(Outfit up there^^)

Tonight was the night...

The night I was to stand around and watch people judge my artwork.
Sums up an art exhibition pretty well from the artist's perspective...

I got out of the shower and dried off before going to my bedroom where the dress hung off my wardrobe door.
I slipped out of my towel and let it slide down my freshly shaven legs to the black carpeted floor.
I slipped on a black lacey thong and a matching strapless bra before going back to the bathroom to put on some makeup.

I decorated my eyelids with a sparkling, smokey black eyeshadow, winged eyeliner and mascara, then put a matte, deep purple lipstick on.

I went back to the bedroom and took my dress from the protective cover, then laid it out on the bed, neatly.
I looked it over and sighed.
"I'm really not gunna do this dress justice..."
I recalled the day before, when Claire and I chose it. I tried it on and looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was a mess, I had no makeup on, my feet were bare and I generally didn't look that impressive.
But I took myself back to only a few moments ago when I'd finished doing my makeup. I was pretty proud of myself and I looked somewhat okay.
I loosened the corset strings on the back of the dress and slipped through it.
I did the corset up as tight as I could and it accentuated my curves perfectly.
I then slipped on the shoes and put in some dangling diamond earrings and the ring my mother had given me before she passed away. It always stayed on my left middle finger, unless of course I was showering or washing up.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
"Damn..." I mumbled to myself. "I look pretty damn sophisticated."
I chuckled and went to the wardrobe to fetch my feather cape, which draped down my shoulders nicely.
"Time to fly, little bird." I heard my mother say in my head.
She'd always used to call me her little bird. When I was a child, I wanted to be able to fly and then paint what I saw. So that's what she called me.
But I grew from an areal artist to a lituratory artist.
I fell in love with a man way too old for me. And he was long dead...
Shakespeare's work had had such an affect on me, I saw him and his work everywhere.
I longed to be on a stage, performing his best. But I couldn't act. I could only paint.
And yet, my paintings had sold for quite a lot. My most recent sell was £3000 to some art collector looking to build his private, modern exhibition.
It got me a very decent lifestyle. I lived in a spacious apartment in Central London with a beautiful view of the Thames.
Also considering I was almost always working on a new piece, and my art style was very 'in', I was making a good wage.

I opened the door to the apartment block and saw a limo and driver waiting for me. The driver opened the door for me and held out his hand for me.
"Thank you." I smiled, taking his hand to get into the stretched vehicle.
A few moments later, the driver was back in his seat and the car was setting off.
"Tonight's the night..." I sighed.

Once there, I was swarmed by photographers for big art magazines, asking for my picture, an interview etc. I took a few photos, answered a couple of questions and went inside, grabbing a glass of champagne from the waiter in the door way.
"Have a good evening, miss Houghton." He smiled.
"Thank you." I replied, walking in to see all of my work.

Once inside, I saw various people, most of which were strangers. They all seemed to be liking my work.
I couldn't help but get a little anxious, however, when I saw an elderly man with quite a shaky hand, holding a glass of red wine, awfully close to my whitest  piece.
I decided to go and sit by the bar.
I'd only been sat there ten minutes when I was approached by a rather handsome gentleman.
He had short brown hair and he wore a clearly expensive, tailored black suit.
"Good evening." He smiled, making me look up from my phone.
"Hello." I replied.
"I'm very sorry for intruding, but I saw you over there and wondered if you were part of the exhibit. You're more beautiful than any of these paintings, as much as I love them. I'm a huge fan of Shakespeare, myself. How about you?" He chuckled.
This guy had no  idea I was the artist...
"Let us just say, if I had to sell my soul to the Devil for even the slightest chance of meeting Shakespeare, or even seeing one of his plays in the time he was alive, I damn well would." I laughed as he did.
"I have to say, I'd probably do the same." He said, giving me another dazzling smile. "So, what is your name? It must be something beautiful to go with your looks."
I attempted to stop the nervous lump in my throat.
"I think you should guess. Get it right, I'll buy you a drink when this is over." I told him.
"Hm, I do  love a challenge. Now... Let me look at you." He instructed.
I turned in my seat and raised my head. The stranger held my chin and turned my face when necessary. Normally, I would've hated a stranger touching my face. But there was something about him that I didn't mind.
"Samantha? No... Lucy?"
I chuckled. "Nope."
"Diana? Like the Princess, of course."
I shook my head.
"Oh I give up..." He sighed.
"Juliet." I told him.
His face lit up. "Oh wow! What a stunning name. Very fitting as well, oh, lover of Shakespeare." He winked.
I chuckled. "Exactly."

"Well, Juliet, my name is Tom. It's very nice to make your acquaintance." I smiled, bowing his head slightly.
'What a gentleman.' I thought.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Tom." I replied.
"Would you care to join me in looking around the exhibits?" He asked, holding his arm out for me.
I linked mine with his and gave him a smile.
"It would be my pleasure."

We looked around the entire exhibition, admiring each one entirely. I was extremely nervous every time Tom commented on one,  but all of his words were positive, which pleased me, greatly.
"I think the back area has some 'behind the scenes' photographs. Would you like to see those?" Tom asked.
Great... My cover would be blown. He'd know it was me by the photos of me standing next to half-finished pieces.
"Uh... Sure." I smiled slightly.
Tom looked a little confused. "We don't have to if you don't want to."

"No, it's fine." I replied, pulling him by the arm slightly, towards the back of the art gallery.
We looked around. The first few photos didn't have me in them, but the fourth did and I saw it as soon as we entered the area. When we actually got to it, my palms were starting to sweat. How would he react when he found out I'd sort of been deceiving him the entire evening?
"She's very beautiful." Tom smiled, gesturing to the photo of me working on my Romeo and Juliet piece.
I just nodded. He hadn't noticed it was me...
It wasn't until the third picture of me that it seemed to start to sink in.
"She looks just like you. How odd." He chuckled. 
I gave him a nervous laugh in return, which he picked up on, but seemed to dismiss.

Until...

"Juliet, I've been looking for you everywhere. Could you come and talk to these journalists? They want to talk to you about your 'first big exhibition'. Claire asked, walking up to the two of us.
"Wait, what?" Tom asked.
I rolled my eyes a little at Claire, who chuckled.
"It's in the air." I said.
His eyes traveled from the photos, to me. His eyes started to widen.
"And the penny drops." Claire finished for me.
"You're her! Oh my goodness! What if i'd said something bad about your art? Oh God, I'd have made the biggest fool of myself... I am so sorry Juliet." He sighed.
Claire and I laughed.
"It's okay, Tom. You didn't say anything bad and i'm extremely flattered by what you did  say, so thank you." I smiled.
"You are most welcome, my dear." He chuckled, blushing a little.
"Right. I have to go and do this interview. Will you be staying long? You've been wonderful company and i'd like it to continue." I said.
"In that case, yes. I'll happily stay. I'll wait for you at the bar, I'm parched." He exclaimed.
I nodded. "Then I'll be as quick as I can."