"What's wrong with the green one? I've never seen you wear it," Vera asked as she nudged her nose in the direction of the green dress lying on my bed.
"The slit is too high. It'll show off the scar." I took the dress and throw it aside, leaving room for a plain black dress with a not-so-high slit and a red one I didn't even like.
I should have taken on his offer to get me a stylist.
Vera groaned in frustration as she walked towards the dress I had tossed and picked it up. "Are you scared of what people are going to think? It's Las Vegas. Everyone would be too drunk out of their minds to be looking at someone else. Wear what you want."
"What if—"
"No, I don't care what would happen if Luciano sees it or not. If he does say something stupid, hit me up and I'll drive all the way to come get you…right after I cuss him out. We might not make it out alive, though." I didn't laugh at her joke.
"Okay, put it on first. Let me see how far the slit goes." She pushed the dress into my arms and placed her hands on her hips as she waited for me.
Veronica was one of the sparse number of people who found my scar normal. She even cried with me after finding out how I got the scar, buying me ice cream every day for the whole week after that.
I was already in my underwear, so I slipped the dress on and turned around for her to help me zip it up.
It was a floor-length, silk dress with little stones on them and a perfect corset. I fell in love with it the moment I found it and bought it impulsively. That was three months ago. I hadn't worn it since then.
"After careful evaluation, there's only one thing I have to say; screw everyone and everything, you're wearing this dress." She crossed her arms.
I laughed. I admired her ability to make a joke whenever and wherever.
I put my left leg forward and sighed. Only a faint hint of the scar was peeking out. The slit wasn't so high, after all.
"Maybe I should wear the dress."
"Absolutely. It goes so well with your hair and—what now?" She frowned as a knock on the door cut her off.
I picked up the red and the black dress and shoved them into a drawer. I would sort them out when I got back.
Vera returned to the room with an unimpressed look on her face. "What kind of a person just… shows up? He didn't even call you, did he? He's out waiting for you in the living room."
I checked my phone for the time. It was six-thirty. Didn't he say to get ready by seven?
"God, I'm not ready. Go entertain him or something," I said.
Vera looked around the room as if searching for someone else that I could possibly be talking to.
"Who, me?"
"Please, Vera. I owe you after this one, I promise."
"Did he tell you he's in need of a jester or something?" she scoffed.
"Just… start up a conversation. Anything, I don't know."
"And what do I get in return?" She crossed her arms.
"Anything you want from the Strip. One of those drinks we got when we were there?" I offered.
She gave it a thought, but she shook her head. "Chocolates. The best ones are over there. Don't disappoint me."
"You're not even gonna give me a brand name to ask for?"
"Do not disappoint." She blew me a kiss as she went back to the living room.
I rushed through my makeup. Just as I was putting on my heels, Luciano sent a text.
Luciano: It's seven. Get yourself out here. You should look appropriate enough by now.
I grabbed the second heel in my hand and shoved my phone in my purse as I galloped out of the room and found Luciano in the living room, surprisingly alone.
Just then, Vera came out of the kitchen with a packet of cookies in her hands. She shrugged as she mouthed the words "I tried."
I sighed, turning back to Lucian. His gaze swept me for just a second, not lingering on the peeping scar like I feared it would.
"Hello—"
"Let's go." He gave me his hand. I found it difficult to take it since I had my heel in one and my purse in the other. I played it safe my putting the purse-holding hand in his as he led me out of the house.
"Bye! Have fun," Vera sang as she closed the door.
Before we got into the car, where I wanted to put my other heel on, Luciano stopped with a sigh.
"Why do you act the way you do?" He turned so that he was facing me. He looked and sounded mad, I started to wonder what it was that I did.
"I don't understand." I shook my head.
"Hand me the shoe." He stretched his hand out. I hesitantly gave the shoe to him. "Now, lift your bare foot."
"I don't—I can't do that."
"And why not?"
"You're going to help me put the shoe on?" I knew he was, but I was leading him to answer, so I would tell him why I couldn't do it.
"Oh, no, I found it appetizing. I'm going to eat it." He rolled his eyes after letting the sarcastic answer roll down his tongue.
Fuck you, Luciano D'Angelo.
"Well, if you are going to help me wear it, I can't stand on one heeled foot. I'd fall backwards." Bet that one made him feel stupid, the arrogant ass.
He let out another annoyed sigh as he grabbed my hands and placed them on his shoulders.
"Hold on tight and lift your fucking leg, Jasmine." His accent was easier to hear when he was mad, but because I had little to no experience with accents, I still didn't know what exact accent he had. It sounded French, but I could be mistaken. The only thing I knew was that it was not completely American.
I grabbed on to his shoulder as I gingerly lifted my leg. My heart thudded fast as my dress rode up a bit, revealing a little more of the scar.
I stayed as still as I possibly could, trying not to draw attention to my other leg as I watched him struggle with the strap of the heel.
"If you didn't know how to do it in the first place, you could have just let me do it myself." I winced at his pathetic attempts at buckling the strap.
He looked up at me, his dark eyes swirling with frustration and anger. "It's dark and I can't see quite well. I'm getting around it."
After ten more seconds of him fumbling with a strap and my other leg starting to develop a cramp, I drew my leg out of his hands. "Let me do it myself."
I squatted and buckled the straps in record time, compared to his full minute.
I stood up and watched him adjust his tie as he cleared his throat. "Now, are you ready?"
"Yeah." I nodded as he took my hand once again and led me to the car where he buckled my seat belt (at least he didn't spend an hour on that one) and went over to the driver's seat, where we zoomed off.
~~
"For someone who can't see in the dark, you do know how to drive at night," I sent a risky jab at Luciano as we got to our destination – a casino so huge that I didn't know where it started and where it ended. How many things did people do in casinos for it to be as big as this one?
I saw his jaw tick as he brushed his fingers through his hair. "Do not test me tonight, Jasmine. I spent the last drops of my patience at the red lights."
I made a face as he took my hand. Was that supposed to make me cower in fear or something?
I almost laughed. Somehow, I didn't see it. I didn't see what made people call him the most feared man around Las Vegas. I didn't see what people feared so much.
I used to be scared of snakes when I was little, but the first time I held a python in my hands, I thought 'Hey, snakes aren't so bad, after all.'
That was how I felt in the moment. That maybe the Capo wasn't so bad, after all.
I was foolishly wrong.