Chapter 29
Sadie is waiting for us in the lobby of the White Swan.
“Eeeeeeee,” she squeals, as soon as Dallas and I step off the elevator.
“Let me see you.” Sadie holds my shoulders, noticing everything.
The flushed cheeks. The Lila Bailey dress she hasn’t seen yet (and was the only thing I have to wear, with nothing underneath).
The wild hair I tried to tame but it has a mind of its own.
“My baby’s all grown up,” she gushes. “Girl, you are glowing.”
“Stop,” I blush, but Sadie hugs me.
It’s what I need. I lean into it more than I usually do. Before Sadie, no one gave me hugs. But I’m getting better at it, especially since I’ve been locked in a different kind of enough-intimacy-to-blow-your-damn-head-off bearhug for an entire weekend.
Sadie finally releases me and turns to Dallas, taking in every detail of the six-foot-something alpha male perfection. Which sounds over the top but there’s really no other way to describe him. I make the introduction. “Sadie Bellamy, meet Dallas Wilder.”
“Sadie, it’s a pleasure.” Dallas offers his hand but Sadie hugs him too.
When she steps back from the hug, there are flags of pink on her cheeks. “You’re even hotter in person, just saying.” To me: “Way to freaking go, girlfriend.”
I laugh lightly, blushing again. Dallas is a whole new level of handsome today, freshly showered and wearing jeans, a white shirt and a navy blue blazer.
With the muscles and the ink, his look is sort of hot and casual wildly successful bad boy billionaire.
Whatever it is, it’s definitely working for him.
Sadie looks adorable in a red polka-dot dress and black ballet flats.
Her dark wavy bob has been smoothed into place like a classic Hollywood starlet.
Sadie has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, currently shielded by some ultra-cool sunglasses.
She’s naturally curvy, which is a point against her for some dance companies, but I think they’re short-sighted and missing out if they can’t see how gorgeous and graceful—and toned—she is because all she does is dance.
In her excitement, my bestie is dazzling.
She grabs my arm, as giddy as a teenager. “New York, here we come. In a private jet!”
There’s no point trying to rein in Sadie’s glee at the whole billionaire angle.
It is what it is, and I’ve already agreed to go with it, for a week, I promised.
After that, it’s anyone’s guess. For better or worse, my decision-making will be guided at least in part by how many of my demons manage to get out of their boxes once I’m in a new environment (another reason I stayed, because they’re easier to control in my natural habitat) and what they decide to do with my emotions, like evil puppeteers, once they’re roaming free.
The limo is waiting for us, the driver standing by the open door.
The manager of the hotel is also waiting for us.
He hands Dallas my old phone, and a much bigger, shinier, bronze-colored one with a clear case.
“The newest model, as requested, Mr. Wilder, with all the data transferred successfully. We also took the liberty of adding a few new apps since the old one had almost none. It’s a two terabyte Pro Max in cosmic orange, which is all the rage—all the A-list celebrities have one.
We were in luck and managed to get you the last of this model they had in stock. Fully charged and ready to go.”
“Thank you.” Dallas takes both phones and hands them to me.
“And the other packages you requested, Mr. Wilder.” The manager gestures to two desk clerks, who walk toward us with two large white boxes. They hand one to Sadie and one to me.
“What’s this?” Sadie asks.
“Just a little something for New York,” Dallas says. “It’s colder up there. I thought the two of you might need another layer for our arrival.”
Sadie opens her box and pulls out a black soft-suede bomber jacket. “Oh my god. This is Ralph Lauren.” She puts it on and it not only perfectly complements her outfit but makes her look even more like a movie star. “This is my dream jacket.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Dallas is watching me. “Open yours, Amelie.”
Inside is the most beautiful coat I’ve ever seen in my life.
It’s fawn-colored suede, so soft it feels like velvet, with fur trim.
It’s long, with a belt of the same material.
Dallas helps me put the coat on. With the dress and now the coat, I feel like, all this time, I was curled up inside a chrysalis that never allowed me to bloom—and now, in these luxurious clothes, I’m a butterfly who’s finally been given enough room to spread her wings. “Dallas. It’s so beautiful.”
He kisses me more lustily than the scene would usually allow, as though at least four other people aren’t standing there watching us alertly. Like he doesn’t care about them at all, only me. “You are beautiful.”
“I love it. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.” He gives the hotel manager a black credit card, which the manager swipes across an iPad.
I can’t even think about the numbers.
The limo driver takes Sadie’s bag and offers her a glass of champagne. She accepts it and I slide in next to her, declining my glass. Angel’s poison or not, it still got me into more than enough trouble over the weekend. I’m sticking with water from here on in.
“I could get used to this lifestyle real quick,” Sadie comments happily, clinking her glass against mine, sipping her champagne.
Dallas finishes settling the bill and climbs into the limo, sitting next to me.
The driver seals us in and goes around to the driver’s seat and we pull out of the courtyard, onto the street.
There’s no mention of going back to my room to retrieve my pills or anything else.
I’m assuming they have clinics, Plan Bs and all manner of dealing with whatever we need to deal with in New York.
They’re one of those blue states, after all, who fight for rights like that—and thank God someone does. I’m sure they’ll be able to help me.
Either way, I already know what decision I’d make, whether he’s true to his word or not.
It would have his turquoise eyes. I bet it would.
Dallas’s warm, solid thigh is flush against mine. He weaves my fingers through his.
None of this escapes Sadie’s attention and she beams at me impishly before launching into the complicated backstory of the audition she managed to land and has to rush off to as soon as we arrive in New York.
“That’s amazing, Sade.”
“I know, right? I totally manifested it. Good things are happening, I can feel it.”
I tune in and out of her excitable monologue. Dallas listens, amused.
“… it’s this small modern dance company with studios in both Hell’s Kitchen and Williamsburg and they absolutely loved the video I sent them, of the show I was in last month …”
I’m sure it’s fine. My cycle isn’t particularly regular, so maybe it couldn’t happen right now anyway.
I’m always stressed, rushing around, trying to burn the proverbial candle at both ends.
I eat leftover grits but sometimes our customers eat the entire day’s supply and I go to bed hungry.
I know my lifestyle affects my cycle. I’ve never lost sleep over it.
By the time my head hits the pillow, I’m too tired.
I always figured things would eventually get better. That I could, in time, sell some paintings and rent a room—a real one. I could quit the housekeeping job and use that time to paint. I could start to make a name for myself. Once I do, I might even make enough money to actually save some of it.
“… all I know is that I’m going to go in there and wow the pants off the whole company. I’ve been practicing this new dance that I choreographed with my friend Joseph, who’s, like, so talented …”
Until then, it’s obvious that I’m in no position to have a baby, no matter how many I’ll-take-care-of-yous he tossed in my general direction during the heat of an admittedly-beautiful series of moments.
A girl can’t live on promises, that much I do know. Believe me, I’ve tried.
I do want to have babies. One day. Lots of them.
I always hated being an only child. I used to play elaborate games with my long list of imaginary friends when I was very young, rambling around in that old hotel, hiding in all the familiar nooks and crannies no one else knew about, pretending I wasn’t so alone.
Wishing I had people who cared about me and looked after me and noticed when I came and went.
It would be so fun to grow up with a big family and lots of siblings. Secretly, it’s what I’ve always hoped for.
Maybe some day.
A day that might come sooner rather than later, thanks to your crazy sex addict behavior.
“… but it’s not like there aren’t literally thousands of dance companies in New York, am I right? I’m waiting to hear back about two other auditions, and I’ve sent my portfolio to more than two dozen of them already so it’s only a matter of time …”
There’s no mention of my job or Ellen or the Hotel Thibodeaux.
Dallas breezed over the topic at some point over the weekend, that he’d dealt with Ellen and would make sure I could make the choice I wanted to make regarding my job, whenever I wanted to make it.
Whatever that means. Billionaires get to decide things like that, apparently. They get to dictate how people behave. There’s a limit to their powers, though. In the cold light of the day-to-day, if I ever did decide to go back, Dallas wouldn’t be any more in control of Ellen’s retribution as I was.
It doesn’t matter now. I know I can’t go back.
In the haven of Dallas’s hotel room, I didn’t think about him being loaded. Or a CEO billionaire investment genius. Or a famous member of an even more famous family.
But now, in the back of this gleaming limo with a brand new phone in my hand that no doubt cost more than I make in half a year and wearing a new coat that would possibly have cost most of what I make in an entire year, it’s hard not to feel a little bit blinded by it.
I’m sure a lot of people aspire to it. Most people do.
And they should. What’s not to love about getting driven around in limos and wearing designer clothing and having more money than you could ever spend?
This is my problem, unfortunately. I’m not one of those people.
I’m broken.
I’m just not sure I’m worthy of it or cut out for a life like that. I can already feel it starting to crush me under its weight. Your own father didn’t even love you enough to care whether you ended up destitute on the streets. Deep down, maybe I know I don’t deserve it.
You stop it right now, Amelie Esmé Sabine Ana?s Thibodeaux. Never allow that negative mindset to creep in, not even a little. I know better than to get trapped in that same old vortex. It’s what has held me back for so long.
And now I’m free of it.
I do deserve it, of course I do. I deserve this and I deserve him.
I’m suddenly fiercely glad I won’t ever see the hotel again. I’m relieved I don’t have to say goodbye to it. One last fly-over in the helicopter was enough. What a piece of shit, anyway. All rusty and forlorn next to the pristine White Swan.
Goodbye, New Orleans.
I’ll miss you so much.