He was dressed like James Bond, very suave she thought, the unmistakable
tailoring of his suit had the air of extravagance to it.
“You’ve picked a good one this time.” She congratulated
herself silently.
As she was assessing him she noted he was making his own
appraisal. She was thankful for her friend Clare whose skill with a needle
created a masterpiece that showed off her curves to best effect.
Seemingly he approved too, his smile was both dangerous and
disarming and something inside her fluttered.
Her dress was the colour of rich butter; she was no longer a
margarine girl from the council estate. She was off to a grand ball, only
Sebastian had neglected to tell her it was a black and white do.
As soon as they entered the ballroom her mistake became obvious
even to her uneducated eye. She stood out for all the wrong reasons, a lone
daffodil in a bouquet of exquisite lilies. Common – that was the only word for
it.
Suddenly she was fourteen again in a hand-me-down dress at
the school disco. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Sebastian realising
his faux pas of picking the wrong kind of flower was nonchalantly looking
around and ever so slightly distancing himself from her.
It took courage not to turn her back on the lot of them and
run. She didn’t belong here, that was painfully obvious. Were they already
sniggering? Or was it her overworked imagination.
In the split second of deciding what to do for the best to
salvage the situation a waiter appeared by her side.
“Champagne?” Glasses sparkled on a tray elegantly presented
to her. “The colour perfectly matches your dress.” He added with a wink and she
knew it would be rude to refuse.
Of course Sebastian had completely deserted her by this
point, but she stood a little taller, breathed deeply and took a sip…
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