14. Isolde
Isolde
Russet sent me home with a shit ton of baked goods. Cookies, cupcakes, some sort of sweet bread. It’s been the best twenty-four hours of my life, having the ability to walk into my kitchen and find whatever sweet I want.
“Luis will drive you tonight.” Tristan’s voice surprises me. “He’ll stay downstairs until you’re ready.”
I’ve got a spoonful of cream cheese frosting in my mouth when I turn.
Fuck me.
He fixes his shirtsleeve, buttoning the cuff of his immaculate suit.
I eat another glob of frosting, turning back to the fridge. New kink unlocked—fine-ass men fucking me in tailored suits.
I do my best to ignore how my insides squirm. His skin is golden thanks to the afternoon sun streaming in. He’s leaving early, making sure his clients are given every whim that they need or want.
“He’ll be alerted if you use the panic button. So if something happens or someone tries to come into the apartment—”
“Either I or Adeline will shoot them,” I say around the frosting-covered spoon.
A wary expression takes over his face. I see it about five times a day. As one can imagine, it doesn’t dim his handsome features in the slightest.
“You’ve got frosting on your chin.”
I slap a hand to my face.
Tristan messes with his collar. He’s wearing a bow tie. It’s that fancy of a gig.
“You look good,” I compliment, hoping my voice sounds neutral.
“Tell him you’d like to lick his abs like you’re licking that spoon,” Sammie’s ghost goads.
I ignore my sister’s ghost. She’s been around all day, and I’m not lost as to why.
“You sure about going out?” Tristan asks.
“Are you trying to lock me in a cage?”
His brows quirk down, his shoulders tensing. “No. I’m not. . .” He runs a hand over his shaved hair. “It’s. . .”
My breath stills when he takes a step forward. The closest we’ve gotten lately is when we hang out in the living room, watching Love Island.
His softer voice makes my belly swoop. His whole body seems to melt into me despite his feet never moving an inch closer. His brown eyes are nothing but chocolate.
“I don’t want that asshole to upset you again.”
The back of my neck heats.
“I-it’s fine.” The whole point of tonight is partly so Hadrian and I can get over our last interaction. “You really don’t like him, do you?”
“His family and my family are complete opposites, is all.”
The harsh divide of socio-economics.
Tristan never talks about his family, at least not directly. It’s just tidbits I get when he has to take phone calls. It doesn’t seem like a good time to be nosy.
“Hadrian has always treated me decently,” I admit. Tristan lifts an eyebrow. “When he’s not being a massive arsehole.”
Tristan checks the time on his phone. “I’ve got to head out. Text me if you need anything. Adeline just arrived.”
Butterflies burst in my stomach. I’ve never been nervous having people over, but Adeline is pretty, and admittedly I’ve not been feeling great about myself lately.
But I ignore those thoughts, focusing on something else instead. Tristan is almost to the door when my hand skims over his arm.
Tristan glances down at where I touch him before looking at me. A second goes by. Then another one.
“Luis is good at his job,” I tell Tristan. “You should trust him.”
His brow knits together. It’s thoughtful rather than grumpy.
“You’re hard on him, but he’s good at his job, Tris. He’s got me tonight. It’s going to be okay.”
His chest lifts with a breath, but there’s not a chance to respond. There’s movement on the other side of the door. At six stories, my building is a far cry from Russet’s penthouse.
Adeline knocks and then tumbles forward, not expecting the door to open so quickly.
She did not lie about bringing options.
Luis is behind her, his arms full.
“Bedroom’s down the hall,” Tristan tells them, opening the door wider to let him pass. “Ads.”
“Mr. Grumpy Bodyguard,” she greets back. She’s already wearing a berry lipstick.
Luis slides back through, saluting Adeline, who thanks him profusely. Tristan holds the door open for him and then, with one last glance at me, leaves.
“Well,” Adeline states after the door shuts. “Did I interrupt something, because whatever that was seemed kind of heated.”
She’s got to be joking, right?
“Oh, the tortured glances are a dead giveaway,” Adeline explains. “Yeah, there’s definitely something between you two. Um, what’s with the spoon?”
I loosen my grip around the utensil. “Russet sent some stuff.”
Adeline sprints to the kitchen. “I love your place. You like the area?”
“Yeah.” It’s not a lie. I love the tree lined streets. I like my neighbors, which is really saying something. And more than anything, I love having a place where I have complete control.
I grew up in council flats. It wasn’t until New York City that I lived somewhere alone, not a family member or roommate in sight.
I’m aware I don’t own the place. It’s not a mortgage. But I can pick out the furniture. Play whatever music I want. Arrange my groceries however I see fit.
“You tired of commuting?” I ask Adeline. She moved back in with her parents after graduating university and has lived there ever since.
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m fifty/fifty. I feel like I should move out, but I kind of can’t be bothered.”
The Akatov home is a far cry from the flats I grew up in. I don’t fault her for wanting her own place, but it’s not a hardship hanging out at home.
“Okay, so here are my thoughts for the night.” Adeline begins to place items on my bed. She’s brought more clothes than I currently own. “It goes without saying, blue is your color. I thought we’d stay on trend. Also, it’s a weeknight, so not crazy. It’s a dive bar, so casual.”
“I’ve given it a thought. I’m just going to wear what I normally do.”
Adeline gives me a look, and my stomach sinks. Especially when she runs her eye over the clothes I’m currently wearing.
I’ve never answered the door while I’m wearing shorts. Even when Ren comes over, I change into something that will cover my scar. It’s a big deal, letting Adeline see it again.
“I just want. . .”
“To be comfortable,” she fills in. “I’m not asking you to push it. I want you to feel confident and not so nervous that it has the opposite effect. Let’s try jeans. And maybe a shirt that’s a bit. . .”
She can’t hide the wicked grin on her face.
“Oh, God.” I groan at whatever plan she’s got. “If you had an outfit picked out, why did you bring so much stuff?”
“Because they’re your clothes now.”
She’s certifiable.
“I told you I have a shopping addiction.” She holds up a blue crewneck. “This suits you.”
“I can’t take all this stuff.”
“But it’s all stuff you would look great in.” She holds up a pair of jeans. “Try these on.”
I shuck out of my shorts, pulling the denim on. Admittedly, the material is softer than I remember most jeans being.
“What’s with all the shopping?” I ask.
“When I need to feel something, I buy something.”
“That’s a lot of trying to feel something,” I note. She’s even brought shoes to give me.
“Don’t I know it,” she says under her breath. “Those look good.”
The fabric skims my thighs but doesn’t rub.
“The key with baggier jeans,” Adeline says, “is the waist.”
Cinched in at the waist, the wide leg, baggier material hangs down my legs rather than trapping them. I’m not swimming in the pair of jeans, though.
“Try this on,” she says.
It’s a light blue tank top.
“I don’t like my arms.”
“I’ve seen you lift weights, and it’s a dive bar in the summer.” Adeline places a hand on her hip. “Try on the damn tank top.”
The fabric is soft again, Adeline getting the memo that I can’t do anything itchy. It surprises me, though, that she’s been able to find something so lacy that still abides by this rule.
“I brought pasties.” Adeline holds up as I yank my shirt off.
“Pasties?” I frown.
“You’re not going to want to wear a bra with that.”
I beg to differ. “But I need to wear a bra.”
“Why?” Adeline questions.
Because I always wear a bra.
“Free the nipples,” Sammie’s ghost whispers in my ear, a tad too gleeful for a ghost.
“The tank top will fit better without a bra,” Adeline explains. “Plus, you won’t have to mess with the straps. You’ve got great boobs, Isolde. They’re perky.”
“They’re small.” I try not to be embarrassed by this fact. Bodies come in all shapes and sizes, I know.
And Adeline is not putting up with my sorrow over small boobs. “Put these pasties on and put your shirt on.”
She wanders back to the kitchen in search of more sugar cookies. I do as she says, messing around with the pasties, putting my nipples in jail, before pulling the tank top over me.
“Holy shit, you look hot.” Adeline finds me standing in front of a mirror, shoving the remnants of a cupcake into her mouth.
The jeans and tank top make me look pretty. It sounds ridiculous because it’s not like I’ve dressed up in a ballgown or anything. But there’s something about the combination that makes it hard to turn away from the mirror.
“Your ass in those jeans.” Adeline makes a kissing noise.
She’s right. It’s probably because I haven’t worn pants that snatch my waist in, or when I wear leggings, they're normally covered by a gigantic T-shirt.
“And what did I tell you about the boobs?” Adeline teases.
The delicate lace of the light blue tank top is flattering against my skin. My chest appears lifted, and thanks to the tank’s double lining and the pasties, I’m not worried about any nip slips.
The outfit is hardly adventurous by most people’s standards, but for me it’s a push. Looking at my reflection, though, I’m happy leaving my comfort zone in the name of fashion.
“Makeup,” Adeline says.
I sit on the edge of the bed while she adds all kinds of things to my face.
Sometimes I catch Sammie’s ghost out of the corner of my eye.
She’ll give me a little thumbs-up but remains unusually silent.
I wonder if she’s remembering when we used to share a room during our teen years, arguing over the flat iron.
“Want me to curl your hair?” Adeline asks.
“That’ll be a bit much, won’t it? Besides, don’t you need to get ready too?”
“I’ve got my outfit picked out, and I’ll brush my hair or something. It’ll be fine.”
“Do you even want to go on this date?”
Adeline could get any man she wanted, but she’s almost playing it too coy. I really don’t think she likes this guy, so I’m not sure why she’s forcing herself to go on a date.
“No, it’s. . .” Adeline is whipping out hair tools at an alarming rate. “I don’t know.”
She falls onto the edge of my bed, tucking a knee up and relaxing. “Blake and I have gone on a few dates already. He’s. . . nice.”
“Nice enough to keep dating?”
A half-smile curls her lips. “I want to be alone, but I don’t want to be lonely.”
My brows lift. I can’t stop them. Maybe it’s not fair of me to think Adeline has no problems because she’s so good looking. Lennie certainly had her fair share of shit to contend with. Anxiety and a stalker.
But Adeline has this air of graciousness. Like she could take on the world and come out on top without trying hard. I know looks can be deceiving. I’ve honed my face to show no fear because it’s what’s needed for the life I lead.
“Is it fair to this Blake guy, though?” I ask.
Adeline takes a deep breath, shaking her head like she doesn’t know.
Something niggles in the back of my mind. Some little worry about how a girl in her early twenties is already starting to settle because she’s lonely in life.
“Why don’t you come around Fujimori’s more?” I ask her. The restaurant was the lifeline I needed when I got to the city. A place where friends came into my life, roots of connection growing in an otherwise lonely soul.
“It just always seems more like my sister’s place.” Adeline starts unwrapping a cord to a curling iron. “Should we use the bathroom for this?”
I follow her into the small space.
“How is it going sharing a bathroom with the Ghost?” she asks.
“He’s a clean freak, so it’s fine.” Adeline laughs. “You know Len is too tied up with Elijah right about now. Come hang out with us more.”
I feel the irony as I say it. No one is doing much hanging out at the moment. Maybe part of the reason Adeline and I are hanging out so much is because we’re the two without partners in our lives.
Sure, I slept with Tris, but I know once Ren gets back, I’ll have lost my best friend. I mean, not really. But I’ve done this before. When everyone in the group starts to couple up.
“But you’ll always have me,” Sammie’s ghost says, placing a hand over her heart. I frown, not understanding if the movement is mocking or sincere.