4

ALYONA

We headed downtown, bundled in our jackets, with a strange sense of purpose in our steps. Olivia walked a few steps ahead, already on the phone. The way she spoke—with so much confidence, switching between laughter and serious tone—it felt like she was talking to someone important. Maybe a stylist? Or a designer?

Ivy and I exchanged looks but didn’t ask. When Olivia was in her zone, we just followed. She always had a way of making things happen.

“But before anything,” Olivia said, slipping her phone into her pocket, “We need to buy a bottle of expensive wine.”

Ivy blinked and I raised a brow. We’d come this far, and something about Olivia’s excitement made it impossible not to trust her.

As we walked, Olivia turned to us with a sparkle in her eyes. “Okay, girls, here are the rules we need to follow.”

“Rules?” Ivy asked cautiously.

“Yeah. First question—best country?”

“America—my home,” Ivy answered proudly.

“Nope. Wrong.” Olivia grinned. “It’s Italy. Always say Italy.”

She didn’t give us time to argue. “Next—best designer?”

“Ralph Lauren,” I mumbled.

“For us? Yes. But for where we’re going, it’s Donatella Francesca,” Olivia said with a smirk. “Repeat after me: Donatella Francesca.”

“Donatella Francesca,” we echoed in confused unison.

“Best dish?” Ivy asked, hoping to redeem herself.

“Forget it,” Olivia waved her hand. “No food talk unless it’s truffle pasta or tiramisu.”

Ivy and I giggled, following her down a narrow street. Olivia stopped us near a small boutique that looked plain on the outside—no flashy signs, no mannequins. Just a clean glass door and some golden letters we couldn’t quite read.

“This is it,” Olivia whispered like she was letting us into a secret.

We stepped inside, and immediately, everything changed. The store was gorgeous—marble floors, soft golden lighting, rich velvet curtains, and racks of the most stunning gowns I had ever seen in real life.

A stunning girl with sleek dark hair and flawless skin greeted us. “Hello, how may I help you?”

Before I could even think of what to say, Olivia stepped forward with all the grace of someone who belonged there. She kissed the girl’s cheeks the way they do in movies and spoke in perfect Italian.

“Ciao, sei bellissima.”

“What was that?” I whispered from behind her.

“She said hello and told her she looks beautiful,” Ivy replied, just as stunned. I blinked. “How do you know Italian?”

“We don’t,” Olivia answered for both of us without looking back. “I took a few lessons last year. Now shut up and smile.”

We obeyed like clueless tourists. The elegant girl smiled warmly and nodded, then turned, motioning for us to follow.

“She's taking us to Mario,” Olivia whispered with a wink.

The man standing before us looked like he had stepped out of a fashion magazine from a parallel universe. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, wearing bright red suspenders clipped onto equally loud pants. His shirt was a parrot green mandala print, the kind you couldn’t ignore even if you wanted to. His face was clean-shaven, and his piercing green eyes studied us with quiet intensity.

He turned toward us slowly, giving us a strange, unreadable look.

Olivia stepped forward confidently. “Hello, Mario. These are my friends—Ivy and Alyona.”

Mario’s eyes lingered on me as he leaned in and kissed both my cheeks, Italian style.

“She is a beautiful one. Beautiful eyes, I must say,” he murmured.

I shifted awkwardly as his gaze swept over my face, then down to the rest of me. It felt more like he was studying me than complimenting me. Like I was being examined under a spotlight.

“You are a rare beauty. Are you Italian?” he asked, his voice low and slightly curious. I didn’t respond. I just stood there frozen, offering him a polite smile while trying to hide my discomfort.

Thankfully, Olivia stepped in and handed him the expensive wine bottle. His eyes sparkled the moment he saw it, and just like that, his attention shifted from me to the gift.

“Ahh, Bellissimo!” he said, clearly impressed. “Please, sit,”

He guided us to a plush white couch that sat in the middle of a beautiful waiting area. Everything around us gleamed—gold frames, velvet cushions, and the softest lighting that made the room look like a dream.

“Would you ladies like some coffee or tea?” he asked, already reaching for the intercom. “Coffee,” Olivia and Ivy chimed in.

He relayed the order through the intercom with practiced elegance, then turned back toward us with a gleam in his eye.

I leaned over and gave Olivia a little punch on the thigh. “This man makes me uncomfortable,” I whispered.

She shot me a sharp glare. “Shhh. Be quiet. He’s our only shot.”

“I assume you’re here to see my masquerade ball collection?” Mario asked, standing tall with pride.

“Yes!” we answered in perfect unison. His eyes rested on me again. I tried not to swallow, but the lump in my throat wouldn’t go away. 

“Perfect.” Mario stood and waved us to follow him. “Come, my darlings.”

We stepped into a large fitting room—no, a showroom. It was stunning. A soft, velvety carpet cushioned our steps. A massive mirror stretched across one wall, surrounded by smaller ones at perfect angles so you could see yourself from every direction.

We barely had time to admire it when Mario returned, wheeling in a large rack full of dresses. Silk, sequins, lace—every dress looked like it belonged in a movie. Mario stood tall in front of us, arms crossed like he was about to announce something life-changing. His expression was serious, but there was a hint of excitement in his eyes.

“All of my collection,” he began, “is far more expensive than what you girls can afford.”

Ouch. That stung a little. We froze, unsure of what he was getting at. Olivia’s face dropped slightly at the word expensive, and I saw her confidence flicker.

“But,” he continued, “Before I show you anything, I want to make a deal.”

We all looked at Olivia, waiting for her to say something—anything. But even she seemed stunned.

“What kind of deal?” Ivy asked, her voice small.

Mario’s eyes locked onto mine, and I instantly felt my stomach tighten.

“I want your friend Alyona to wear my showstopper dress,” he said plainly. “In return, I will give you all the dresses you want—free of charge.”

“What?” I blurted out, stepping back.

Before we could even process what he meant, Mario walked over to the covered rack beside him. With one dramatic tug, he pulled off the black velvet veil. 

Gasps escaped our mouths.

There it was, the dress. A breathtaking midnight blue masquerade gown shimmered under the boutique lights. The bodice was delicately embroidered with silver thread that caught the light like stars. The skirt flowed like a dream—layers of tulle and satin, soft as a whisper, edged with tiny crystal beads. A matching ornate mask hung beside it, glinting like moonlight.

My heart skipped a beat.

We stared at it, speechless.

It wasn’t just a dress—it was the dress.

“I designed it for someone unforgettable,” Mario said, his gaze never leaving mine. “And I think I’ve found her.”

I looked at Olivia and Ivy. They were as stunned as I was.

Everything inside me screamed don’t say yes yet—but the way that dress sparkled... it felt like it was waiting for me.

Still, I whispered, “Why me?”

Mario simply smiled. “Because when you walk into that ball, everyone will look at you... and they won’t be able to look away.”