Fatal Alliances [✓]

33

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

MALIA

MATEO WAS WAITING FOR ME IN THE LOBBY AT SIX. As I walked out of the elevator, I could see him and cautiously stepped one foot in front of the other to avoid tripping, aware that he stood there looking his effortless, gorgeous self, in his signature pressed suit.

The bag was wrapped in fine ribbons and included a notecard addressed to me with familiar calligraphic writing, pushed in between all of Mateo's monotone clothes, making me wonder when and how long his things had been prepared for him since.

Regardless, I found myself happily dressed in everything that had come within the wrapping a few hours later.

In spite of knowing that I looked more than fine in it — I felt exposed beneath all the spotlights as other's walked past me and tried not to gawk— from the staff to the guests staying in the building —though the stares didn't linger nor make me feel uncomfortable, as if they had been warned to keep themselves in check tonight.

The red dress was perfectly moulded to my body, the material rich and costly, with a cape-like scarf attached to it which was trailing the ground as my hips sashayed forward and the complimenting heels laced up around my anklets, my hair was set back, with the exception of a few curly strands, held with a simple, gold pin.

I didn't straighten it, I didn't do anything much to it. For once I embraced its natural state and rocked it with pride, knowing that was one thing that he seemed to really like.

Mateo must have been desperate for me to appear the part for whomever we anticipated meeting, because he'd texted after he'd hung up on me, announcing that someone would be there to assist me with my preparations.

I didn't want that at first, but my ears perked up when he said that a team of celebrity makeup artists would be arriving, and I realised it was an opportunity I had to take up —when I knew otherwise I'd have nothing to make me stand out.

So, like any makeup-obsessed person, I let the team in and let them have their way with me. My face was a blank canvas for them to work on, mainly for Kristoph DeLuca who truly wowed me, a Milan platinum-artist who was confident with each stroke of his brush, presenting me with the ultimate finished look —a signature classic, soft glam that accentuated the high points of my cheeks, and focused on my ruby-red lips entirely.

Kris cried actual tears after he was done, air kissing me on both cheeks while his assistants applauded his efforts. It was a real movie makeover moment, except I hadn't been particularly horrible to look at before.

Mateo's jaw was tense as I approached him, despite the fact that he had his phone to his ear, he slowly shifted his posture and sought for me to stop walking and address him before speaking himself.

"Six." Was all I said.

"Right on the dot." Mateo said, his eyes never leaving mine.

"I'm a very punctual person." I shrugged, trying to push myself past him.