Zephyr's Promise

15

If you agree that you can follow these rules there's no turning back. Once we step inside of the part you can't run, hide, or change your mind. Make your choice wisely.

Those were Atlas' words. When he first said them I'd taken them as a challenge. Now that I stand here with perfectly silken curls and a dress fit for a mafia princess I wonder if I hadn't heeded his warning enough. At the time all I had cared about was riling up the relatively poised man. Now that decision is biting me in the ass.

"Smile Nile, you look too gorgeous to have that look on your face." Ira beams.

"And what look might that be?" I mutter.

"You look constipated, which won't go over well with the other attendees." Moving around Ira clasps jewelery around my neck, wrists, and fingers. Within only an hour and a half she and Atlas' team had somehow transformed me into the part of a woman deemed worthy to stand by Atlas' side. "Do you know how big of a deal this is? I mean Atlas is one of the most notable crime lords in the underground. Having you on his arm, well that will make a statement." Another reason to rescind my decision. Unfortunately I know that can never happen. Not only would he not allow it but then there is the problem of my pride. The only way I would be backing out of accompanying him tonight is if I die or end up in a coma.

"Ira, too tight." I moan when she straps the back of my dress.

"Sorry." She squeaks. "Your figure is just so lovely I want to show it off."

A knock at the door thankfully interrupts the conversation. Not that I would have known what to respond anyways. When it came to clothing I opted often more for the flowy and at times frilly rather than tight and sensual. Most of the items in my closet would scar her if she ever saw them. Sweaters, t-shirts, sweatpants, blazers, dress shirts, leggings, and baggy pants. Those were my bread and butter whereas she went for the tight, short, curvy, silk kind of clothes.

The two of us couldn't be more opposite. Ira is as outspoken as they come. Often she takes the speak first and think later approach in her responses. Whereas I am an observer. I much rather take my time and think of the consequences, play out every scenario there is. Neither approach is perfect and at times I wish I were as fearless as her.

If she were wearing this vintage corset mini dress she'd stick her chest out, lift her head up and walk out with the confidence of a thousand suns. But I am not her. While I think I look beautiful in the a-line cut black dress with a flowy mini skirt I don't have the balls to walk out in these platforms like she does.

Outside looking in there is absolutely nothing wrong. A woman couldn't feel any more beautiful than what I looked like when looking in the mirror. My curls are full and lush framing my face perfectly. I look like an absolute angel. The black tights don't even itch either. Red lips, dark lashes. No problems with the very real pearls encircling my neck and wrists either. The issue is me. I know that unlike the other women there I am just a fake. Am I good enough fake is the question.

"It's time ladies." Axel ushers through the doors. "You know who is waiting."

The thought of him waiting for me sends a shiver down my spine. I imagine him patiently standing hoping for my arrival. It is serendipitous and unnerving. Will I be everything he expects? Likely not, for my sake I don't harp on the reality of it all. He may not be Prince Charming but a girl could pretend in order to push through.

"We're coming." She slips a satin purse with a pearl encrusted strap over my shoulder.

Not so gently she pushes me out of the door. Down the steps I follow her shakily. My left hand grazes the banister. There are too many thoughts rushing through my clouded head. Most of them include me messing up in some way, ultimately ruining all we have worked so hard to salvage.