Chapter 25
Moving away the delicate layer of tissue paper, I let out a gasp, eyes going wide as soon as they landed on the dress that sat folded beneath. For a moment all fell silent in the suite Isla had had me checked into, and I hesitated, sure that some sort of mistake had been made until I noticed the note tucked into an unobtrusive corner of the box the dress had come in.
For the blouse, it read in Elijah’s familiar scrawl, and I sucked in a breath as I set the note down, blinded for a single moment by an irrational emotion which swept through me, there and gone as soon as it’d arrived, though the ghost of it remained as I lifted the gown up so its fabric caught the light, stealing my breath even more if you could believe that.
It was a miracle of silk and delicate tulle, impeccably detailed in everything from the sweetheart neckline it boasted to an A-line skirt that seemed to go on forever, pooling gloriously around my feet when I stood up from the bed to model it up against my front.
I checked for a tag to see how much it’d cost and found none, but considering that the box it’d come in claimed it was an Alexander McQueen, I harbored no doubts that what I held in my hands went far beyond any conceivable amount that a consumer analyst (no matter how skilled) hoped to make in a year. It definitely cost more than $30, which was how much I’d gotten the blouse that Elijah ruined.
I set the dress down gently on the bed the same way a mother would her child and grabbed my phone to shoot off a quick text to him, telling him that this time he’d gone too far.
Half an hour of aimlessly scrolling through my phone after made me realize I wouldn’t be getting a text back in return, and exhausted, I got up to fold the dress back into its packaging, and when I finished I lay back in bed, pondering on what next to do.
Taking it up to his apartment was unthinkable, since Isla would be there, and I couldn’t very well return it since I didn’t know which store he’d had it purchased from. I sent him another message, saying I wouldn’t accept his gift, and somehow in the lull that followed while I waited for his reply, I drifted off to sleep.
•
The next morning, I woke up to a single line from Elijah informing me that if I decided to change my mind, there would be a limo waiting down to take me to Sanctuaire by seven that evening. There was nothing else to indicate he’d saw the texts I sent, and I let out an angry huff, plugging my phone up to charge. Surprisingly, I’d slept in late. My subconscious must’ve figured that since I had the rest of the day free, dedicating some part of it to getting much needed rest was a worthy cause.
I couldn’t fault that logic. Flittering around my room, I called up some room service before settling in to take a long, much deserved bath. I’d survived three weeks in Paris, and even though I hadn’t had my Blair Waldorf art gallery moment, it hadn’t been all too bad, and sending one more longing look at the dress I sighed, frowning.
It was a shame that I wouldn’t get to wear it, I thought, unable to stop myself from pulling it out of the box to examine it once more. In daylight, it looked even more beautiful than I remembered it being, and setting it down on my bed, I decided to FaceTime Paula on a whim, counting on the fact that back home dawn would just be breaking, and she could very well still be asleep.
My hopes came crashing when the call went through, revealing the face of my best friend, who appeared disheveled on my phone screen but otherwise alright. In fact, she looked pretty awake and the light from her laptop screen face lit her face up as she worked.
I could tell she hadn’t had a wick of sleep, and a moment passed in which the both of us said nothing while she typed into her keyboard, but eventually I cleared my throat.
“You’re up early.”
“Deadlines,” she explained, pausing in her typing to glance at me. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks. You do too.”
Paula held up her steaming mug of coffee and dipped it towards me in acquiesce.
“Touché. I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours, so it can’t be helped.” She took a sip of the beverage. “What’s up?”
I paused, not entirely sure of what I was doing even as I turned the front camera towards the dress which lay sprawled over impeccably white bed sheets.
“That,” I said, and after a second she gave a loud of admiration whistle.
“We did not pack that in,” Paula intoned, and I nodded, sitting beside the bed and reaching down to pick of the box, which lay discarded on the floor.
“No, we didn’t,” I said, holding it up. “It was a gift from my boss.”
There was a pause, and Paula arched her brow suspiciously at me.
“Who I’ve also been fucking,” I finished, closing my eyes.
The sound of fingers meeting keys came to an abrupt halt, but after a moment they picked right up as my best friend chuckled.
“Good one, Aurora. For a minute there you had me.”
“I’m not joking,” I deadpanned, and once again she stopped typing and turned her shrew gaze on me.
When I didn’t back down, fidgeting, Paula swore loudly, abandoning her typing as she took her phone and pulled it closer to her.
“Tell me everything.”
So I did, starting from my first night in New York when she dragged me to the club, to finding out that Elijah was my boss and the eventual Paris trip.
With each plot point, Paula’s eyes widened, and at one point I had to stop when she excused herself to the kitchen and came back bearing an armful of snacks, which she munched on as I narrated our outing together, which had ended in the sex and Isla’s return, and now, finally, the dress.
“I decided I wouldn’t be going to the gala though,” I finished, giving a hapless shrug. “So I’ll have to return it.”
“What are you talking about?” Paula blurted out, incredulous. “Of course you’re going to that damned fundraiser.”
I blinked at her, shocked by the sheer force she’d managed to infuse into this last statement. She seemed to realize this too and settled back into her chair.
“I mean, you’ve decided to start taking interviews as soon as you come back.” Paula shrugged. “I just figured you’d have one last Cinderella moment before you took a bow. Also, Elijah ripped your blouse. The least he could do is replacing it.”
“Yes, with another blouse,” I cut in sharply. “Not a dress that probably cost five figures.”
My best friend held up her hands in show of surrender. “I’m just saying. You’re in Paris—we’ve imagined ourselves in scenarios like this so many times, and now, when one’s about to become a reality you what, throw it away?”
“I don’t want to have to bump into Isla,” I muttered, and Paula rolled her eyes.
“Look I’m not telling you to go be a home wrecker—who would’ve known you had it in you,” Paula trailed off once she noticed I was glaring at her.
“Anyway, my point is that what she has going on with Elijah is between the two of them, and I’m not asking you to go for him, I’m asking for you. Have one magical night in Paris. Who knows, you may even meet a billionaire that you don’t work for that’s single this time.”
I told her about Vincent, and even before I finished she let out a groan of agony, dipping her face into her palms.
“Okay, when you get back to New York I will have a PowerPoint detailing the list of ways you fucked yourself over, but for now, maybe try the dress?”
When I narrowed my eyes at her in suspicion she rushed on.
“Just to see if he got the size right. That’s all. You can’t tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.”
I frowned slightly, though she had a point. That I had to return the dress didn’t mean I didn’t want to try it on, and after a moment of intense internal debate I set my phone down to pull off the bathrobe I had on, taking a moment to gently pull the zipper of the dress down before stepping into it.
It fit like a glove, and when I held my phone up Paula let out an uncharacteristic squeal of delight, pausing to take in deep breaths.
“I’m starting to feel favorably towards Elijah because he has taste,” she confided once she calmed down enough to speak. “Honestly, Rory, you look stunning.”
My reflection in the full-length mirror proved she wasn’t lying, and without conscious thought I let my fingers run over the gathered chiffon detailing on a side of the skirt, which as I’d predicted pooled on the floor around me so ridiculously I knew I would have to lift it if I hoped to walk without falling flat on my face, though it didn’t hurt that the feel of silk over my skin felt amazing.
“Now,” Paula voice called from the phone, snapping me out of my reverie. I turned to face her, and noticed the mischievous light enter her eyes. “How about we pair them on those Louboutins you got.”
I sighed resignedly. “I know what you’re doing, you know?”
“This is not a ploy to get you to go to the party,” she denied, batting her eyelashes innocently at me. “Cross my heart and hope to die, now go find those red bottoms.”