22. Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Two
Annie
The warm circle of light caused by the glow of my bedside lamp breaks as I pace back and forth, wringing my hands. My feet sink slightly into the plush rug with each step, but it barely registers. My mind is racing, and no matter how much I tell myself to stop, I can’t seem to calm down.
I glance at the clock on the nightstand for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. It’s almost eleven. Robbie has been asleep for hours, his small body curled up under the covers after an evening of excitement with his dad. My chest tightens a little at the thought of Cole.
Will he come to my room tonight?
The thought sends an involuntary shiver through me, one I’m not sure is more from anticipation or dread. Not that Cole has given me any indication he plans to. He’d been the perfect picture of normalcy at dinner—attentive to Robbie, even engaging me in conversation. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought everything between us was perfectly ordinary.
But nothing about this is ordinary.
I stop pacing long enough to sit on the edge of my bed, only to stand up again almost immediately. My nerves won’t let me relax. “Just go to sleep, Annie,” I mutter under my breath, rubbing my temples. “He’s probably busy. Or working. Or—” My words cut off abruptly, my thoughts veering in a new direction.
The gala.
Cole had mentioned it so casually at dinner, like it was just another event on the calendar. “Two weeks from now,” he’d said in that calm, matter-of-fact tone of his. “It’s formal, and you’re invited.”
Invited. To a gala. At his house.
The idea feels completely surreal.
I groan softly, running my hands through my hair as I pace toward the window. The moonlight filters through the curtains, silvery and soft, but it does nothing to soothe my rising panic. A gala. A formal gala. What am I going to wear?
I picture the elegant, sophisticated crowd that will no doubt attend—a sea of perfectly tailored suits and breathtaking gowns. My pulse quickens. I don’t even own a dress that could remotely qualify as “formal.” The best thing in my wardrobe is a knee-length floral sundress I bought two years ago, and that’s not exactly gala material.
Evelyn’s words echo in my mind, offering a bit of comfort, but not enough. She’d assured me after dinner that any staff Cole invited to the gala were always provided for, meaning he’d be covering the cost of a dress .
But even with that reassurance, my worries don’t go away. Anywhere fancy enough to have gowns like that will require fittings, tailoring—time I don’t have. How am I supposed to pull this off in two weeks?
Why the hell didn’t he tell me sooner?
Did he forget? Or did he only invite me after last night?
But Evelyn had made it seem like it wasn’t out of the ordinary for staff who were not working the event to attend.
My gaze drifts to the corner of the room where my sketchpad sits on the desk, untouched for weeks. The sight of it stirs something deep inside me, a tiny flicker of creativity coming to life.
Could I make something myself?
The thought lodges itself firmly in my mind, refusing to let go. It would be a massive undertaking, but at least I’d have control over the design, the fit. I wouldn’t have to deal with the pressure of finding something in a store that felt right. I could create something entirely my own.
The idea starts to snowball, gaining momentum as I pace the room. My mind races with possibilities, ideas for fabrics and cuts, details I could include to make the dress feel special.
I glance at the closet, where my sewing supplies have been neatly tucked away since they were brought over from my apartment. An idea begins to take shape, pushing aside the panic that had gripped me earlier.
I can do this. I’ve done it before. It wouldn’t be easy, but it’s not like I’m starting from scratch. I’ve got designs I could pull from, or I could sketch something new.
My hands twitch with the urge to get started, to channel this nervous energy into something productive. I cross the room and grab the sketchpad, flipping it open to a blank page. The pencil feels familiar and comforting in my hand, and for the first time in weeks, I sit down and start sketching.
The only sound in the room is the scratching of my pencil as it moves across the page. Lines and curves take shape, forming the beginnings of a gown that’s equal parts elegant and understated. I lose myself in the process, the time slipping by unnoticed as my ideas come to life on paper.
It’s only later, when the pencil stills in my hand and I glance at the clock, that I realize Cole never came to my room.
A strange mixture of relief and disappointment washes over me as I set the sketchpad down and climb into bed. It’s not like I expected him to, but I was still hopeful.
And also filled with dread. Though he assured me that what I felt this morning likely won’t happen every time, the fear of going through it again, feeling that low and ashamed, is not something I want to repeat any time soon.
I force myself to switch back to the dress. My mind is still buzzing with ideas, but with a solid plan, I feel like I can breathe.
The gala might be daunting, but maybe— just maybe—I’ll survive this after all.
***
The morning air is still lingering in my lungs as I step through the garage door and into the house, closing the door softly behind me. The house is quiet, the kind of peace that comes after the rush of the morning routine. Dropping Robbie off at school had gone smoothly, though his excitement about the pool party when I told him about it had him practically bouncing out of the car.
I head for the stairs, intent on grabbing my supply list from my room before heading out to shop for fabrics. The idea of designing and sewing my own dress has given me a much-needed burst of energy, and I’m determined to find the perfect materials to bring my vision to life before I have to pick up Robbie.
But as I climb the staircase, my thoughts start to drift, unbidden, back to last night. Specifically, to the empty space in my bed where Cole had spent the night before.
I try not to think about it. I tell myself it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t owe me anything. But the thought gnaws at me all the same. Why hadn’t he come back to my room?
Did he regret what happened between us? Maybe he didn’t enjoy himself as much as I thought he did.
My stomach twists as the doubts creep in, each one more insidious than the last. Was I too inexperienced for him? Too shy? Too... boring? Maybe he thinks I’m too much trouble after yesterday morning.
I shake my head sharply, forcing myself to focus on my task.
“Stop overthinking,” I mutter under my breath as I reach the top of the stairs. “You have other things to worry about.”
Like fabrics. And supplies. And planning Robbie’s pool party. My pace quickens as I head to my room, trying to shake off the doubts. Once I have my list, I’ll head out and lose myself in the tactile joy of picking out fabric—the textures, the colors, the endless possibilities.
But before I leave, a snack is definitely in order.
I make my way to the kitchen, where Evelyn is at the counter, her hands deftly chopping a pile of fresh vegetables. Sometimes she has a helper at mealtimes—there’s a whole team of them for big dinner events—but with everyone out of the house, there’s no need now.
She glances up when I enter, offering a warm smile.
“Hello, Annie,” she says, her tone cheerful as always.
“Hi,” I reply, opening the fridge and scanning its contents. “Just grabbing a quick bite before I head out.”
“You’re always on the go,” she says with a chuckle. “Did Robbie get off to school all right?”
“He was practically vibrating with excitement,” I say, pulling out some yogurt and fruit. “He can’t stop talking about the pool party. ”
As if on cue, Ellis enters the kitchen, his posture as impeccable as ever. He’s carrying a clipboard, his expression serious but not unkind.
“Ladies,” he says, nodding to both Evelyn and me.
“Hey, Ellis,” I say, reaching for a spoon.
“I wanted to inform you,” he begins, his voice calm and measured, “that per your request, we’ve begun preparations to open the pool. It should be ready before the end of the week.”
I nearly drop my spoon. “Wait, really? That fast?”
Ellis nods. “Yes, Miss Fox. Mr. Wagner instructed me to prioritize it.”
“Wow,” I say, genuinely impressed. “Thank you, Ellis. That’s amazing.”
“It’s my job,” he says simply, though there’s a faint hint of pride in his tone.
As he turns back to his clipboard, my thoughts shift back to the growing to-do list in my head. “Well, I guess I better start planning this pool party for real. I still need to send out invites, and now I have to work around the gala, too.”
Evelyn perks up at the mention of the gala. “Oh, have you decided what you’re going to wear?” she asks, her tone a bit excited.
The question pulls me out of my thoughts, and I glance at her, spoon halfway to my mouth. “Not quite yet. Actually, I’ m going to look at fabrics right now,” I say, setting the yogurt down on the counter.
“Fabrics?” Evelyn interjects, her brow furrowing slightly as she looks at me.
I nod, unable to hide my excitement. “Yeah. I decided I’m going to make my dress for the gala.”
Both Evelyn and Ellis pause, exchanging a quick glance. It’s subtle, but I catch the flicker of doubt in their expressions.
“Annie,” Evelyn begins gently, setting down her knife. “This isn’t just any party. It’s the event of the year. Maybe it would be better to... buy something?”
“I appreciate the concern,” I say, holding up a hand, “but I’ve got this. I don’t have the design down exactly, but that’ll come when I see the right fabric.”
Evelyn hesitates. “Honey, I know you went to fashion school, but this is… ambitious. And you didn’t finish, if I understand correctly,” she says carefully. “You know this is a very formal event, and very important to Cole. It’s not just any party.”
“I know,” I assure her, though her hesitation makes me second-guess myself for a moment. “That’s why I want to make something really special. Something unique.”
Ellis clears his throat. “Forgive me, Miss Fox, but wouldn’t it be easier to purchase a gown? Mr. Wagner ensures that staff he invites are provided for.”
I shake my head quickly, trying to explain. “I know he’s offering, and that’s incredibly generous, but this isn’t about money. I love designing dresses—it’s what I went to school for. And I’ve made formal gowns before. It’s pretty much all I did at Atelier.”
Evelyn’s jaw drops slightly, and even Ellis’s usually stoic expression shows a flicker of surprise. “ Bianchi Atelier?” Evelyn echoes, her tone rising in disbelief.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling at the memory. “It was incredible. Tons of work, very demanding, but, if anything, that’s just made me more prepared for this.”
“Let’s back up a second. You worked at Atelier?”
I let out a small laugh. “Yeah. Technically, it was an internship.”
Her jaw drops. “How did you end up as a receptionist at Silver Screen Studios?”
“Well, Atelier was an unpaid internship,” I clarify. I shrug, my smile fading a little. “I couldn’t afford to stay where I wasn’t being paid and still continue school, so I put school on hold and got a paying job to make money for tuition for the next semester. Unfortunately, I couldn’t continue my internship if I wasn’t in the school program any longer. The plan was to go back and finish my last couple of semesters, then apply for a paid position in the industry.”
Evelyn’s expression softens. “That’s... impressive. And a little heartbreaking.”
I laugh softly. “Well, that was the plan. Now? I don’t know what the plan is anymore.”
The room falls silent for a moment, and I suddenly feel self-conscious for having said so much. I clear my throat and pick up my yogurt again. “Anyway, I can still design a dress. This isn’t my first rodeo.”
Ellis clears his throat, drawing my attention. “If you provide me with a list of the fabrics you need, I can acquire them for you.”
“That’s kind of you, Ellis,” I say, genuinely touched. “But I prefer to pick out the fabrics myself. I like to feel them, see how they drape.”
He nods, his expression unreadable. “Very well.”
“Oh, but there are some tools that I need that I don’t have. Shouldn’t cost as much as a dress.”
“Provide me with a list,” he says smoothly. “I’ll ensure you have them.”
“Thank you, Ellis,” I say sincerely. “I’ll have the list ready shortly.”
He inclines his head before leaving the kitchen, clipboard in hand.
Evelyn watches him go, then turns back to me with a faint smile. “You’re full of surprises, Annie.”
I smile back, a hint of pride creeping into my voice. “You haven’t seen anything yet. ”
I laugh lightly, taking another bite of yogurt before heading out of the kitchen. As I climb the stairs to grab my list, my earlier doubts are replaced by a familiar excitement.
An excitement I haven’t felt in months. The thought of diving back into designing, of creating something entirely my own, fills me with a desire I didn’t realize I was missing.