61. West
CHAPTER 61
WEST
The storm passes during the night, sweeps past the house and moves farther inland, but I don’t notice until it’s nearly dawn. Nora’s running her fingers over my bare back, lying half beneath me, bodies languid and heavy with near-sleep and pleasure.
She woke me up by burrowing into me, and one thing led to the other until I was inside her with her toy tucked against her clit.
“That rain,” she murmurs, “probably destroyed the last of the apple blossoms.”
“Mhm.”
Her fingers move over my skin like I’m her cat. “It’s almost morning.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’re not leaving this bed.”
Her voice is sleepy. “You probably have work to do too.”
“I’ll cancel it.”
“All of it?”
I smile into her shoulder. “For you? Of course.”
She laughs a little. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“Good.” I shift closer, press my lips down to her warm neck. We’ve barely moved since we had sex, not even to clean up the mess between us. “I know you’ve got a big day, though.”
“Yeah. I’ve given the collection everything I have, and now I just have to hope it’ll be enough.”
“It will be.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. Your best will always be good enough.”
I kiss her collarbone, and she relaxes under my touch, her nails raking lightly down my back.
“I’m excited but nervous,” she says. “For a long time, those two emotions didn’t belong together in my mind. But they do now. I think you taught me that too. Because you always made me both at the same time.”
She constantly disarms me.
I lift my head to respond, but a soft pounce on the bed makes us both turn. A low, whiskered face and yellow eyes stalk our way. Darcy was annoyed with me for stealing her away from her atelier earlier, but he followed us into her room with a raised tail and a cautious look at me.
Now he pads across her comforter without paying me any mind.
“Good morning,” she says with the same loving voice she just used on me. “Want to join?”
“I’m not into threesomes,” I mutter against her neck.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
The cat flops down beside Nora’s free hand and starts to purr. She’s got one hand on me and another stroking down the cat’s back. I recognize defeat when I see it and turn onto my back beside her.
“The fashion show,” I ask. “Can I be there beside you?”
Her gaze slides to mine. “Do you want to be?”
“Of course I do. It’s been in my calendar for weeks.”
A smile spreads across her face. “Thank you.”
* * *
I help Nora to the fashion show, carrying garment bags to the car. She’s in a sleeveless black dress that fits her like a glove, with her hair up in a ponytail. Her expression is tight. It’s no-nonsense, focused, ambitious.
I love it.
She’s a force when she’s in her element. There’s no people-pleasing backstage at the venue, her hands capable and her voice smooth and in control. She helps models don the looks she’s crafted and fixes a last-minute hem.
When a zipper catches, she turns to me. “You have strong hands. Can you help me?”
I take the skirt from her. “I’ll fix it.”
“Be careful,” she warns me, and I can’t resist a smile.
“You know I’m good with my hands.”
She rolls her eyes. “Thanks.”
“Anything for you, trouble.”
When it’s almost time, her models stand in a tight row backstage. Nora smiles at them all. It’s an encouraging, kind, beautiful smile, and she shines amid all this busyness. She knows exactly what it’s like to be in their shoes.
“Thank you,” she tells them. “I appreciate each and every one of you. Have fun out there.”
I move closer, lean against the wall behind her. There’s a large black curtain that separates our area from the runway. The designers can’t come outside; it’s one of the few ironclad rules today.
Everything has to be anonymous.
The whispers are hushed, and silence settles over the room, and through the curtain, the presenter’s voice comes muffled but audible.
Contestant number six! Applause rings out, and Nora gives a nod to the first model, a redhead in an asymmetrical dress that falls to the floor. I’m no fashion expert, but even I can recognize Nora’s skill.
One after another, the models walk out.
On the monitor, we can see what the audience sees. Her clothes on the models, walking in front of a fully packed audience and a row of judges. Nora leans against me. I wrap my arms around her waist, her back to my front, and feel the tension slowly bleed out of her.
“Oh my god,” she says. “I did it.”
“You did it.”
“Look at that one,” she says when the final model walks in a long flowing skirt and asymmetrical top. “I love the way that fabric looks. It was so hard to work with, though.”
I kiss her hair. “You’ve done so well.”
“Yes I have, haven’t I?”
My arms tighten around her waist. “Are you praising yourself?”
She looks up. “Does that mean I’ve finally aced that lesson?”
“Yes. Straight A’s across the board.”
She laughs a little. “Thank you for being here.”
“Nowhere else I’d be today, trouble.”
Applause rains down outside the black curtain, and on the screen, we see the models start to make their way back up the long, curved catwalk and toward us. That’s when Nora leans in suddenly. “Oh my god.”
“What?”
She points at the small monitor, to someone sitting in the front row right beside the judges. The pixels obscure his identity, but we both know him well enough to make him out.
Rafe is in the audience.
He’s going to cause a media stir. The young Maison Valmont CEO is here, scoping out his latest acquisition…
“I didn’t know he was coming,” I say.
“Me neither.” Nora takes another deep breath and steps away from me to welcome the models back. I help where I can and get out of the way when it’s needed. And soon, her things are back in the garment bags.
We end up in the designers’ waiting area outside, and I hand Nora a bottle of water. “Drink.” She looks at me for a second before obeying. “You’ve been on your feet for hours.”
“I’m exhausted,” she admits, “but I’m too keyed-up to relax.”
“Of course you are.”
“How are you so calm in all of this?”
I grin. “Because I have complete faith in you. Come here.”
She walks into me like I’m a wall, arms at her sides, her face into my chest. I chuckle and hold her tight. “You’re going to sleep for twelve straight hours after today.”
“Twenty-four,” she says, and finally reaches up to wrap her arms around my neck. “I did it.”
“You did it.”
Her eyes glow, and there are other people in this room, but I kiss her like none of them exist.
“Ugh,” a voice says beside us. Annoying and annoyingly familiar. “I know I just came around to the idea of you two, but do I have to see it?”
I lift my head and give Rafe a stare. But I don’t step away from Nora. “Too soon?”
“Too soon,” he says.
Nora looks over at her brother. “Well,” she says, “that’s too bad.”
And then she kisses me again.
I’m laughing when she finally steps back. Rafe has turned his back to us, arms crossed over his chest. He’s rigid, but there’s no anger in him. That much is clear.
It feels like a giant fucking relief.
“We’re done now,” Nora announces.
Rafe turns, his dark eyebrows pulled low. He got more of their father. Darker hair, more olive skin. Still, the similarities are there. They have the same green eyes.
“You came today,” she says.
He nods. “ Bon travail .”
“You don’t know which one was mine.”
“No. I don’t. But I still know you did really well.”
Nora lifts her chin. “Which one was your favorite?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes, I think it does. I want your honest answer,” she says. “ T’inquiète .”
I’ve heard them talk this way before. Their constant switching back and forth between their two mother tongues, and damn it, I’m going to have to do this for the rest of my life now. I studied Latin at Belmont when it should have been French.
“Number six,” he says. “But I have been paying attention, you know. I recognize your work.”
Nora’s breath catches. “You have?”
“Of course I have.” He runs a hand through his hair and glances at me. There’s reluctant acceptance in that look. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear to you. I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel… like you could… be honest with me. Or like you had to be strong all the time.”
Nora glances over her shoulder at me. Maybe I didn’t mention all the accusations I hurled at Rafe in the library that night. Sometimes the truth hurts.
“I’m really proud of you,” he says. Rafe’s voice turns hoarse. “And je suis vraiment désolé .”
“For what?”
“ Tout .” He runs a hand through his hair. “Wilde wouldn’t have targeted you if it wasn’t for me. If I ever made you feel like you were a burden to me, or like you couldn’t be scared…”
“It’s okay,” she says.
“No. It’s really not.”
Nora takes a step closer to her brother, her hand on his arm. Another volley of quick French is fired off, and I catch only hints. Rafe nods twice during her words, but his face is drawn tight.
“Yes,” he says when she’s done. “You’re right.”
“I know I am.”
His lips tug. “You’re more confident these days.”
“I’ve worked on it,” she says, and hugs him. He looks over her shoulder at me with an expression I can read all too well. A bit embarrassed, a bit grateful.
“Does this mean I’ve lost you to the other side of the Atlantic?” he asks her.
I’m not the one asked, but I nod regardless. She’s mine now .
Rafe rolls his eyes.
Nora laughs and takes a step back out of her brother’s arms. She says something again in rapid French, and his gaze softens. There’s something about trust in that sentence, I think. Something about family too.
Behind them, the door to the waiting room opens. Someone with a headset and a clipboard calls out for our attention.
Nora and Rafe don’t hear her.
I put a hand on their shoulders. “Hey. This heartwarming reunion will have to wait a bit.”
The attendant clears his throat and tells us that the judges are done convening. There’s a result.
Contestant number six should get ready to go out on stage.