Chapter 20 #2
The question— you want me there as your what?
—curls at the edge of my tongue, but it never makes it out.
Not when he’s looking at me like that. Not when the air between us feels suddenly thin.
I notice I’m leaning close towards him, and the only thing demarcating us is the back seat console in the middle.
My heart skips. I look away quickly, heat rushing up my face.
I lean back into my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of how close we were.
Given that there are people in this car.
Oh, how badly I want to keep looking at him.
I turn my head toward the window and press my palm against my thigh to steady myself.
After thirty minutes of absolute quiet, the car slows in front of a sleek glass building, all curves and gold-lettered elegance.
I squint at the logo as we step out, then almost let out a gasp.
This is my dream brand, I’ve stalked their page and lookbooks online more times than I’ll admit.
Every drop of a new collection feels unique and has a classic American soft style. Their leather jackets are to die for.
We walk through the tall doors, and before I can take in much of the showroom, a tall man in black silk and sharp cheekbones greets us with a polished smile and gestures for us to follow him.
“We’ve prepared the VIP suite, Mr. Petrov,” he says, nodding at Alex. “As always.”
We’re led up a private elevator and then into a room that looks like it belongs in a fashion magazine.
It’s quiet. The lighting is soft and warm, bouncing off velvet drapes and gold fixtures.
The walls are an elegant cream, and the floor glows with polished wood.
A glass table in the middle of the room holds a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket, flutes lined beside it, and a tray of delicate desserts.
The man who led us up here turns to me with a dazzling grin. He’s young, maybe in his late twenties, and wears the kind of layered fit that looks effortless but clearly isn’t.
“You must be Lucas,” he says, his tone warm, almost sing-song. “I am Stephan, your personal shopper for today, and I’ve been briefed about your preferences and Mr. Petrov’s instructions.”
Briefed?
From the corner of my eyes, I see Alex sinking into a low cream-colored cushion, his legs stretched, his expression unreadable. Ashley takes a seat beside him, tapping something into her tablet.
“Would you like a glass of champagne before we start?” Stephan asks
I shake my head
“Alright,” he says with a smile, “let’s begin fitting.”
Stephan leads me toward a long gold rack on the other side of the room.
“These are your selections. We went wide with the style spectrum—leather jackets, classic wool blazers, polos, silks, fitted trousers, layered knits… You name it.”
My eyes widen. There’s so much.
Row after row of beautifully tailored clothes, all hanging like art. Some pieces I would die to own. Others feel too bold, too sharp, too… not me. But they’re all exquisite. I run my fingers across a navy sweater that feels like clouds, then a structured black blazer that could swallow me whole.
“And shoes are just over there,” Stephan adds, pointing to a wall of pristine footwear—boots, loafers, polished lace-ups, even sneakers that probably cost more than my rent.
“Fitting room’s right in the corner. Three-way mirror, good lighting, promise,” he says with a wink before gliding away to give me space.
My fingers land on a slim black zip-up jacket, leather with silver detailing, and I let out a slow breath, this had been on my wish list for months, not that I could afford it anyway; the last time I checked, it was about $4k.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to act in a place like this. I don’t understand why Alex is doing this, what he’s trying to prove, or if he’s even trying to prove anything. But something in me stirs, an ache in my chest I can’t quite name.
I turn back, catching his eyes across the room. He’s watching me, still and silent like always.
***
I step out of the fitting room wearing a navy jacket with dark slacks. The shirt underneath is a bit too stiff for my liking, and the pants cling in places that make me uncomfortable. Still, I walk out and let myself be seen.
Alex stands.
My heart skips like it always does when his eyes find me.
He walks toward me, slow and quiet, assessing me with a tilt of his head, hands in his pockets. There’s something different about the way he looks at me in moments like this—like I’m a puzzle piece he’s trying to fit into the chaos of his world.
“Do you like it?” he asks, voice calm, but there’s a flicker of something underneath.
I want to answer, but the personal shopper is hovering a little too close. I glance at him, then back at Alex. He follows my gaze and immediately turns to the guy.
“Give us a minute.”
Stephan nods, smiling like he understands something I don’t, and steps away to the far side of the room.
I clear my throat, eyes still on the jacket.
“I like the jacket,” I admit quietly. “But not the shirt. Or the pants.”
Alex nods once. “The jacket’s good. But not for the dinner party.”
He turns, gestures with two fingers, and the shopper is already back beside us. Without a word, he takes the jacket gently from my shoulders and hangs it on an empty rack across the room. I watch it go, a little disappointed.
Alex looks back at me.
“Try more.”
And so I do.
I go back into the fitting room, change, and step out.
Again and again. Some of the things I try on are honestly too much—too loud, too fitted, too not-me, but a few catch me off guard.
I like them. I say so. Alex doesn’t comment, just nods at the shopper, and those pieces get placed on the same rack as the jacket.
At some point, I stop and glance at that rack.
“Why are you hanging the ones I like there if they’re not for the dinner party?”
Alex doesn’t answer. Not immediately.
He just looks at the personal shopper and says,
“Bring it in.”
Bring what in?
The shopper snaps his fingers once, and a woman by the door nods and disappears into the hallway.
I stand still, heart flickering in my chest.
A few minutes pass.
Then the door opens again, and they’re wheeling in another rack.
This one is smaller, with a few outfits hanging on it.
My breath catches.
There’s a pair of tailored dark trousers, pressed and sharp. A slate-gray silk shirt, the kind that shimmers subtly under light. But it’s the jacket that makes my chest tighten.
It’s leather, but not like the others I tried on.
It’s deep black, with minimal stitching and a perfect fit that speaks of luxury without trying too hard.
The cut is unique, slightly high at the neck, with silver hardware that catches the light in all the right places.
The brand’s signature is stamped discreetly on the inside collar.
It’s one of their newest drops, and it’s mad expensive.
Under the rack, a pair of black boots wait—thick-soled but clean, polished, heavy-looking but not bulky.
I don’t move.
Alex gestures once. “Go try these.”
The shopper takes the rack to the fitting room for me. I follow without a word, my fingers tingling. Just touching the clothes feels like slipping into a dream. The fabric molds to my skin like it already knows me. The boots hug my ankles and add just the right height.
I step in front of the mirror and I don’t recognize myself. I look like someone who belongs in the kind of world I’ve only ever seen in movies.
I walk out slowly, heart pounding for some reason I don’t understand.
Alex is waiting. Seated, legs spread, elbows on his knees, but he rises the second I appear.
His eyes sweep over me. Once. Twice. Then settles on my face.
He nods.
“This is what you’ll be wearing for the dinner party.”
The shopper gasps softly.
“You look like you were made for this.”
I glance down at myself, unsure of what to feel. I look good. Better than good.
But part of me can’t help wondering as I go back to the fitting room to take off the outfit —why make me try on all those other things if this was always the plan?
Why go through all that… unless Alex just wanted to see me in them?
fuck. he confuses me.