Red for the Cameras

IMOGEN'S POV

"I don't understand what you want me to do Mother. I am stuck here with my wedding dress."

"Don't worry about it," she replied. "I have sent over someone I trust to get you a nice dress, shoes and some jewellery. She will also be there to do your makeup. I am sure those hounds that call themselves reporters will be flicking the hotel for a scoop. We cannot give them that. Imogen, I understand that this is tough but we have to form a united front. This is who we are. Family."

Family? I almost scoffed. I was the victim. So why was I being forced to cover up for that beast of a man? Why shouldn't the world know what kind of man Elijah Rossi was?

Yet despite the rage boiling over, I hated that I agreed with her. Even if Elijah was being exposed for the bastard that he was, he would bounce back. There was however a huge chance that I wouldn't.

His family practically owned the city. It did not matter if he was a questionable man. At the end of the day, money spoke and money was the one thing I did not have. So of course, I needed to bend lest I broke.

"I understand, Mother." I choked out as the receiver went dead.

I sighed heavily at the hung-up phone, my mind swirling with conflicting emotions.

I understood my mother-in-law's intentions were to protect the Rossi name, but it was difficult for me to reconcile that with my own sense of justice.

I placed the phone back on its cradle and then made my way to the bathroom for a quick shower before the woman my mother-in-law had hinted at arrived.

The hot water cascaded over my tired body, washing away the remnants of my frustration. I let out a shaky breath, trying to steel myself for what lay ahead. Which was a lot if I thought about it.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted my thoughts, and I quickly wrapped myself in my robe before answering.

I looked into the peephole again and saw a woman this time around. She had beautiful red hair and was dressed in an emerald green suit that matched the colour of her natural hair. In her hands were bags. Shopping bags.

"Who are you?" I asked, figuring it was the woman Elijah's mother had mentioned. But I couldn't be certain.

"Imogen Rossi? They told me this was your room. I suggest you let me in before those–"

I obeyed. Upon opening the door, a woman pushed past me and entered the room, shutting the door behind her in a flurry of activity and bags in her arms.

"Sorry to barge in like this, but time is of the essence," the woman said briskly, her tone businesslike as she surveyed the room. "We need to get started immediately. The longer we wait, the greater the risk of those pesky reporters sniffing around."

I felt a pang of anxiety at her words, a reminder of the scrutiny I was under.

"What are we doing?"

"Throwing them off." She replied.

I nodded silently, stepping aside to allow the woman to work her magic.

With practised efficiency, she set to work, unpacking bags filled with dresses, shoes, and jewellery, laying them out on the bed with practised precision. It felt like this was not the first time she had done something like this. It made me wonder if this kind of behaviour was rampant among those in high society.

So I asked; "Do you do this a lot?"

"What?" The woman asked that I clarify. I watched her pick up two gowns. One was red and the other was black. She eyeballed them while she threw temporary gazes at me.

"You must know why you are here," I told her. Not feeling quite proud to say it for what it was.

"Mrs. Rossi," the woman approached me with the red dress and placed it over my body. Our eyes made contact and she smiled. "I don't ask personal questions when it comes to my clients. I am just your wardrobe today. But it is in the news. Even on TV. So I do know of your predicament. Do you want to talk about it? I could listen."

I could tell she really didn't mean it. She didn't care. Like she said, she was just a wardrobe. All she wanted to do was get paid and I respected that. The last thing I would also want to deal with was drama.

"No, it's fine," I replied, offering a smile.

She didn't push any further.

I let her continue her work in silence, feeling a strange sense of detachment as I allowed myself to be swept up in the whirlwind of preparations.

For better or for worse. I had said those words in front of the church and God.

I was tied to the Rossi family now, and I had to play my part, no matter how distasteful it may be.

"Mmm, red is definitely your colour," the woman remarked, her eyes assessing me with a keen gaze as she draped the dress over my body again. "If you wear this. It will distract the media considerably. Bring attention to your dress and how good you wear it rather than rumours about your relationship."

The fabric felt luxurious against my skin, and I couldn't help but admire the intricate beadwork that adorned the top, shimmering like crimson droplets in the room's light.

I forced a smile at her compliment, though inside, I felt anything but radiant. "Thank you," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

My 'wardrobe as she had called herself encouraged me to remove my bathrobe and slip into the dress, I complied, though each movement felt mechanical, as if I were merely going through the motions.

The dress was perfect just like she had promised. It hugged my curves perfectly, accentuating my figure in all the right places. In any other situation, I would have been obsessed but all I could focus on was the suffocating weight of the lie I was supposed to show the world. Pretend like I was happy when I was utterly miserable.

"Oh my... You look exquisite. Red was the better choice."

"I'm glad," I muttered.

"We should do something with your hair and face now." She continued, taking me by the shoulders and leading me to the dresser.

She continued to praise everything from the healthiness of my hair and the proportion of my face as she worked on my hair and makeup, her hands deftly weaving strands of hair into an elegant updo while she applied makeup with practised perfection.

She finished the look with a bold swipe of dark red lipstick and urged me to look in the mirror.

I looked... I looked beautiful. I looked like a woman whose life was treated right.

"You aren't dressed if you aren't wearing a smile." The woman told me before proceeding to twist my mouth upward like I was a kind of mannequin. I let my face stay with that plastic smile while she retouched the parts of my face she had touched. "Your smile is your mask. If you do not have it on. The hounds will bite and tear you apart. That is my little nugget."

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, all I saw was a hollow shell of the woman I used to be. No amount of makeup could disguise the emptiness that lurked behind my eyes or the feeling of numbness that had settled in the depths of my soul.

She handed me black heels, the final touch to the ensemble, and skipped any neck jewellery, wanting her work to seem effortless.

"Now you are ready," she whispered, and I nodded, preparing myself for the ordeal ahead. But just as I was about to leave, she paused.

"Wait, I was told to hand you this."

"What's this?" I asked, taking the paper from her hand and opening it.

With one quick scan, I saw lines of carefully crafted words that my mother-in-law expected me to regurgitate to the reporters.

"It's what you need to say," she replied. "Your mother-in-law was adamant that I hand it to you."

I didn't need it. I tore the paper apart with a swift motion and scattered the pieces to the floor.

"I don't need plastic sounding lines to salvage my dignity," I declared. "I am capable of telling my own story, even if it is just lies the Rossi family demands."

With that, I stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me.