41. Gemma
FORTY-ONE
GEMMA
A few months later
Alex and I went shopping for my first red carpet appearance last weekend.
Oh, did I forget to mention that he did get that nomination? I’m so fucking proud, my cheeks have hurt for the last month straight from smiling about it.
My very first award show—the first one he’s ever been nominated at—is this Sunday night.
She dragged me to some fancy store where we had a personal shopper help us pick out a bunch of dresses that would look good for each of us. Given that I’m fairly tall, super skinny, with minimal curves, and she’s basically what every girl wants to grow up looking like…suffice it to say, the dresses we got given were very different. But we had a blast trying them on together, like our own Pretty Woman montage.
In the end, she chose a deep green, silky thing that hugged her curves and made me jealous for a quarter of a second before I snapped to and told her how hot she looked instead of moping about the differences between our physiques.
She helped me pick out this really short, black, crazy sparkly dress. The hem is so short I would never have gone for it on my own, but it’s got a super high neckline that reaches my collarbone and then tight, long sleeves that make it more demure, kind of offset the length (or lack thereof), making me feel more comfortable in it. It hangs a little loose on my frame, but Alex said with the right hair and makeup, it’ll look more chic than boxy, and I can see it. It shines from every angle, but it’s still subtle at the same time. Kinda feels like me, and I kinda love it.
When I came out of the dressing room, she howled like a fucking wolf , making me jump halfway out of my skin. I guess that meant it was a done deal, so I splurged on it. I’ve got some short black heels at home I’m planning on wearing with it, though they’re not perfect, but I’m definitely not splurging twice for this event, even if it is a pretty massive night for Aaron.
Oh, and I’ve hidden the dress from Aaron, it’s gonna be a total surprise for him. I’m pretty stoked to see his reaction, if I’m honest. He’s gonna go fucking feral. Yeah, we’ve been together a few months now, but my man worked up quite the appetite for me in all those weeks we were working through our shit, and let me tell you…he makes the most of it now. You prolly don’t wanna hear the details though, so I’ll spare you. (If I’m wrong, all you gotta do is ask, bestie! I can tell you about that time we made good on the little library fantasy of his…)
So now, I’m hanging out on the sofa in our living room (yes, ours, I sold my townhouse—closed on it just a few weeks back, just after the new year—and we’ve made this the headquarters for our life together), where I just finished working on some new designs. I was able to hire an artist to do some really amazing illustrations I’d never be able to do alone (my skills have a limit), as well as some embroidery equipment that lives in the room we turned into an office for me here, and I couldn’t be prouder of the designs I’m about to launch. Now I’m rewarding myself with a little tryst with the latest book boyfriend, who may or may not be inspiring my next round of designs.
Aaron pops his head up over my shoulder, scaring me halfway to Not-Hoth.
“Do I need to get us a headboard?” he asks me, out of fucking nowhere .
“What? Why?” I ask him, puzzled.
“So I can tell you to hold onto it?” he says, wiggling his brows with this adorable, playful look on his face.
I burst into laughter at the unexpected joke.
“I take it you finally finished the series?” I ask him.
“Oh, did I ever, baby, and I have some ideas we should probably discuss,” he says. His voice drops an octave. “But later.”
He winks, then walks around the couch, all the way to the hallway entrance, leaning against the wall there, facing me expectantly.
“I got you something,” he says. The devilish glint in his eyes makes me even more excited than his words do. I look up from my comfy spot on my favorite couch I’ve had so many great memories on, and toss my Kindle to the side (side note: so glad I can do that without worrying about accidentally folding pages or cracking a spine—God bless e-readers) to give him my full attention. Standing in the doorway, looking like an absolute snack, he deserves it.
My stomach flips in anticipation as his words settle in, and I run my gaze over him, from top to bottom, looking for what he might have for me. My eyes linger on one particularly appealing area, but he chuckles at that, so I guess he isn’t just looking for an in to be dirty right now. Sucks for him, because it totally woulda worked, but now I just wanna know what he got me.
His hands are behind his back, and I think I know how I can win this game, so I hop up off the couch (actually hop) and run over to him, throwing myself at his frame and wrapping my limbs around his awkwardly to hang onto him while I scramble to get to whatever is in his hands. I may be shouting a string of very ladylike commands, like gimme , while I do it.
He laughs in my ear, a throaty chuckle that makes every hair on my arms stand on end when it runs through me, and I shudder, but don’t stop my attempts.
“No, Jellybean. You have to find it.” The feel of his lips against my ear—or any body part for that matter—will never get old, I swear it.
I manage to pull my head back from its perch on his shoulder to look him in the eyes, and my confusion must be evident, because he brings his empty hands out and wraps one under my butt to help support me, and takes the other and presses it to my cheek, holding my face like it’s something precious to him, stroking my temple softly, still grinning broadly. “It’s not on me, baby. But it is in this house.”
A million hiding places flit through my mind’s eye and I leap down from his hold in the next instant, causing him to laugh again, and swat me on my not-quite-bare ass as I step back and plan my search route. In another second, I’m off and running through the many rooms of our home, squealing in excitement, and I’m pretty sure this might be classified as giggling . What have I become?
The bitter, butthurt girl of months ago is nowhere to be found. Instead is one very happy woman who is finally with the man she was meant for, who’s found herself along the way, and is having the time of her life exploring life together as a pair. And apparently that includes giggling and making an absolute idiot out of myself, but how can I be mad about it? Short answer is, I’m not. I’m living for every moment of happiness we share, and whatever comes out of them.
I come skidding to a halt as I pass the giant closet in our bedroom, but in my bare feet, that doesn’t go quite according to plan, and I nearly smash into the wall instead. There is a brown bag with white script and white handles sitting on the island in the closet that definitely wasn’t there last time I was in here.
Since I overshot and skidded a little too far on the tile, I have to make my way backward toward the door and by the time I can fully take in the scene in front of me, the name on the bag, my jaw is literally hanging open.
I look back behind me, and Aaron is once again in the doorway, this time between the closet and his bedroom. He’s leaning against the frame there, one hand tucked into his pocket, watching me with a smile that reaches his eyes. I’m not sure when he started wearing button downs more than tees, but I’m definitely not complaining about his leveled-up look as I take in his rolled-up sleeves and the way they show off his forearms. I still can’t believe he’s finally mine, and that I get to climb him like a lineworker on a power pole anytime I fucking want. I shake my head to get back on track— not the time to get distracted, Gemma —and turn back to the closet island with a huge grin on my face.
The logo is unfamiliar to me, but as I approach the bag, I see that it’s the name of a designer. Christian fucking Louboutin to be exact. And that’s when my heart starts beating in double time.
Pretty sure my hands are also shaking as I pull the matching brown box out of the bag and set it down next to it on the countertop.
“I know you wanted to look perfect for our debut on the red carpet. And I want you to know that I think you already do, but…” My eyes dart up to meet his, and I don’t think his are swimming with tears like mine are, but he looks exceptionally sweet in this moment, and I file this away in my don’t ever ever forget this moment folder in my mind. “I thought you’d look extra hot in these, and I remember that one time you dragged me in there when I got my first movie role when we were teenagers.”
A wet laugh escapes my mouth with a few stray tears that roll down my cheeks as I recall that trip while I finger the shoebox gingerly. “I told you that one day you were gonna be rich enough to buy me any shoes I wanted.”
“You always believed in me, Gem. Sorry it took me so long to get you the first pair you wanted.” The earnestness in his voice when he says sweet shit doesn’t get old.
The lid comes off easily, and I legit gasp when I see the most perfect pair of classic black pumps waiting for me in the box. My hand trembles as I reach to take one out and inspect it closely, and a moan may escape me as I trace the red soles, touching something I’ve dreamed about for a decade. Kinda like what happened with Aaron, I guess. But, ya know, I didn’t even dare think I’d ever really own these bad boys, whereas a part of me was always sure he and I would end up together in the end, so this is pretty special in its own right.
I slip it on my bare foot, and shouldn’t even be surprised that it’s a perfect fit. Of course this man, who knows me better than anyone else, with his eye for detail and his level of care, got me the exact pair I’ve wanted since I was a young girl, and got me the perfect size.
The second one goes on just as easily and when I take my first step in them, I could almost cry with elation. Aaron hasn’t taken his eyes off me, soaking up my joy for his own, and that look he’s giving me has me thinking about a wholly different kind of package I’d like to unwrap right now.
I give him a little twirl in the shoes, testing out my mobility in them and maybe, maybe showing him my rear in the process. His eyes trail up and down my legs as I move for him, and if he minds that I’ve paired these excruciatingly expensive shoes with one of his tees and some undies, I certainly can’t tell.
These are going to go fucking perfect with the dress I splurged on.
I actually squeal out loud at the thought, and he raises an eyebrow at me.
“I can’t believe you remembered!”
He’s kind enough not to comment on how breathless I sound, and I take advantage of my new, much taller height by wrapping my arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a sloppy kiss that I hope shows my appreciation.
“You like ’em?” he whispers against my mouth, that gleam still present in his eyes.
Hardly capable of forming words, I bite my lower lip and nod eagerly. He leans forward and nips at my exposed top lip playfully, claiming it for his own mouth.
When I can catch my breath again, my manners come back to me. “Thank you,” I say sincerely, still pressed against him. And that’s when I feel, rather than see, how much he likes these new shoes on me, too. It might even be slightly more than I do.
“If you really wanna thank me, you could get down on your knees and give me a perfect view of those red bottoms.”
My stomach drops into my nether regions, and flutters fill my entire midsection as his meaning hits me. Mouth watering at the thought, the playful command in his tone, zero part of me wants to deny him this, and I do just what he asks.
His groans lead me on, his hands buried in my hair encourage that perfect pace, and I know he feels my appreciation by the time I’m done with him. And yes, I made sure he could see the soles the entire time.
“I think I’ve fucked myself over here,” he whispers into my hair after he’s pulled me back up to standing and he’s holding me tightly to his chest.
“Yeah?” I whisper back.
“Mmm. There’s not a chance in hell I won’t get a boner every single time I see those fucking red bottoms now.” I turn my head into his chest and place a kiss there, over the spot where I know my tattoo is hiding, unable to keep from smiling wide.
“This red carpet might get awkward, baby. If you walk in front of me and I get a flash of those things, all I’m gonna see is you on your knees, looking absolutely perfect for me. And this could get real uncomfortable for everyone who isn’t us.”
Holding him even tighter, I laugh into his chest as he runs a hand down the back of my head, fingers combing through my hair lovingly. I pull back to give him a kiss and look him in the eyes, my own smirk evident, before responding, “I guess that’s their problem, then.”
His head falls back as he laughs, and his hands continue to hold me tight the whole time. When he’s collected himself and meets my gaze again, his eyes are shining and he tells me softly, sincerely, “God, you’re fucking perfect.” The feeling is mutual, kid.