Chapter 13 Henri
Henri
For the three days leading up to the office party, I furiously work on alterations for the velvet Vivian Westwood dress Marty and Alexi gifted me.
Now, I’m standing in front of my phone showing off my handiwork to my mom while Daniel sleeps. It’s past midnight in Vienna. I wouldn’t have bothered Mom, but she’s the one who called me.
“Do you think the red lip is too much? Like a red dress with a red lip, that’s classic, right?” I ask, checking my image in the small square above hers.
In addition to the dress and makeup, I’ve curled my hair so it has a wave to it, and put pearl stud earrings in.
Mom has on her wire-framed glasses and is curled up under a blanket, sipping a sparkling white wine. Her lips tip up into a smile. “No, it’s perfect.”
“But is it the right shade of red? I can’t tell if it has the right undertones in this lighting.”
“I’ve never seen you so anxious about going out,” she notes. “Is everything okay?”
She’s right; I’m never this nervous. I never second guess any outfits for my dates, even for parties that are far dressier than this.
But the difference is that for those, I’m going as Juliet—poised and proper.
For the first time, I’m going as myself, and I don’t want to mess this up. I want the people to like me.
“There will be fashion and makeup people there who will notice.”
“You’ve gone to fashion events before and you never once second guessed yourself so much. It’s okay to admit that you care about this. It’s nice to see you nervous, it means you’re excited. I haven’t seen you excited to go out in a long time.”
“I guess I am excited,” I admit.
“Be honest. Is this a date?”
Liam’s words from the other day ring through my mind. It’s a date. But that’s just something people say.
“No, but it’s not exactly a work thing either. You know that magazine I like?”
“Spitfire!” she says a bit too loudly before looking over her shoulder to make sure she didn’t wake up Daniel. “Yes. I still have all the old ones you bought in a box somewhere.”
“That’s where I’m going. With a friend who works there.”
“That’s amazing. It’s nice to see you acting your age and having fun for a change.”
“I'm always doing something fun.”
I collect experiences on most people’s bucket lists with some of the jobs I take on, eating at Michelin starred restaurants, or being flown to destination weddings, but I don’t ever feel like myself there.
I’m playing a perfectly-planned role that I know I can shrug out of when all is said and done.
This. Knowing Liam, Liam knowing me. It takes away that cloak of protection, but also allows me to feel closer to the action. From the start, he saw a version of me in that cab that was raw and uncontained. And I’m trying to wrap my head around if I love it, or if it terrifies me.
An almost sad smile claims her mouth as her eyes glisten. “You’re such a hard worker that I worry about you putting too much pressure on yourself. After what happened with your father, you took on so much responsibility and you’ve built such a wonderful life, and you’re just getting started.”
My chest aches. I try my best to hide any of my exhaustion from her, but she knows me too well.
A text notification pops up on the top of my screen and I bite down on a smile.
“He’s outside. I should go,” I say.
“Have fun; you look great. If any of the fashion people give you shit, send them to me.”
I nearly roll my eyes. “Yes, I will book them a one-way trip to Europe for you to set the record straight.”
She hangs up mid-laugh.
It takes another minute to wrestle my foot into my knee-high boots. A knock comes from the door and I hobble through the living room to answer it as I attempt to pull the zipper up my calf.
Opening it, I find Liam. Under his gray wool coat he’s wearing a black turtleneck that only serves to accentuate the sharp cut of his jaw, paired with burgundy trousers.
“Umm your neighbor let me in the building, I hope that’s okay?” he says, a bit breathless.
“Stairs get to you again?”
“Yeah. The stairs.” He nods, but his focus seems somewhere else—on me. “Wow. You look great.”
“Same to you.”
“Just . . .” He scrapes a hand through his styled hair, sending it into its usual state of disarray. I think I prefer him this way—just a little undone. “Wow.”
Just. Wow.
The two words burrow somewhere deep in me. Swirling in my veins and taking a trip through the chambers of my heart.
“Let me grab my coat and I’ll be ready to go.” I swallow and wait a second before moving, inviting the moment to stretch.
I dip back inside with the door still hanging wide and I select a long tan wool coat that I tug around my shoulders. The key sticks in the lock as I jimmy it shut.
When I turn around, Liam’s eyes are still on me.
“May I?” he asks, lifting a hand.
“Sure.” Though I’m not particularly certain what I’m agreeing too.
He reaches out, fingers slipping under my collar, as he flicks my hair free so it brushes over the tops of my shoulders. His hand lingers for a moment longer than needed, fingertips grazing over the exposed ridge of my collarbone.
“Thanks.” I step back as I’m flushed with heat. I forgot how hot this coat can be when I’m not outside. “Let’s get going; I wouldn’t want to be late.”
On the way there, Liam explains that Fallon asks the staff each year if they’d rather have the annual party at an upscale venue, or for her to put the funds toward staff bonuses and host it at the office.
Because the staff of Spitfire has basic common sense, as the elevator chimes, we walk out and past a familiar reception desk.
Still, the office has transformed. The islands of desks and computers have been pushed aside, and a karaoke corner has been set up, as well as a fully-stocked bar.
I grab a loaded plate from the catering dishes and start to look for a place to sit. Beside me, Liam stands, stuck in place, eyes darting around. Someone comes up to him and they exchange quick hellos. Liam visibly stiffens at the exchange.
I lightly touch his arm to get his attention. “Hey, let’s go eat in one of the conference rooms; the party will still be here when we’re done.”
Relief washes over Liam’s face. “You’re sure?”
“As sure as I am that I’ll be able to get you to do karaoke by the end of the night.”
“Not a chance.”
“Oh, I have my ways.” I grin up at him and shimmy my shoulders. “What use are these feminine wiles of mine if I don’t put them to work? Come on.” I cock my head toward the hall entrance.
The conference room is two doors down. Neither of us flick on the lights as we go in, but there’s a light glow from a Christmas tree in one corner.
Liam perches on the windowsill, balancing his plate on his lap.
I pull up a chair next to him and look out the window.
A lazy snowfall has started to swirl and whiz through the air.
We fall into a comfortable silence as we eat, and there’s something about the food I can’t put my finger on.
“What’s with the face?” Liam asks, a knowing smile tugging at his mouth.
“I swear I’ve had this before. I’m having this fuzzy, déjà vu feeling.
But maybe it’s just how you get when you walk next to someone with the same cologne as your college ex, and have a visceral flashback to when you watched them scramble for the ball while playing beer pong and realized you don’t find them attractive anymore. ” I shudder at the thought.
He attempts to stifle a laugh, which only causes it to come out as a snort. “I’m happy to say I never had that experience. It probably has to do with the fact it’s from Bide.”
“Ahh the scene of the crime of my near public indecency. I remember it fondly. But isn’t that a bit pricey for a full catering spread?”
“It would be without the discount Fallon was given.” He pushes a clump of mashed potatoes into a pool of gravy. “Fallon got a discount on it—barely paid anything. I rated them lower than last year and they’re trying to compensate.”
“Maybe I should become a food critic if it means I get bribed like that.” I take a bite and consider the flavors. “Now that you’ve said it, this is similar, but definitely tastes richer and more balanced.”
“Really earning that spot as your celebrity crush.”
I groan. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about that.”
“Never. I’m carrying it with me to my grave.” He stops and holds up his fork. “Better yet, I’m putting it on my grave.”
“The commitment is impressive.”
“Why Spitfire? The Thanksgiving list? My articles? There must be hundreds of other things to choose from.”
I hesitate for a moment. The truth feels like too much, and there’s a tender part of me that is haunted by the last time people learned about my dad.
How they left without a second thought. “I was nineteen, just halfway through my second year of college when my family was hit pretty hard financially. It’s kind of embarrassing, but I didn’t have any real world skills.
I’d never worked, or budgeted, or thought too hard about anything because, before, if I wanted something, I just had to ask for it.
” My eyes turn down to my plate and I shove around a stray macaroni noodle coated in silk bechamel.
“My mom was busy all the time, so I didn’t want to ask her how to do things, and I didn’t have anyone else.
I was at the grocery store and saw a Spitfire magazine—-A Broke Girl’s Guide to Money issue—and I picked it up.
” I remember how I ended up having to put back a bag of salt and vinegar chips to afford it, the kettle cooked kind that I’d been craving but couldn’t justify buying because God why did they cost so much.
“I read it and got my shit together. It felt like I was getting a no-nonsense pep talk from a best friend. It sounds silly, but it’s the truth. ”
“I don’t think it’s silly,” Liam says, and I know he means it. I look up and find that he’s focused intently on me.
“Well, thanks.” I shrug, my skin feeling tight under the full force of his gaze.
The room seems to have shrunken too. “After that, I kept buying issues and looking online, especially when I started reading articles by a certain L. Hughes.” Heat floods my cheeks.
“Is it weird to say that it’s like I knew you before we ran into each other.
Maybe that’s the reason it’s so easy to be around each other? ” That has to be it, right?
“I didn’t know you before this. Maybe it’s just easy to be around each other for some other reason.”
“Yeah you’re right.” I shake my head, dislodging the thought. Okay, delusionally-hopeful hypothesis disproven. “If you’re done eating, we could rejoin the group. It’s hard for this to be a trial run of our fake relationship if we’re alone.”
“I prefer being alone with you than putting on a show.” A flash of disappointment crosses his face as he rises to his feet, rolling his shoulders in a stretch. “But you’re the expert—exposure therapy and all.”
He grabs my plate and stacks it with his. When we are back out in the hall, the sounds of the party welcome us. Someone is singing a break-up song so intensely I’m genuinely worried if they’re okay. Liam stiffens but walks with me. A few feet before the end of the hall, he pauses.
“Wait. Can I hold your hand? That would be a couple-y thing to do,” he says.
“If you want,” I tell him, pretending not to care even as my fingers twitch, eager to tangle with his.
“But wouldn’t that help make it look like we’re together?”
“Yeah, but only if you're comfortable with it. Sometimes I don’t do any PDA, other times a kiss or two is appropriate for the situation, but only if agreed upon beforehand.” I’d usually have already established these boundaries, but I’ve been putting it off when it comes to Liam.
“Just hand-holding.”
I thrust out my hand and he takes it—stiffly at first, then his palm molds against mine.
A hush falls when we reach the doorway, then a few tipsy giggles leak from sealed lips.
Jasmine is standing nearby, a Cheshire grin stretched across her face.
“KISS!” someone yells from the crowd, but I’m not sure who.
I turn to Liam, but his neck is craned to look up, sounding angrier than I’ve ever heard him before as he bites out, “Who the fuck put mistletoe here?”