Part One: Chapter Twenty-Eight.
"You're not in command Citrus," —Senior Bukhara.
The Bukhara Residence
The outcome from a wound was often permanent. It was rare that a burn from the stove didn't leave a life-long scar as a reminder, or that falling when learning to ride a bike as an adolescent and scraping your knee—wouldn't live in your mind rent-free and resurface every time you saw the two-wheeled contraption.
Wounds became a burden when they went untreated. A lingering fester that grew and hovered over your every existence, and on some occasions transferring into a troubling infection.
An infection that could ultimately lead to destruction.
"Oh my!" Xylani placed her hand over her mouth. "This looks absolutely amazing Citrus!" She continued to gape, "Everything came out exactly how we planned. Thank you for doing this on such short notice babes."
The estate's ballroom was fully decorated from top to bottom. The color scheme following a cool beige, everything simple but elegant. No dish, table cloth, drape, or flower was less than one thousand dollars. There was no telling how much had been spent on preparing for this day. Though, no complaints were made because Samison Bukhara deserved it. This had been a long-awaited day. His return was just as important as the birth of a Christian's beloved savior.
"You're welcome," Citrus forced a smile.
Just as she suspected, what was supposed to be a team effort turned into a full-blown Citrus effort. Which in this case worked in her favor. She had control over everything, she knew the ins and outs of this whole night. Considering she planned it all.
"You look beautiful by the way," Xylani complimented.
"So do you."
Xylani's shapely figure was fit into an expresso brown Jovani ball gown. Tight and fitting at the top and pooled out into an extraordinary train at the bottom. It was one of a kind, freshly released from the Spring collection and she had been the first to wear it.
"It's packed in here." Citrus looked around the room.
It was filling up with more and more guests as the clock ticked on, though the man of the hour had yet to make an appearance.
"Tell me about it," Xylani agreed before sending a tap to Citrus's shoulder, "Incoming."
Citrus raised a brow, slowly following the direction of Xylani's eyes. She scoffed to herself and tightened her hand around her wine glass.
"Hello lovely ladies," Jaison smiled brightly, "You both look beautiful."
"Hmm," Xylani hummed, "Thank you."
Jaison turned to Citrus, who tried her best to avoid eye contact. She just wasn't in the mood for his shenanigans tonight, she had more important things to focus on.
"You can't speak?" He teased.
"I didn't see a reason to," Citrus shrugged, slowly sipping from her glass.
"You're here for my husband not her," Xylani joined in.
"Touché," He raised his glass, "Nice seeing you both. You especially Citrus, it is always lovely seeing you."
"Whatever," Citrus rolled her eyes.
"Enjoy your night," Jaison winked before turning on his heels and venturing off.
"He's so strange," Xylani exhaled.
"Tell me about it," Citrus looked down at her freshly done nails, "Do you know where our husbands are? The event started an hour ago."
