Everything you need to know about Red.
Being a father to be, and in such a complicated moment of his professional life, Red has a lot to protect. He'll have to do the impossible in order to save the woman of his life from the murder accusations tha...
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I nearly wilt under Red's furtive gaze as he offers his hand for me to step off the black Lamborghini, even though he's just here as my bodyguard. The glow in his ember eyes is enough to boost my already vast ego because I do feel more radiant as the full moon above.
"Thanks," I whisper, standing upright while gathering the fabric of my opulent red dress that flares with the light evening breeze basking its long, A-line skirt.
Spaghetti straps are holding the upper bodice perfectly to fit my chest while showing a very small amount of cleavage, sexy without being vulgar, and the long crack embedded from the waist area exposes the gold-tan skin of my thigh, together with the six-inches diamond studded heel that makes me almost as tall as Red when we stand side by side.
Well, Giovanni did it again. My big cheque to him is certainly paying off with all the ravenous gazes I gather already, which, for some reasons, I don't think my bodyguard enjoys. But we're here for a mission and I'm the means to his end.
"It's Mia Kingston!" I hear this stoutly before the Cameras flash my face like a billow of light, making me squint a bit.
I've been off the spotlight for more than three months but it's not an impediment to my glamorous performance in front of the media and all the insolent paparazzi. And tonight I intend to have all the attention like a bitchy queen I'm geared to be, stepping on whoever crosses my path for that matter.
On the strappy back of my dress, Red sets his hand and holds my waist protectively, as if he's afraid someone among the small crowd would abduct me, or worse. He's not tense, but he's a bit restless. I don't react to it but through his body language I can hear him say we should get inside as soon as we can and I comply.
Voices start to pour from every angle as we walk from the Lamborghini.
"Mia? Mia? Mrs. Kingston?"
"We have a few questions for you!"
"Is it true the case against you is still open while the investigation proceeds?"
"Are you still going to launch your next collection despite everything?"
"You look incredible! Is that Fernanda Inglesias's limited collection?"
I don't respond. They're like a bunch of hungry chickens waiting for their keeper to throw the grains. Or better yet, like vicious vultures ready to scratch and chew you alive at one slip of a tongue in the name of information. But no, the time is not yet, and certainly not here outside the walls, to give them a bone.
I keep walking boldly over the red carpet-strewn floor between two aluminum-poled perimeters with maroon tapes, with too many reporters and microphones outstretched toward me from outside the railings, crying and begging for interviews. Red stalks every step I take, and I have a feeling he's carrying a gun today.
Honestly, I didn't expect it would be this huge of a party with a bunch of reporters at all. But It's okay. The more they are, the bigger the drama. I keep my smile—although a dry, sly, and bitchy kind of smile that I'm not so proud of—until I'm off their eyes and into the entrance of Kingston Hotel Ballroom.
