11. Gemma
Done. Another wave of inspiration used up.
I draw the last lines on a piece of paper, finishing up the sketch of a lace bra idea I got after waking up.
Stretching my arms out with a yawn, I swing around in my chair.
I take in the surrounding space, my new bedroom. The three months leading up to my new life here with Lil and Mary went by in a flash.
And I finally came around to decorate my room with furniture in shades of cream and taupe. Heavy silk curtains frame the view outside the windows. Everything is crisp and clean, from the plush rug to the sleek desk, room divider and wardrobe.
This is a place where I can work towards turning my dreams into reality. I turn back to my desk, taking in my sketches for the lingerie brand I want to launch. Each design captures a unique blend of style, sexiness, sophistication, touches of femininity, and playfulness. I trace my fingers over the lines of each garment on the paper. How would they look on a model? I should start sewing prototypes soon.
I take the sketch of my very first design. I drew it after my night with Elijah. The hunger in his eyes, the feel of his hands and mouth on my skin.
To be honest, he is the inspiration for every sketch. I always try to remember the feeling he gave me.
Feeling wanted.
Desired.
Sexy.
Everyone deserves to feel that way. So, I hope my collection makes women feel like they can conquer the world and nothing stands in their way while being at their most vulnerable and almost naked. It’s corny but true.
Another yawn escapes me as I place my sketch down.
Time for a coffee.
I wander into the kitchen, still a bit drowsy.
Lil sits on a stool at the counter, sliding an already-prepared cup of coffee toward me. Her warm hazel eyes are soft, and her lips form a silent “Morning” before she turns back to Mary, who waves around with a spatula while standing at the stove.
I lean down to my coffee mug and inhale the delicious aroma.
“Did you hear me?” A spatula appears in front of my face.
I blink up, meeting Mary’s narrowed eyes. “Sorry, what?”
“The charity gala.” She points the spatula at me. “Did you forget?”
Lil holds up her hands in surrender while I give a sheepish grin in response.
Exasperated, Mary turns back to flipping eggs in the pan. “Anyway, that means we’re going dress shopping!”
“I suppose a new dress wouldn’t hurt,” I say, and Lil approves with a slight nod.
Mary whoops. “Perfect, I can’t wait. But let’s get some energy first. And tonight, we’ll meet some handsome man.”
She pauses before continuing, “Sophisticated ones, not like John, who thought it would be a good idea to give me a list of his allergies on the first date. Am I his mom or what?”
I force a laugh, shoving aside the memory of my last run-in with a so-called handsome man. After that and the debacle with Oliver, the mere idea of dating again leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
All I want is to focus on my career and have fun with my friends. But my mom already set up some horrible dates for me, and she doesn’t relent.
Mary puts the pan aside, joins us at the counter, and we eat.
“I’m dying to hear about that hot date your mom set you up on last night,” Mary says.
“Don’t even ask.” I groan, rolling my eyes at the memory of enduring two hours with some pompous trust fund baby named Bartholomew. Who even names his kid like that?
“At least you got a free meal out of it.” Lil picks at her food.
“And indigestion,” I say.
“So, no… fun afterward?” Mary asks.
I swat at her arm. “Of course not.”
“As we have a girls’ night out today. No more moping around or complaining about your mother’s matchmaking attempts. No men tonight.” Lil puts on an over-exaggerated pout.
“I swear she thinks every man with a pulse is a potential suitor,” I say.
“Tell me about it,” Mary says.
“Didn’t you have a date with a doctor?” Lil asks.
“You mean the one who psychoanalyzed me? Yes, amazing date. I don’t know what it is about modern dating, but it feels so disconnected sometimes. It’s rare to find someone you like.”
“It is.” I nod along.
“We should celebrate with cocktails later,” Mary says.
“Oh, let’s order from the Thai place around the corner from which we ordered last week,” Lil says.
“Sure,” Mary says.
After we finish eating, we go into the city to find some dresses and spend the rest of the day getting ready before finally getting to the luxurious hotel where the charity gala takes place.
As we approach, the heavy doors to the enormous ballroom open. Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling like inverted icicles and the walls are adorned with intricate gold and paintings. Waiters in crisp white uniforms weave between rounds of polite laughter and tinkling champagne glasses while a string quartet serenades in the background. Round tables draped in ivory tablecloths fill the space, surrounded by elegant guests dressed to the nines.
My gaze sweeps over the extravagant gowns and tailored suits.
That emerald gown on the statuesque blonde must be silk satin, judging by how it drapes and moves fluidly with each step. I’ll bet my favorite pair of scissors it’s imported Italian silk.
The sweetheart neckline and intricate beading along the bodice require a lot of skill, though the hem appears uneven at one point. I could integrate such a beading, with pearls added, on one of my designs.
My gaze falls on a man’s tuxedo, likely Italian wool, judging by the richness of the fabric. Too thick for lingerie. Although it could be a special piece, the form inspired by the form of a tuxedo.
Pitty, I don’t have my sketchbook with me.
I smooth my hands over my dress and glance at my best friends, who are stunning in their floor-length gowns.
Mary leans in, looping her arms through mine and Lil’s. “You both look gorgeous. Now chin up, we didn’t spend three hours getting ready for nothing.”
I squeeze her arm in thanks as we stride further into the room.
She’s right, we didn’t.
“Can you believe this place? My mom really outdid herself.” Mary scans the room with her eyes.
The hotel we’re in belongs to Mary’s family. They have several around the globe, and Mary’s mother organizes an annual charity gala at the headquarters. Right here.
“It’s incredible,” I say.
“Let’s grab a drink and find our table.” Lil points at the bar. As we navigate through the crowd, I notice men stealing glances at her.
The emerald silk of her gown shimmers under the crystal chandeliers, draping over her petite frame like liquid jade. The deep hue complements her olive skin tone and brings out those mesmerizing amber eyes, which at times seem to be lost in another world.
She carries herself with an almost regal grace, back straight, chin lifted ever so slightly. Yet there’s something so soft, so vulnerable about the way her long, dark hair cascades over her bare shoulders.
I’ve always envied how effortlessly beautiful she is, both inside and out. That quiet strength, that thoughtful intelligence. Lil has this way of making you feel truly seen and understood without uttering a single word.
As we pause at the bar, she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, long lashes lowering briefly. It’s in these fleeting moments I glimpse that tender, almost melancholic quality she tries so hard to mask.
What did Bash do to you, Lil? My protective instincts kick in the way they always do with Lil. I want to pull her into a hug and reassure her that whatever weighs on her mind, she doesn’t have to shoulder it alone.
But I know better than to push. With Lil, you have to be patient and let her come to you in her own time. Trying to pry only makes her retreat further into that beautiful, complicated mind of hers.
“Chardonnay?” The bartender in a vest and bow tie greets us, and we nod in response. He serves us each a glass.
“Cheers to an unforgettable night,” I say as we clink our glasses.
We settle on a table a few meters away from the bar and sip our drinks, taking in the scene before us.
“Look at that woman’s dress.” Mary nudges me, nodding towards a guest wearing a gown adorned with what must be thousands of glittering sequins. “It’s like she’s wearing a disco ball.”
“More power to her.” Lil laughs, raising her eyebrows. “If I could pull that off, I’d wear it daily.”
The champagne bubbles dance across my tongue as I sip the crisp, cool liquid.
“See that couple over there?” Mary nods towards an older man in a tuxedo, his arm tightly wrapped around a much younger woman. Her dress is a shock of bright pink satin that clashes terribly with her orange tan.
“That’s Randolph Van Horn III with his new girlfriend, Bambi.” Mary gives us a conspiratorial look. “His wife caught them in bed together last month and kicked him out. But get this...”
She pauses for dramatic effect, leaning in.
“Bambi used to be their dog walker.”
Lil almost chokes on her champagne. “No way!”
“And rumor has it she’s already moved into his mansion in the Hamptons,” Mary says.
I snort. She somehow knows everyone’s business. Growing up, Mary was always the one with the hottest gossip. The girl who knew all the secrets.
My gaze travels over the other guests. A statuesque woman in a sleek black gown laughs loudly at something her date said. The diamond bracelet on her wrist likely costs more than my yearly rent.
Her head whips to the entrance, her posture stiff. Conversations quieten. My chest tightens as I follow their gaze.