I walked over to the door, opening it wide and staring into the face of a gorgeous, tall blonde.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
I knew instantly who she was. I could recognize my own competition, and fuck, was it competition alright.
The girl was stunning, with classical features that reminded me of a renaissance sculpture. Her hair was long and pin-straight, the color so light it was almost white. Her eyes were a dazzling grey and she held herself in a regal way that made me assume she was royalty.
“Hello,” she replied. “You’re the American?”
“English,” I corrected her, glancing behind her at the hallway. “Do you all know each other?”
“Mostly,” the blonde shrugged. “You are Amber Jonathan?”
“Yes. And you are?”
“Freya,” she responded. “From the royal court of Bardland.”
She held her hand out at an awkward angle and when I realized she thought I would kiss it, I let out a snort. She didn’t like that, raising her eyebrows and glaring at me from the bridge of her perfect nose.
“You Americans have no respect,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Wear the pink one. It will look great with your hair.”
She turned to leave, leaving me standing there aghast. I shut the door behind her, too shocked to make a move just yet.
But there was something she’d made me realize.
I sure as hell wasn’t going to wear that pink dress.
“Princess Freya of Bardland!”
She made her way past the rest of us waiting behind the plush scarlet curtain, shoving me on purpose and making me stumble. I yelped, and she smirked at me as she left me behind.
I reached down while she made her exit, realizing she’d ripped my dress.
I’d chosen so carefully – a beautiful Valentino bordeaux red satin dress with diamanté chain straps that clung to my body tightly. It was sleeveless, with thin spaghetti straps and a slightly curved neckline that draped down to my behind in the back. I’d paired it with Prada crystal-embellished black pumps in the same satin material, which gave me an extra four inches of height. I’d straightened my hair, letting it fall down my back smoothly. My makeup was minimal, with a flick of black eyeliner on my eyes. Polished 18-karat gold hoop earrings completed the look, giving it a timeless feel.
It was a daring yet classic outfit, but I was glad I’d picked it, especially after seeing what the other women were wearing. It seemed like we’d all chosen our very best for the selection in Luxuria.
I knew there was only one girl ahead of me in the line, and after a moment’s thought, I looked down at my dress, the glaring rip revealing inches of my thigh. I didn’t hesitate. I grapped the fabric and flinched as I ripped the dress higher, eliciting a gasp from the girl standing next to me.
“Your dress!” she cried out.
“Don’t worry,” I smiled at her. “It’ll be fine.”
She gave me a worried look just as the announcer called out, “Zara Patel, of the Patel family of hoteliers.”
I watched her step through the curtain, smiling as she descended the stairway. It would be my turn next, and I chewed my bottom lip nervously while the announcer told the audience about Zara.
Her family was obviously well-to-do and needed no introduction, but Zara was also successful in her own might, having a degree from Oxford University.
Shame made me hang my head. What would the announcer say about me? I didn’t have a fancy background, and the thought of all my dirty secrets being aired out for everyone to see made me worry even more. I felt like a failure in that ripped dress. It was just like me – pretending to be something I was so obviously not. I’d always be the poor little church mouse pretending to understand the world of the elite.
I watched Zara descend the marble stairs just as my name was called.
“Amber Jonathan from London!” the announcer said, and I walked out, holding my breath and my head high as a maid pulled the velvet curtains open.
The announcer went silent and the light blinded me for a second. I shielded my eyes for a second until they got adjusted to the sharp lighting.
I took a step forward, feeling my dress open in a revealing spot up my thigh. The crowd gasped, and I knew my trick had worked. I’d added a slit to my dress that revealed my pale skin, the curve of my body making me sway my hips as I took the stairs.
My heels were staggeringly tall, , but I had all the confidence in the world as I walked down the stairs. Suddenly I wasn’t Amber Jonathan again. I was a girl worthy of Olivier, a girl that could match up to the others. No longer the thirteenth girl, the outcast. I deserved to be there, goddamnit.
I remembered the way the announcer had spoken about Zara and Freya before her. Now, when it was my turn, she was silent. There was nothing to say about me. I was the outcast in a sea of royals, rich bitches and spoiled heiresses.
But I held my head high through it all, and as I descended the stairs, I searched the sea of faces below me for a familiar sight. There were so many people, decked out in expensive clothes and stone-cold faces. But finally, my eyes settled on him.
Olivier sat on a throne opposite of the stairs, flanked by a woman who must have been his mother. My path led me to stand before them, and I curtsied in front of them as I’d been instructed to.
I’d forgotten just how handsome he was. His golden hair was cropped, but still allowed his curls to form, adorning his head in a way that made him irresistibly handsome. His golden eyes shone like the collar that would soon be placed around my throat as part of Luxuria’s tradition. Olivier wore a navy suit, and a crown was perched on top of his head, smaller than the queen’s, but still important. He was a dream come to life. The prince I’d dreamed of since I was a little girl. I’d barely had time to glance at the Queen, too consumed by watching Olivier.
A woman approached me, and I knew what was coming next as my eyes connected with the Prince’s, burning passion igniting me from deep inside.
The woman placed a beautiful beaten gold collar around my throat. The collar had thirteen empty slots, little indentations in the metal, where I’d been told precious stones would be inserted – one for every time Olivier picked me. The end goal, of course, was to have all thirteen stones in the collar. I would wear it until the end of the selection, and I had every intention of being a married woman by the end of it.
I bowed to the Prince and Queen again after the servant had placed the collar around my throat. I felt Olivier’s gaze following me as I took my spot amidst the other girls. His gaze lingered on the slit in my dress, appreciatively admiring my legs. My heart was beating so fast I could hardly breathe.
Throughout the ceremony, I felt Olivier glancing at me, but I did my best not to acknowledge it. It would be best if I pretended not to notice. He shouldn’t be playing favorites this early on.
Once the introductions were gone, I looked at the other girls standing beside me.
There were so many different women, but all of them were beautiful beyond belief. I knew I stood out like a sore thumb in my ripped dress, but I was past the point of caring. Olivier had chosen me for a reason and I had every right to be there.
The Queen stood up from her throne, and we all bowed as she stepped to the front of the staircase, addressing her subjects.