Chapter 2 Red Wine and Sharp Tongues

Zolina's POV

Expensive perfumes flowed all around the luxuriously decorated hall. Women both young and old were dressed in elegant pieces, some short, some long gliding across the sleek floor. The men wore designer suits tailored to perfection. Rich people everywhere making me self aware.

I wasn't rich but I wasn't poor. I had made enough money from my forex venture to uproot myself from Umbria, Italy to Dubai to follow my desire for fashion design. I know most people would ask why not go to Milan? Yes it is one of the major fashion centers in the world and a lot of luxury brands are from Italy just like Dolce and Gabbana, whose event I am currently attending.

Umbria was too quiet and too calm for me. I was attracted to Dubai's tall and flashy buildings and the diversity of its people. Besides, it's closer to home than places like New York.

I swooped up a flute of champagne from the waiter close to me who then gave me a polite smile. I took a small sip of the bubbly liquid as my new best friend Evara, who I met when I arrived in Dubai two months ago, pulled me around the grand hall, forcing me to interact and mingle with the rich. This was easy for her because she is used to such events since she comes from old money.

She is the reason why I got to attend this launch event in the first place. She got an invite from D&G and took me with her as her plus one. She knows of my dream to start up my own fashion line and that's why she didn't think twice to drag me along.

"Wow slow down young lady. We don't want to bump into these rich folks." You never know how they might react. You know rich people can be snobs. And that's not the kind of attention I want on myself here in a foreign country.

"Am just trying to get us to my parents. I've seen them somewhere and they aren't snobs like everybody else," she pulls my hand with hers and drags me towards her parents who mind you i've never met.

"Oh so I am meeting the parents? Best friend upgrade nice I guess," I was freaking out. Of all days, today she decides to introduce me to her parents. Am already tense as it is and she wants me to meet her parents. She says that they are not snobs but what if they think that I don't deserve to be her friend. Older white people do not necessarily want their kids to be friends with people of my skin color.

I am a black girl from Italy and my mom is black from Nigeria but my dad is Italian. But I clearly took my skin color from my mom but lighter because of my dad and I inherited my dad's hazel eyes. So they were going to judge. Maybe? But I shouldn't jump to conclusions because she said they are friendly.

"What if they don't like me Eva?"

"We'll see"

What?!

I didn't have time to reply because we arrived in front of an older couple. The woman had luscious brunette hair with beautiful blue eyes and didn't look a day over 30 but was actually 50.She was elegantly dressed with a gown which without mistake was designer. You could tell she was Evara's mother. No need for DNA. The man looked to be in his late forties with his jet black hair with small touches of white. He had steel grey eyes that could look into anyone's soul but it softened and a small smile grazed his lips when his gaze landed on his daughter.

"Mom, dad, you guys made it," she went ahead and hugged them while I stood behind her quietly and uneasy, my champagne long forgotten.

"Your mother insisted on coming. You know how she loves fashion. I couldn't refuse," her father said looking lovingly at his wife who just brushed him off chuckling.

"Right. Talking about fashion, meet my best friend, Zolina Lanconi. An amazing designer. You should really see her sketches mom," she turned towards me and all the attention moved from her to me.

She pulled me in front of her parents who were looking at me curiously.

"It's nice to meet you Mr and Mrs Esposito,"I greet them politely offering my hand for a handshake.

A big smile spreads across Mrs Esposito's face and she ignores my hand and pulls me towards her and engulfs me in a warm motherly hug.

"Oh my, Evara talks so much about you Zolina. You are definitely her best friend alright,"

"Good things I hope,"I say, chuckling lightly.

"Certainly. And call me Maria. Mrs just makes me feel old and I want to feel young if you get me," she says playfully, making us laugh.

Mr. Esposito shakes my hand and tells me to call him Stavros. We mingled and Evara cracked some jokes making us laugh and the tension I had felt was now non-existent. Her parents were not what I had expected. They were nice and welcoming. I don't know if it was because I was Evara's best friend but anyway I'll take it.

"See, I told you they'll like you. You gotta trust your bestie. I know what i'm doing," she put her arms around my shoulder while we made our way to the washroom or as the rich would say, powder room.

"Yeah yeah, I guess you were right," I laugh softly as I wrap my arm around her waist. We clearly were girl best friends if you could see us right now.

.......

After leaving the powder room we decided to go and view the new D&G collection to be released. I now had a glass of red wine. Champagne is nice but red wine is my everything. Much preferred by me.

Evara had excused herself when she received a call from her current rich client who had hired her to design the interior of his mansion.

I was admiring a breathtaking piece on display-a velvet-embroidered abaya reimagined with a modern twist-when I felt a sharp jolt at my back. The force knocked the glass forward, the liquid arcing in slow motion before it splattered across my stomach.

Crimson on ivory.

I gasped, looking down in horror as the deep red bled across the fabric like a spreading wound.

"Oh my god-" I started, turning around.

And then I saw him.

Tall. Sharp-jawed. Dressed in a black tuxedo tailored within an inch of his life. His expression was unreadable-calm, even bored-as if he hadn't just bumped into me like a wrecking ball and destroyed my evening.

"You bumped into me," I said, my voice high with disbelief.

He tilted his head, almost lazily. "You were standing in the middle of the aisle."

Was this man serious?

"I was admiring a gown!" I snapped. "You ran into me like a damn truck."

He looked down at my dress with a blank expression, then lifted his eyes back to mine. "That's unfortunate. I'll pay for it."

He reached into his jacket and casually pulled out a matte black credit card, extending it like a napkin.

I didn't take it.

"This is vintage, and it's silk," I hissed. "You think you can just throw money at people when you mess up?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Would you rather I hand-sew it?"

I glared. "I'd rather you apologize."

The corner of his mouth lifted in something that almost looked like amusement. "You're dramatic."

"And you're insufferable."

He blinked. Then slipped the card back into his pocket like it was beneath him to continue. "It's just a dress."

"It's not just a dress," I said, heat creeping up my neck. "I made it and it took me three weeks to hand-finish the embroidery. Not like you care".

A flicker of something passed across his eyes-confusion, maybe. Or surprise. But then it vanished.

"Well," he said coolly, "Use wine-resistant thread next time."

I almost slapped him.

Instead, I let out a sharp breath, shook my head, and walked away before I lost control. I could still feel the stain soaking into the fabric. I could still feel him-his arrogance, his presence, his ridiculous cheekbones-burning in the back of my mind.

Who the hell did he think he was?

I tried to salvage the rest of the dress, but the damage was done. People stared. Whispers around me like a shadow.

I didn't know his name, but I hated him.

And I hated that he got under my skin.

I decided to slip out without Evara because she wasn't done with her call and I didn't want to be a burden. The warm night air slapped my face as I exited the hotel, and for the first time since arriving in Dubai, I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I couldn't. I wouldn't give him that power.

Back in my apartment, I peeled off the ruined dress and draped it gently across my chair, heart heavy. The wine stain looked even worse under the bright light. I stared at it for a long time before I took out my phone and opened my messages.

Evara was blowing up my phone.

EVARA:

Babe!! Where'd you go?

You missed the dessert tower!

EVARA:

Also... did you meet my brother?

I frowned.

ME:

Wait... who's your brother?

She sent a photo.

No.

NO.

The image loaded: tuxedo. Cheekbones. Smirk.

It was him.

I dropped the phone.

So that arrogant, entitled, too-good-to-apologize man was her brother? The same Eros I'd heard her mention? The older brother who'd flown in from London recently and kept a low profile? The one she said I'd meet "eventually"?

Perfect. Just perfect.

So not only did I embarrass myself, ruin my dress, and get disrespected-I had to see him again. Repeatedly. Because he was family to my friend. The one person in Dubai who actually felt like home.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I took a deep breath and poured myself a glass of water. I'd faced worse. I didn't fly halfway across the world, build my life from scratch, and claw my way into this city just to be shaken by some man in a tuxedo.

Still... I had a feeling Eros wouldn't be easy to ignore.

Or forget.