23. Well, Well, Well, If It Isnt The Bridge I Said Id Cross When I Got There
Chapter twenty-three
Well, Well, Well, If It Isn't The Bridge I Said I'd Cross When I Got There
“E leanor Belanger, how very dare you!?!”
My bedroom door burst open. I nearly toppled off the dressmakers’ stool I had been given strict instructions to remain on by a seamstress with a thick Ukrainian accent and surprisingly nimble fingers. “Jesus Christ , Anne-Marie!”
Anne-Marie bumped the door with her hip, letting it swing shut. There was a look on her face like a mountain lion who had just discovered the door to the butcher shop was left open.
Which was, apparently, the look she took on when she was in full AMNN journalist mode.
“Details, now ,” she demanded.
“Details on what?”
“Do not play me for stupid, chérie !” She wagged a finger at me as she stomped across my bedroom. “You ask— ow !” She plunked herself in the accent chair that usually sat by my window, but leapt up when she realized the seamstress had been using it to hold her pins. “ Crisse d’ostie de tabarnak , that hurt.”
“Oh, damn. Are you okay? Maybe you should go—”
“Not a chance .” She wagged that finger again. “You asked my brother to be your Diamond Gala date and did not even tell me?!”
Ah.
Well.
If it wasn’t the bridge I said I’d cross when I got to it bringing itself to me with a maniacal grin and a squeal of glee.
“I cannot believe you,” Anne-Marie said, dancing in place, though I wasn’t sure if it was because she’d poked herself in the ass with a bunch of dressmakers pins or because she was excited. “After everything, after years of telling you that you would be perfect for each other, you finally do this and did not even let me celebrate with you!”
“That’s not—”
“Is this why you ignored me last weekend? Wait, no, start by telling me how you asked him. No! How? How did you make him agree to this?!” She gasped as though she’d had a sudden realization even though the entire thing had definitely played out in her head multiple times before she walked over. “Are you together ?!”
“It’s not like that,” I said, even though it was sort of like that in the sense that Anne-Marie was basically asking if I was fucking her brother and I was fucking her brother. But I also wasn’t about to tell her that, or tell her that I’d gotten him to be my date by agreeing to let him fuck me in the ass.
“Of course it is not, chérie ,” she said, the smirk on her face making it clear she didn’t believe a word I’d said. “Look at you. Look at that dress .”
Ugh.
The dress.
To be honest, it wasn’t actually that bad of a dress: a bright turquoise Elie Saab design with one shoulder and a flowing skirt. It was a colour I would’ve never picked and a style I would’ve never chosen and made of silk, which I would have never worn, but it was a designer I liked, at least.
The thing was, it felt like the kind of dress people wore to hide their insecurities, and I didn’t have those. Well, at least not physical ones. I had plenty of other insecurities, but the “worst” I felt about my body was indifferent, and that was to the few stretch marks on my hips and stomach that had appeared when I gained weight a few years earlier. I’d never been as slim as Anne-Marie or as athletic as Sydney, but after I stopped playing volleyball in high school and started university, I’d put some pounds on.
The thing was, I loved it. I’d known for a while that I was attracted to people regardless of their gender, and when it came to women, I’d always loved bigger girls, the soft curves and cute bellies and the way things moved .
So when I gained weight, all it did was make me more of my type, and I didn’t see how that was a problem. I had no problem thinking I was hot because I was, and anyone who didn’t think I should admit that could go be sad in a corner by themselves. The way my hips curved was hot and my breasts were bouncy and jiggly and hot and my thighs rubbed together because they were thick and strong and hot .
So I liked to dress to show that off. I liked clothes that fit tight, that highlighted my curves, that turned my ass to “a work of art,” as JP had once described it. I liked stretchy running shorts and miniskirts and low-cut tops.
The dress Kimberlee picked, on the other hand, covered my cleavage and swished around my legs and hid all the parts of me I liked beneath flowing fabric.
But, I realized after I tried it on, it wasn’t totally hopeless.
At least not yet, though I figured that would change almost as soon as the seamstress showed Kimberlee the things she was planning to do. Take in the waist a bit, shorten the shoulder strap, hem the whole thing so it skimmed the ground when I wore the strappy silver heels I’d picked to go with it.
When she got to the mid-thigh-high slit, I held my breath.
I figured it had been a mistake. That Kimberlee hadn’t noticed that part and that showing off that amount of leg would go against the standards my dad had, which were higher than the slit in my dress. And like, I wasn’t going to point it out to her, but the seamstress had to.
“And the height here?” the seamstress asked, taking the skirt and swishing it so Kimberlee could see how much leg was showing.
“What about it?” Kimberlee asked.
“She cannot wear shorts under,” the seamstress said. “So her thighs will rub.”
“Does that bother you, Nellie?” Kimberlee asked.
“Uh… no,” I said.
“Then it’s perfect,” Kimberlee said without looking me in the eye.
Which was good, because it meant she didn’t see my startled expression.
The seamstress nodded and had me turn in place so she could show Kimberlee the back. Kimberlee asked her to shorten the shoulder strap a touch more since apparently it was sitting funny under my other arm, but that was the only other change she made.
“Are you happy with it?” Kimberlee asked when I turned back around.
“Uh… yeah,” I said, still surprised.
She smiled. “That’s all that matters.”
“Well, no,” I said. “What matters is if my dad okays it.”
Kimberlee practically brushed it off. “He will. If you are happy with the fit, I will go get him now to see how it looks.”
I’d agreed to that, so she’d left me in the room with the seamstress and gone to get my dad from his office. Which, of course, was when Anne-Marie had burst in.
“ T’es ben chix, chérie ,” Anne-Marie said as stood, circling the stool I was standing on. “You are glowing .”
“I’m not pregnant.”
She ignored me. “This is the best dress you have picked for anything all summer and you expect me to believe it is not a tiny bit because of your date?”
“Yeah, I do,” I said, trying not to sound icy. “Considering Kimberlee’s the one who picked it.”
She waved a hand again. “Sure, sure.”
“She did.”
“Mmm.” She threw herself on the edge of my bed, bouncing a bit as she tucked her legs under her. “So. Details. Now .”
I stared at her, lips parted. “Why would you even want that?”
Her lips puckered in excitement. “So there are details?”
“Of course not,” I snapped. “I meant if there were . But there aren’t, because I’m not doing anything with your brother. It’s not like that.”
“You keep saying that,” she said, her voice full of thoughtful consideration. “What is it not like , Nellie? Because it must be like something, then.”
“It’s not like anything. He's helping me out so I don’t have to go with—” I stopped, glancing at the seamstress, who had been sitting on a stool nearby the whole time while we waited for Kimberlee to come upstairs and look at the alterations she’d pinned and who was currently staring up at the ceiling pretending not to listen. “—you know who.”
Anne-Marie looked at the seamstress, then back at me with a frown. “Well, yes. But that does not actually explain why Jean-Paul agreed. I mean, when did you even ask him? I am assuming last weekend since it was only this week you were ignoring me—”
“I haven’t been ignoring you.”
“You responded to my messages with only an emoji three times and have not given me an ounce of information when I’ve asked about your date for this weekend.”
“Because you never actually asked.”
“Hmm,” she said, her voice pitching high. “Because perhaps you did not want to admit I was right that you two are perfect for each other?”
“Because I was naked on his bedroom floor and heard you say I’m lazy and it hurt my feelings,” was what my heart wanted to say, for some reason, and it felt like the statement was balled up in my mouth ready to be spat out at her. But somehow, I managed to keep it in.
“Maybe it’s because I knew you’d respond like this,” I said instead.
“Appropriately, you mean?”
“Insanely.”
She cackled an insane laugh. “So? When did you ask him?”
I sighed. “Last week. After the funeral.”
“You ran into him while he was out that night?”
I never thought I’d be thankful for Anne-Marie’s interruption the previous weekend, but just then, I almost prayed to the same deities of lust and sex and vice I had before to thank them she’d burst into the room so I didn’t give myself away. “Out? He was at your house all night.”
Anne-Marie looked surprised that her clever little plan hadn’t worked. “So you… went to see him? At my house?”
“Yes,” I said. “Well, no. I went to your house to… to ask you for help.” I said it as begrudgingly as I could. “I was panicking after seeing—” I glanced at the seamstress again. “After the funeral. And thought maybe you would have some ideas.”
“You knew I was out with Remy.”
I shrugged, trying to look miserable. “My dad had made a comment. I was upset and forgot. But JP was home. I told him what was going on.”
Anne-Marie looked even more incredulous. “And he… offered to take you?”
“No,” I said. “I asked. I was desperate and I knew he wasn’t going and that my dad would be okay with him as a date.”
She folded her arms. “That does not sound like him at all. What is Jean-Paul getting out of this? There must be something.”
“Anal,” was the answer that floated through my head.
“Nothing,” was what I actually said.
Anne-Marie snorted. “The idea that my brother is getting nothing from this is laughable. If you are telling me a lie, you must work harder than that.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me, grinning. “Are you lying to me, chérie ?”
“I’m not ,” I said. “I just owe him a favour. That’s it.”
“Oh, like the favour Chantel did for him before La Nuit Rose ?”
The base of my neck to the tips of my ears burned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Are you certain?” She lifted an eyebrow at me. “Because if I remember correctly—and I do— you were the one who told me he went with Chantel because she su—ah! Hello, Mr. Belanger. Hi, Kimberlee.”
“Anne-Marie,” Kimberlee said, smiling as she led my dad into the room. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, I popped by quickly when Nellie told me how excited she is about the dress you selected.” Anne-Marie stood up. “It is stunning on her. But I will head home. I just wanted a preview of my dearest friend in her stunning dress. You know she is practically a sister to me.”
Kimberlee looked at me. “You do like it, Nellie? I was so hoping you would.”
Fucking Anne-Marie. I tried not to glare at her as she waved before gliding out of my room. “Yeah. Of course. I like how it has, uh, half the expected number of shoulders.”
Kimberlee’s smile widened and she looked at my dad. “What do you think, Max? It looks perfect on her, no?”
The way my dad proceeded to examine me gave me an exceptional amount of empathy towards horses. He circled the dressmaker’s stool much like Anne-Marie had, only he did it like he was trying to determine an eighteen-character-or-less name to submit to the Jockey Club.
Beside him, Kimberlee watched, and beside her, the seamstress who had intimidated me into standing in place and not moving had her hands clasped together.
“Turn,” my dad said, making a circle with his index finger.
“Which direction?” I asked flatly.
My dad’s mouth tightened and the forked wrinkle appeared again. “Around, Eleanor.”
Taking small, careful steps on top of the dressmaker’s stool, I turned in place, rotating clockwise until I was facing away from him so he could see how low the back was. My shoulders tensed as I caught sight of him in the dresser mirror, only relaxing when he nodded brusquely.
“Good,” he said. “Turn again.”
Part of me wanted to make that another slow turn, since if I did, the skirt might not move as much and he might not see the thigh-high slit. Luckily, a much smarter part of my brain reminded me that Kimberlee was on the hook for this dress and if I hid it, he wouldn’t notice until we were at the gala, where he would probably think I’d added it myself last-minute or something.
Which might have been her plan.
Maybe.
I still didn’t know what Kimberlee’s deal was, so I couldn’t discount that she might be trying to make me look bad. It wouldn’t be the first time one of my dad’s girlfriends tried to pin something on me to make him hate me even more.
So planting my foot firmly, I didn’t just turn.
I twirled.
The skirt flared out as I did a full three-sixty, then swished back around my legs as I halted myself and spun the other direction for a final half-turn to face him. Cool air and silky fabric brushed against my thigh as it peeked out. My hair bounced against my face, blocking my vision for a moment before everything settled around me.
The seamstress was staring at me with cautious excitement, like she was thrilled at how well her alterations had turned out, but was too terrified to say anything. That was likely because my dad’s face was turning steadily redder as he stared at me.
Which meant he was pissed, just as expected. My eyes darted to Kimberlee, who I thought would be glaring at me for ruining her plan.
But her eyes were full of delight.
“ Parfait ,” she said. “I thought of you immediately when I saw it, Nellie, and it is exactly as I’d hoped. Elegant, classy, and still brimming with so much personality.” She blinked innocently at my dad. “What do you think, Max? I know it is a bit different than you requested”—I nearly snorted as she admitted to his face that she’d gone against his wishes—“but turquoise is much more on trend this season than pink or red.”
My dad said nothing.
He set his gaze on her, not doing a single thing to hide his annoyance, but kept his lips pressed together tight. Kimberlee blinked prettily again, but there was a hint of a challenge in her soft smile. After a moment, my dad turned his eyes back to me, a muscle in his jaw tightening before he opened his mouth.
“Do another twirl, Nellie,” he said.
It took me a minute to process that, since I’d been expecting him to say there was no way in hell he’d let me out of the house with a skirt slit that was higher than some of the miniskirts I owned. But once I had, I spun in a circle again, though not quite so extravagantly that time. Not that it mattered; the skirt swished the same way, my thigh peeking out as saucily as it did the first time, and when I returned to my starting position, my dad’s mouth was tight again.
Then he took a breath through his nose, not so deep as to be an obvious deep breath, but enough that I noticed it, and let it out as he nodded.
“Excellent,” he said. “You look lovely, ma fille ange .”
What?
I… what ?!
“Uh… thanks,” I said.
He nodded again, a brisk, single jerk of the head. Kimberlee pressed her hands together.
“Wonderful,” she said. “Nellie, you can get changed and give your dress to Oksana. Max, I was thinking for her hair—”
My dad didn’t meet my eye again as Kimberlee explained the rest of her vision to him. He just nodded, not speaking, until she’d finished showing him the jewellery she’d selected and the small clutch purse she’d decided I would carry.
“You have thought of every detail,” he said.
“Of course,” Kimberlee said.
“Has Nellie thanked you for all your efforts?”
“Of course,” Kimberlee said, the lie so smooth it almost sounded true. It wasn’t enough to convince my dad, though, and he looked at me, unimpressed.
“Thank you, Kimberlee,” I said.
“It was no problem at all, Nellie,” she said graciously.
“And it will remain not a problem,” my dad said.
The beaming look disappeared from Kimberlee’s face. “Max—”
He ignored her and stepped towards me. “As a reminder, this is the exact dress you will be wearing on Saturday. No changes. None of your own ‘alterations.’ Do you understand?”
“Yes, Dad.”
“You will do your hair as Kimberlee says. You will wear the makeup she recommends. You will not alter your appearance in any way before Saturday.”
“My hair might grow about a millimeter by then,” I said. “Will that be okay or should I ask for them to trim it before they style it?”
“Eleanor—”
“I was joking,” I said.
He finally seemed to take my word for it and nodded again. “Good. You may get changed. I have to send a few emails and complete some paperwork, but once I am done, we will go for dinner together as I’d originally planned.”
As soon as he left, the seamstress undid the zipper and I pulled the dress off. She took it and breezed out of the room without another word. The second I was alone, I grabbed my phone.
Me
What the actual fuck?!
Bastard
What?
Me
You TOLD HER?!?!!?!?!
I didn’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t laughing emojis.
Bastard
You’re welcome
Me
What do you mean, I’m welcome?
Bastard
You wanted her to find out when she saw us arrive at the gala together? You don’t think she’d start picking names for our hypothetical babies and cause a scene that would make your dad lock you in a tower for the rest of your life?
I bit my lip, glaring at the phone for a minute.
Me
You could have at least given me a head’s up
Bastard
But then I wouldn’t have gotten another random text swearing at me and you know how much I look forward to those.
Anyways. You’re welcome. For both things.
Me
Both things?
Bastard
Telling her, and then the quick thinking I just did when she burst into my room to cross-examine me about why I’d agreed to be your date and why I didn’t tell her because someone didn’t give me a head’s up, either
Me
I was busy. She showed up while I was getting my dress fitted
Bastard
And yet somehow I still don’t have a picture
Shit. I’d forgotten.
Me
It’s turquoise
Bastard
I know. AM has put herself in charge of making sure my outfit matches yours because she doesn’t want me to bring down how hot you look. She’s debating between two ties right now. I think she’s going to pick the striped one, which means I’ll wear the monochrome one
Me
She’s there now?
Bastard
Yep. So don’t worry about sending me the dress pic.
I’ll still take the other one, though
Me
Asshole
Bastard
On Saturday. Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten, babe
Me
Don’t call me babe.
Bastard
Got it
Babe.
I rolled my eyes. I mean, I also stood up and went to my mirror, lifting my shirt so I could take a decent tit pic, but I was flipping off the camera while I was doing it.