Chapter 37 Elliot
ELLIOT
Not telling Daniel about the man from the park proved to be the right decision, as almost a week later, nothing had happened.
I hadn’t seen the weird man again, and after realizing that I was probably just being paranoid that morning, I decided to forget about it and move on.
Besides, with the Renieri gala just around the corner, I had to be at my best.
Speaking of which, I stopped by the place where the gala would be held to see how things were going.
Climbing the steps, I almost skipped my way in, greeting anyone who came my way.
What was once an old fire station would soon host the elite of the industry for a night of fashion.
The main event would be a fashion show, a rare occasion, considering New York Fashion Week was still ahead of us.
But Vito had held this event once a year for years now, with all the income going straight to charity.
The place was packed with designers, producers, and workers, all looking extremely busy. And in the center of it all was Vito, orchestrating this mess with his typical charm.
“Bonjour, Vito,” I greeted him right before planting a kiss on his cheek.
The Italian had to turn around to see me as I approached him from behind. But as soon as his eyes latched onto me, he smiled warmly.
“Oh, if it’s not my beautiful Elliot,” he said in French before telling his assistant to go and grab him an espresso. “Want one, too?”
I shook my head. “I had an Americano on my way here.”
“Americano? Horrible.” He shook his head. “You’re too young to know what’s good for you.”
“Isn’t that the point of being young?”
He looked at me with a raised brow. “Aren’t we cocky today?”
His assistant returned with the espresso and a guest list. While Vito went over the names, I took a moment to look around. The fire station was starting to look like a showroom, with workers already building the runway.
“Tell me, bello, do I write you a plus-one?”
Vito’s sudden question pulled me together, and I glanced at him.
“A plus-one?”
With his eyes now locked with mine, he nodded.
The idea of Daniel being my plus-one was surreal, and while I knew it would never happen, I couldn’t help but smile at the thought.
“I’ll have to check,” I finally answered him, and he smiled at me in return.
“You do that.” He handed the list back to his assistant, together with the empty espresso glass. “By the way, what are you doing here this early?”
I shrugged. “My morning was free, so I came to see how things were shaping up.” The fact that he knew French truly made my life easy. “It looks super.”
“Well, if you have some free time, why not go over your fan mail?” he suggested while signing something.
“Fan mail?”
With his eyes still on whatever document his assistant handed him, he hummed. “Yes. Seems like our latest commercial got you a few new fans.”
Wow.
“Anyway, Cecilia here will see you through to them, okay? Okay.”
Being his typical self, Vito quickly moved on to the next thing, leaving me with Cecilia, who I assumed was his secretary.
We ended up taking a taxi back to the office, where Cecilia dropped three huge boxes in front of me. Placed on top of each other, they were higher than her.
“All this is for me?” I asked, pointing at myself.
“Yep.” She patted the top box. “Seems like people like you.”
Looking at the boxes, knowing they were filled with letters for me, made my chest tighten with warmth and pride. But somehow, the indoors felt suffocating, and with the slight headache I’d had since waking up, I worried I wouldn’t be able to read them all.
“Is it okay if I take some with me to read in the park?”
Cecilia frowned at my question, making me think it was a stupid one. “You can do whatever you want with them, hon.”
Hon?
“So, you’re good from here?” she asked while checking her phone. “Because I have to run and get Vito some fabric samples before he gets my ass fired.”
She spoke too fast for me to understand it all, so I just nodded. It was enough for her, and after saying goodbye, she quickly left. Back to being alone, I checked my watch. I had enough time to go through at least some letters.
The sun did make me feel slightly better, although my head still hurt.
But these headaches weren’t new, and from what I’d managed to read on the internet on Daniel’s computer, I was either dehydrated or had a brain tumor.
Daniel, of course, encouraged me to see a real doctor, saying that the internet thing shouldn’t be trusted, but to be honest, he was a bit out of date when it came to technology.
I mean, at first, he didn’t even know what an iPod was.
Remembering how surprised he was to learn that such a small device had so many songs inside made me smile, and I shook the memory away before reaching for a new letter.
The first thing that caught my eye was the stamp, which had a lavender flower on it. As I moved on to read the address, my brows drew tight when I saw it was from France. Provence to be more accurate. And not just that, but from my village.
What are the odds?
With my heart now beating faster, I opened the envelope and pulled out the letter, only for the top to peek out. But that was all that I needed to see because the first line I read was Mon chaton.
Seeing those words, written in his handwriting almost three years since we last talked, felt like a slap to the face.
Shaken, my stomach flipped. This mere piece of paper was almost too heavy to hold, and my hands trembled, trying to handle its weight.
Swallowing hard, I focused back on the letter, only now the lines turned blurry with the tears in my eyes.
I looked up at the blue sky, hoping my eyes would swallow those stupid tears back.
When I first moved to America, I didn’t only leave my home, family, and country, but also him.
Jacques Bouvier. A man I once believed was my whole world, only for him to shatter it into a million pieces.
He hadn’t reached out to me, not once, until right now.
It was too late for that, and remembering his cruelty, I bit my lip and put the letter back inside the envelope.
Getting up from the bench, I walked to the nearest trash can and tossed Jacques’s stupid letter in it.
I had wasted enough years on this idiot, and not willing to give him one more minute of my time, I wiped away my tears, collected the rest of my letters from the bench, and walked back to work and my life.
A life that had no place for small memories like Jacques Bouvier.