29. Maeve #2
“Mom has her little social rivalries,” Ford says dryly.
I bite back a grin. “Well, I’ll be happy to be there.”
I just hope the dress I brought will be nice enough. I’m sure everyone will be able to tell I got it from a thrift store for ten dollars, but at least I look good in it. I’ve worn it to company parties before and always gotten compliments, so I’m crossing my fingers.
“You don’t have to go,” Ford says. “If you’re not up for it—maybe you need more rest?—”
“You’re sweet,” I tell him, because we’re in front of his mom and it’s true. “But I’m really okay, I promise. It was just a twenty-four-hour thing, like I said. I’m feeling like myself again.”
“Just don’t overdo it,” Ford replies. “Take it easy today.”
“I will,” I promise, and I mean it.
I enjoy a hearty breakfast of French toast and eggs and bacon, then spend the day relaxing with Lydia.
Turns out the impressive record collection in the living room is mostly hers, so we put on Christmas albums and enjoy listening to the music by the beautifully decorated tree.
It looks magical all lit up, and it’s so cozy in here with the fire crackling and snow falling outside.
Lydia’s full of energy, I’ve noticed, but she seems to understand I still need to take it easy, because she just gets out some board games and card games and we play quietly while listening to the music.
It’s a really lovely day, actually. The whole thing feels like a dream—it’s exactly what I’d picture if someone told me to imagine my perfect Christmas holiday.
Part of me wonders if I’m still sick and hallucinating this whole thing.
This happiness, this wonderful treatment and care from these good people…
it can’t last forever. It’ll all end when this arrangement is over and Ford tells his family about our ‘breakup’.
Then I’ll be off on my own pursuing my dream.
And it is still my dream. I want my farm-to-table restaurant, and I’m so excited that I’ll actually be debt-free and able to pursue it that I can barely think about it without getting dizzy with anticipation.
But now I also have a taste of another dream: a dream where I have a family that cares about me. A dream where men as handsome and successful and caring as my three bosses actually want me romantically. And I know that this part of the dream… that will never be real.
Luckily I hide that bit of melancholy from Lydia pretty well. Or at least if she notices, she doesn’t say anything, and Lydia’s not good at hiding what she’s feeling. I might not have known her long, but I can tell that about her already.
We make ourselves a nice lunch, and I get to show off my cooking skills. I make us tomato, three-cheese, and bacon paninis with a mustard-pesto spread, plus tomato basil soup to go with it. Lydia’s delighted with everything, and I feel a warm glow of pride at how much she enjoys it.
I bring some to the men too. All three of them are shut up in the office getting work done, catching up on everything, and I know they’ll forget to eat if someone doesn’t remind them.
I get nods of thanks, but none of them look up from their papers, phone calls, or laptops. That’s fine by me. I understand they’re focused, and I don’t take it as an insult.
Finally, it’s time to get ready for the party. The three men emerge from their office when Elaine reminds them, and I smile at the clean plates and bowls.
“That was incredible,” Ford tells me honestly as I clean up and bring the dishes into the kitchen to wash them. “Thank you.”
“I’m really glad you liked it.”
“I’m not surprised—after all, you bake beautifully. But you truly have a gift for this.”
That fills me with warmth and joy. I’ve wanted to make this restaurant dream a reality because I love cooking and baking, and I want to share that love with people.
There’s something special, I think, in cooking for others.
It’s one of the most basic acts of human caring there is, a true expression of love.
But I’ve had doubts sometimes, especially as my dream has seemed more and more impossible—doubts that I’m actually good enough. Just because you love something doesn’t mean you’re talented enough to make a career of it.
So to hear someone like Ford, who I know doesn’t give out compliments easily and never lies to flatter people, praise my cooking? It means everything.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
The look he gives me feels casually intimate, and rather than trying to figure out what else to say, I hurry upstairs to get ready.
As I step into the bedroom, I stop, my brows furrowing. Laid out on the bed is a dress.
I frown, staring at it. For a wild second, I think I must be seeing things, but I’m definitely not.
It’s beautiful. A lovely soft blue that will complement my hair perfectly, and a color I can actually see clearly.
It has a wraparound bust that will accentuate my curves and a flowing, fitted skirt that will show off my figure without being too heavy or overwhelming.
There’s an elegant yet soft look to it. When I pick up the fabric to feel it, I can immediately tell how high-quality it is.
I glance around as if someone is going to burst in and declare this is all a joke, that this dress isn’t for me after all, but it doesn’t happen.
There’s no price tag, and my heart speeds up as I wonder if that means whoever got this for me removed it, or if this is custom-made, no price tag ever attached in the first place. Instead, there’s a note.
Since you refuse to use the Amex, I used it on your behalf. I hope you like it.
~ Gabriel
My heart climbs into my throat. He did this for me—I don’t even know what to say. I’m incredibly touched. Now I know I’ll fit in with everyone else at the party and won’t look underdressed.
I take a quick shower, my mind racing the entire time, then towel off and slide the dress on. Holding my breath, I look at myself in the full-length mirror.
The gown fits like it was made for my body, and it makes my chest tighten to realize that Gabriel knows my measurements so perfectly.
It’s elegant and lovely, while also being more daring than I’d normally wear.
The dress hugs my curves, and the bodice is just low enough to show off my cleavage.
Because it’s a wraparound in a V-shape, it continues that line in the back, meeting at my waist and leaving a lot of bare skin showing.
I have a nice little pendant necklace I was going to wear with my original dress, so I put that on with matching earrings, and do my hair up so the full effect of the dress can be appreciated. The dress is really the star of the show, and I want it displayed properly.
My stomach is buzzing with nerves as I head down the staircase to meet everyone else. I feel lovely in a way I’ve never experienced before, but I’m also nervous. Like the moment I appear in front of other people, they’ll show me that I’m really just a sparrow trying on peacock feathers.
But when I reach the bottom of the stairs, I hear several sharp intakes of breath. I look at Lydia—but she isn’t the one gasping. Who was that?
“You look wonderful!” Lydia says enthusiastically. “Do a little twirl!”
I do as I’m told. When I finish, I glance at Hayden, Ford, and Gabriel, who are all looking at me with unmistakable heat in their eyes. I can feel myself flushing, and I wonder if they were the ones who’d breathed in so sharply when I appeared. The thought sends a little flutter through my stomach.
Liam stands with his parents over by the front door. Elaine is smiling proudly, and Charles’s expression is neutral. But Liam looks like he tasted something sour, his face scrunched up a bit, although I’m not sure why.
Ford comes up to me and kisses me, his hands settling possessively on my hips. My mouth tingles from the contact.
“You look stunning,” he tells me.
I flush harder. “Are you sure it’s not too much?”
“I think it’s perfect. You look incredible. And if anyone so much as hints that anything about you is ‘too much,’ you’d better tell me. I might be rich, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to throw a punch.”
I laugh a little, but my blush doesn’t fade. I know his protective words are just for show, but it’s still nice to feel defended. And I have to admit, the idea of Ford throwing a punch on my behalf is… a very appealing image.
He offers me his arm. “Shall we?”
I take it, and we head out.
Let’s just hope I don’t make a complete fool of myself among all these wealthy people.