Chapter 49
If there was a ‘wonder of the world’ in fashion, waking up next to the Peroxide Prince is probably one of them.
August is sleeping peacefully, a serene expression on his face.
True to his word, he maintains his distance, body curled in my direction to face me as he continues to rest on his side, a respectable gap between us.
Shifting carefully, I inch closer to him.
Up close, he looks like a work of art— porcelain skin completely void of any imperfections, long wispy lashes kissing his cheeks and Cupid’s bow lips formed in a slight pout.
Sleep made him look younger, boyish. It softened the angles of his features.
There’s no frown on his face, just a relaxedness in his repose.
His light blond hair, much longer and even wavier now, frames the sharp lines of his facial features that reminded me of his younger self. Tabloid pictures of the Parisian Playboy flash in my mind and I shake my head to get rid of the mental image of that August.
This version of him looks less troubled, more carefree.
His eyelids flit delicately before they slowly open and I quickly cast my eyes away before shuffling backwards, trying not to look like I’ve been staring at him whilst he’d been sleeping.
“Morning.” His voice is thick with sleep as he greets me, the sound sending flutters to my stomach.
“Morning,” I greet him quietly. “How are you feeling?”
“So much better,” He answers with a soft sigh. “I told you.”
Natural light peeks through my curtains and filters inside my room. It casts August in an almost angelic light as the warm light filters behind him, conveniently creating a glow around his silhouette.
August’s grey eyes sweep over my face slowly, mapping out every feature of my face. It feels far too exposing and all too intimate to be so closely under his gaze like this.
Feeling myself flush, I shuffle to lie on my back and stare at the ceiling.
“You don’t have a suitcase with you,” I comment after a while. “It wasn’t outside when I checked. Did you drop it off at your hotel or?”
I can still feel August’s gaze, lingering and intentional.
“It’s still at the airport, I think.”
“Geneva Airport?” I glance over at him.
“Or JFK.” He shrugs. “They lost my suitcase but I couldn’t wait for them to find out where.”
“How did you manage to get to Interlaken?” I question.
It had been a struggle for my family to travel domestically, the snowstorm cancelling international flights and limiting public transportation around the country so I’m surprised to see August here at all.
“Train from Geneva to Bern.” He pauses, brows furrowing as he recalls his journey. “Rail connectivity was down in Bern for a little while so I hitchhiked with a Normandy couple to Interlaken. Public transport was unavailable when I got here so I just walked the rest.”
I sit up suddenly.
“You walked in the snow?”
My jaw drops, recalling how the train station is at least an hour away from my grandparent’s house on foot. And that’s on a good, non-blizzard day.
“There were no taxis. Or buses. I tried to hitchhike a few times but people were driving in the opposite direction. Your grandparents live in the middle of nowhere.”
“August, that’s…” I struggle to find the right words. “Are you out of your mind?”
“Well, I was most definitely not making sane decisions, no.” He chuckles.
He sits up with me, sleepy grey eyes meeting mine with a sheepish expression.
“Why would you do that?” I turn to him, incredulous. “We could have arranged to meet up after Christmas. Or whenever you were back in London. You didn’t have to go to all the trouble of travelling to Switzerland, especially since it’s dangerous—”
“I didn’t want to wait,” He says. “I couldn’t. I tried. But every time I heard your voice… I needed to see you as soon as possible.”
There’s a pause between us.
“What happened at Sebastian’s…” He begins. “Fuck. It was triggering in ways I didn’t even expect.”
He closes his eyes, swallowing as he continues.
“Everyone knows about my reputation growing up in the industry. The partying, the alcohol, the drugs,” He hesitates for a moment. “The women.”
August’s eyes cloud over for the briefest moment before they clear again.
“Being exposed to the industry, at such a young age too, it fucked with my head,” He continues. “There were just so many expectations, far too many than I was capable of. For a kid, that’s fucking terrifying. I had to live up to the Vante name. There were so many people to please, places to possess but I didn’t want any of it. It did a lot of damage to me mentally so I coped the only way I could.”
His voice sounds distant, almost small.
“You don’t need to explain yourself to me, August.” I say, reaching for his hand.
He takes my hand and intertwines our fingers, his touch warm.
“I want to,” He responds, taking a deep breath. “I was in that cycle for years. I’m not proud of it— the reputation I had. I couldn’t walk away from the industry. It’s my entire life, after all. So I had to figure out how to keep it at arm’s length and find something, someplace, to keep my feet grounded at the same time.”
“New York?” I ask quietly as August nods.
It makes sense.
His fondness for the city.
“It changed everything,” He states. “Studying at MIDAS, residing in Queens, learning photography. It balanced out my life, keeping things from a distance. I didn’t say no to the party scene, I still went to clubs and attended socials, but I wasn’t getting black-out drunk and sleeping with different women every night.”
His eyes flicker suddenly, as if recalling a memory.
“Seeing you at Sebastian’s studio, fuck, it messed with my head.” He sighs, exasperated. “Seb and I grew up in the industry together. We got involved in the same stupid shit, played the same godawful games. Finding you with Atkinson? I saw red.”
He closes his eyes, pressing his fingers against his lids as if trying to physically block the memory from his mind.
“That’s what I meant when I said you didn’t belong there,” He replies quietly. “It wasn’t about Holmes. Or even the industry. It was those people in that place.”
August brings our interlocked hands to his chest and I feel the heat of his body under my palm.
“I didn’t want them anywhere near you,” He admits, a soft possessiveness in his tone. “You deserve far more than people who are going to take advantage of your kindness and mistreat you. I want the best for you, Mahalia. You deserve to be in bigger rooms, with better people.”
His words tug at my heart.
“Gigi told me about what you did,” I begin. “About the articles. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I did.” He looks at me determinedly. “You worked hard on the collection. You deserve the recognition. I’ll be damned if I just let myself watch from the sidelines as someone strings you along you and strips that away from you.”
An influx of emotions lodges in my throat.
“Thank you,” I swallow.
“You’re not a plaything, Mahalia.” He presses his lips together. “You’re not some doll to be toyed around. I don’t think you have any idea just how important you are to me.”
My eyes well up and before I could stop myself, I throw my arms around August’s neck, feeling the fever of his skin. He grunts softly, sinking into the headboard and I mutter a quick apology before pulling back slightly, the heat of his body concerning me.
“You’re still really hot,” I sniffle, frowning at how abnormally warm he still feels.
“Why, thank you.”
I pull away slightly to look up at him, rolling my eyes as a wolfish smile appears on his face.
“I mean your temperature.” I reach up and place my palm across his scorching forehead.
“My immune system isn’t great.” He murmurs, eyes closing as he leans into my touch. “Especially in the cold.”
Concern weighs itself heavily on my chest.
“Yet you chose to walk,” I scold him before withdrawing my hand. “In the snow. During a blizzard.”
“I told you,” He whispers, voice rasping. “I needed to see you.”
The all too familiar softness in his gaze overwhelms me and an odd prickling sensation spreads in my chest, realising how the outcome of his travel could have easily ended life-threateningly dangerous.
“You know snow blindness is a thing?” I say, exasperated. “Photokeratitis. They have an official medical term for it because it’s a very serious, very real condition. And you– impulsively travel during one of the worst snowstorms recorded in Swiss history. The blizzard could have blinded you, August! Whilst you were out walking! What if you got lost? Or injured? Or worse! Did you not think about that?”
His gaze further softens, grey eyes warm with affection.
“How do you even know about that?”
“What?”
“Photokeratitis.”
“The internet.”
August pauses, the soft intensity in his gaze all too new and all too familiar at the same time.
“You blind me every day, Tinker-Talent.” The corners of his mouth tug into a small smile. “Nature has nothing on you.”
“Don’t.” I turn away, overwhelmed. “Don’t do that.”
Needing to distract myself from his heartfelt admissions and the haywire of my emotions, I begin to get up.
“Mahalia–”
“I’m going to make you food,” I announce. “You’ve had rest, now you need to eat.”
“Monc?ur-”
“If you want to shower, there’s a bathroom on every floor,” I say. “I’ll get some clothes for you.”