and we could just move on to a life that didn’t include an international crime syndicate.
When I left the B&B in the minivan and headed out to Jada’s, the sky was gray. There was a storm brewing. Storms and I rarely got along anymore after going off a cliff in one, but after everything I’d learned this week―after the bomb, and the syndicate, and Jada’s fear―the dark clouds seemed even more ominous.
♫ ♫ ♫
I stared at my image in the mirror for a long moment. It was a Violet I’d never seen. I’d worn elegant gowns before, but this was something altogether different. It felt extravagant and decadent, over the top in a way I would never have done on my own.
The dress was a deep burgundy covered in black lace with rows upon rows of gems, thankfully not real but shining as if they were. The sleeveless lace top began just below the hollow of my neck, showing my skin underneath, until it joined the burgundy silk arched over my breasts like a heart. There was no way I could wear a normal bra with it. I was wearing the paste-on things I hated but that Jada insisted all the models used.
My blonde hair was slicked back and curled under so it seemed almost bob-like, and my forehead was circled with a headband of gems that wound around to the back. I’d used the black liner to create a cat eye that I’d accentuated with dark eye shadows, copying from the party scenes in the DiCaprio Gatsby movie.
My arms were littered with even more gems, bracelets layered upon bracelets. They were all borrowed from Jada’s collection, some real, some fake but still worth a small fortune. I felt like hyperventilating because there was so much at stake if even one of them fell from my wrist.
Jada came in, and I stared open-mouthed. If I looked different, she was out-of-this-world different. Her black lace was over a lining so pale a blue it was almost white. The elaborate jewels on the dress flocked her like a Christmas tree. Brilliant and sparkling.
Her hair was gelled into place in a much stiffer version of mine. She’d pasted curls onto her cheekbones before curling the rest under into her own fake bob.
Our bodies were similar. When we stood next to each other, if you removed our heads, we’d almost be the same. Pale skin. Slight frames accentuated with small curves. She was slightly shorter than me but not by much.
There was a difference, though. Whereas I felt like I was truly in a costume, Jada’s appearance seemed to fit her.
“You’re gorgeous,” I said. “These costumes are incredible.”
“You look beautiful,” she replied and then smirked. “Dawson’s going to lose it.”
“And Dax? Will he lose it too?” I asked.
Her smile slipped away.
“Whatever you’re thinking about Dax and me, stop,” Jada said.
“Remember, I used to think that about Dawson and me, but now look at us. You never know what will happen with enough time.”
“I will never not be Jada Mori, and he will never not be Dax Armaud, which means there will never be a Jada and Dax,” she said quietly.
She slid her black-gloved hand through my arm, and we left her suite. We strolled into the entryway where I came to a complete stop. Instead of the modern glass and steel that normally filled her home, it had been transformed into an Art Deco showcase. Red with gold accents. Colored glass. Mosaics and paintings. In the center, there was a fountain made of Roman gods molded out of gold, spraying pink liquid that bubbled and foamed. The fountain itself was surrounded by exotic flowers with a heavy, intoxicating scent filling the room.
It screamed black-and-white movies and also over-the-top wealth. It was like a fairy tale, a James Bond, and a classic movie had all melded together.
“Holy crap, Jada. How much did this cost?” I asked, breathless at the thought of it.
She shrugged. “His only child will get engaged once, so Otōsan took what I had started and threw another gob of money at it.”
We circled the fountain to the pair of huge doors that led to the main living area. The doors were opened for us by men in black tuxedos with top hats and gloves. Beyond them was a scene that could easily have been from The Great Gatsby. Glittering jewels, a field worth of flowers, twenties music, and a twitter of conversation. Everyone in the room seemed to have a glass of