be well worth in the end.

I opened the note.

"I'm a sucker for a femme fatale in a red dress."

I grinned. Femme fatale wasn't a typical compliment but I liked the thought of being capable of destruction. Mostly I just loved the thought of being bad.

This note had a thorn in it. I held it between my fingers and it dug into my skin. Beauty with thorns. Good, I thought whoever this was knew me well. I was entirely wrapped in barbed wires, my inner soul in no man's land behind the barriers. To know me would hurt. People admired roses for their thorns. I could appreciate people who weren't afraid to get cut by thorns.

But there weren't anymore instructions. I waited, still as a statue. Something silky slid over my eyes. I gasped at the sudden sensation. The eyes were the most vulnerable part of the body. To be cut off from one's senses was terrifying.

But then a rough masculine voice sounded at my back.

"If you want the moon, do not hide from the night. If you want a rose do not hide from the thorns."

"Rumi....", I breathed out. The softly spoken word reverberated through the 450 year old castle.

I touched the silk blindfold on my eyes feeling his fingers on it. A rose petal glided softly on my face, my nose, lingered on my lips, on the base of my throat, the dip of my collarbone, down my arms into my clenched fist. I shivered.

"Ethan....", I whispered into the dark, his name a prayer on my lips, reverberating into the castle walls. His hand enveloped mine and he pressed my palm on his face.

" Ethan?", I asked feeling more vulnerable than ever.

"Shhhh. Shhhh.", he whispered into my ear. "You wanted to see me. This is the only way I can let you see me. "

How was I supposed to see with my eyes covered? And why did his voice sound so gruff, so.......afraid?

But I didn't ask any of that. I ran my hands through his silky blond strands, the planes of his face, the frown ridged in between the eyebrows, the unsmiling  lips drawn tight in a frown. I felt his strong neck and his shoulder blades but the moment he tensed, I stilled my hands. Physical intimacy took a great deal of trust between partners. Even a non-sexual touch could make people with strong boundaries very uncomfortable.