Chapter 22
Vanessa
“Happy birthday!” Nicole, Dani, Peyton, and Bri shout in unison.
“Thank you.”
I hug each of them, realizing that for the first time, I kind of have friends.
Because I didn’t go to college with anyone from boarding school, I didn’t keep in touch with anyone, and even though I’ve gotten to know a few people in college, I’ve been so focused on going to school, interning, and working that I haven’t been the best at making friends.
But all four of these women have made it a point to be nice to me.
They text and call to ask how I’m doing.
Peyton got me the job at Hotel Blu. Bri recommended me to a few of the women who attend her Pilates studio, and they’ve contacted me, wanting custom outfits.
And Dani has been so helpful, answering any questions I have about taking care of Leo.
Once I’m safe and Lorenzo and I get an annulment and I move back to Seattle, I hope to stay in touch with them because I think I’ll miss them.
But not as much as I’ll miss Lorenzo and Leo.
The thought causes a lump of emotion to clog my throat.
“Hey, why the long face?” Nicole asks. “Contrary to what you seem to believe, birthdays are meant to be celebrated, and we’re all about to get pampered, thanks to your hubby.” She winks playfully, and I push my negative thoughts to the side.
“I know,” I choke out. “I’m just so appreciative of how nice you guys have been to me. I’ve never been one to have a bunch of friends. And after what I did, I wouldn’t expect you to be so kind to me.”
“None of that.” Bri scoffs. “We’ve all done shit to survive. What the mayor did is fucked up, and you did what you had to do to save yourself. Besides, if Lorenzo isn’t mad at the turn of events, how can we be?”
Memories of waking up this morning to Lorenzo eating me out have me blushing. No, he’s definitely not mad at the turn of events—at least not anymore.
“Oh my God, are you and Lorenzo together, together?” Nicole asks.
“What?” I squeak.
“You’re totally fucking,” Peyton says.
“Peyton,” Bri chides, “don’t be so crass.” Then she looks at me. “You guys are totally fornicating.”
Peyton snorts out a laugh, and Dani groans.
“No, we’re not talking about this,” Dani says. “I like you, but I don’t want to imagine my brother having sex.”
“We’re not having sex,” I say, not wanting to let them believe that when it’s not the truth.
I’ve already lied once about having sex with Lorenzo …
“Well, you’re doing something,” Bri says, “because that blush that crept on your cheeks is sex-related.”
“Are we here to have a spa day or talk about my brother’s sex life?” Dani whines.
“Both,” Peyton and Bri say before falling into peals of laughter.
“I’m here for the pampering,” I say. “I can’t even remember the last time I got a good pedicure.”
My toes are painted a soft pink.
My fingernails the same color.
My brows have been threaded.
I had the best facial and massage.
And the hairdresser just finished giving me a fresh balayage, cut, and blow-dry.
Because Lorenzo is having his tech-slash-hacker guy check out all my devices, I haven’t had a phone all day, and I’m surprised—though I guess not really—by how much I miss chatting with him.
He’s sent Dani a few pictures of Leo to show me—including one of both Lorenzo and Leo wishing me a happy birthday—and I think it’s safe to say that those two have stolen my heart, and I don’t want it back.
How I’m going to return to Seattle once I’m safe I have no clue—but I will because my future is too important and I refuse to be anything like my mom, putting a man above my career.
“Put this on,” Bri says, handing me a bag with an extremely expensive designer label on it.
“If you don’t like my outfit, just say that,” I joke.
“You look cute. You always do, but you need to be it’s my birthday hot.”
“To go home?” I laugh, shaking my head.
Then it hits me. “Wait, are we going somewhere?”
“Put it on!” She laughs.
“What about you guys?”
They’re not dressed any different from me.
“We’re getting changed too,” Dani says, lifting another bag with the same designer written across the side.
Using the salon’s changing room, I find a strapless black lace corset minidress and matching black Louboutin heels.
It’s probably the most expensive thing I’ve ever owned, and as I put it on, I can’t help but feel like a fraud.
I started making my own clothes because I wanted to look cute and my mom refused to buy me clothes.
But can I possibly make items that are as beautiful and high quality as the piece I’m wearing?
I step out, and Bri claps her hands.
“You look stunning. Peyton and Dani are changing in the other bathroom. Once I change, we’ll get going.”
A few minutes later, she steps out, wearing the dress I made for her, and I gasp at how gorgeous she looks. The off-the-shoulder lace boho maxi dress glides over her curves, accentuating her beautiful bump.
Her husband, Kane, picked it up for her since she was running late, so she wasn’t able to try it on in front of me, and they’re waiting for the proof of their pictures to come back, so I didn’t get to see it on her, but it’s even more perfect on her than it looked on the mannequin.
“I figured a beautiful dress such as this shouldn’t only be worn once. And since it feels like I’m growing bigger by the day, soon, I won’t fit into it.” She pouts.
“Can I take a picture of you in it?” I ask sheepishly. “I’d love to add it to my portfolio …” I reach for my phone and then remember I don’t have one. “Oh shoot. I don’t have my phone.”
“I’ve got you.” She tosses me her phone and starts to pose. “Snap away.”
As I take picture after picture of her, it’s hard to believe I designed and made that dress. Maybe it’s not an expensive name brand like the one I’m wearing, but that designer had to start from somewhere as well, right?
Maybe I’m not Chanel or Hermès, but I’m Vanessa Baker, and I won’t stop until my name is spoken in the same fondness and reverence as theirs.
“What did you do?” I rasp when we walk into the condo an hour later—after a makeup artist showed up to do our makeup.
When we pulled into the private garage, I figured we were stopping here to pick up the guys to go to dinner. But I had no idea that Lorenzo would be hosting a dinner party for my birthday.
“Happy birthday, Wild Card,” Lorenzo murmurs, leaning in and giving me a chaste kiss, not caring that we’re in front of everyone. “You look … fuck.” He steps back and rakes his gaze over me. “You look delicious.”
“Delicious?” I bark out a laugh. “Are you planning to eat me?” I joke.
But the moment the words are out of my mouth and Lorenzo’s gaze turns molten, I know that’s exactly why he picked that word.
Later, he mouths. “Right now, we’re going to celebrate your birthday and the fact that for a short time, you’re only fourteen years younger than me.”
Speaking of which …
“When is your birthday?”
“I don’t have one,” he deadpans. “Once I turned thirty-five, I stopped having them.”
“December 20,” Dani says. “He’ll be thirty-seven.”
Lorenzo glares, and she shrugs, sticking her tongue out at him.
“It’s not my fault you’re practically an old man,” she quips.
“Hey!” Matteo hisses. “I’m the same age as him.”
Dani mouths, Old man, and Matteo pounces on her, tickling and kissing her.
“I’ll show you an old man.”
“Not here,” Lorenzo groans. “It’s bad enough I’ve walked in on you two several times. My home is my safe place. Now …” He takes my hand and guides me over to the long table that’s situated across the living room—the furniture having magically disappeared. “It’s time to celebrate your birthday.”
Everyone has a seat, and I look around at the elegant birthday decor hanging on the walls. It’s black and gold, and it looks more like a lavish party than my birthday dinner. But I love it.
On the table are beautiful bouquets of white and black anemones—the same flower he bought me when he took me out on our date—along with gold taper candles emitting a soft glow.
“I can’t believe you did all this,” I murmur, stunned by Lorenzo’s generosity.
The spa day was more than enough. But this … everyone coming together to celebrate me has me choking up with emotion.
“Hey, don’t cry,” Lorenzo says, reaching out and wiping a tear from my cheek that I didn’t realize had fallen.
“I’ve never had a party before,” I whisper. “And this … it’s just beautiful, and after what I did to you …” I shake my head. “I don’t deserve this or you.”
I sniffle back a sob, and Lorenzo grips my chin, turning me to look at him.
“That’s where you’re wrong. You deserve this and so much more, and I’m going to spend every day for the rest of our lives showing you that.”
I want to argue, remind him that our time is limited, but several waiters come out, delivering us waters and handing us drink menus, and I decide to enjoy tonight instead of ruining it.
As we drink and eat the delicious five-course meal that Lorenzo had catered, I can’t help but feel like Cinderella—at midnight, I’ll turn back into the broke college student. But for right now, I revel in the conversation, laughter, and happiness that I feel.