21 #2
“I never said I was good!” I had argued, actually smiling back.
But I couldn’t tell if what she was saying was true or if it was part of our act.
Later that night, those thoughts only blazed brighter as I waited outside what was supposed to be our shared bedroom. I got dressed in Nari’s room to give Aldridge space so she could get ready.
I knocked on the door, waiting in the dim light of the hallway.
“One moment!” she shouted. It sounded as if she was running across the room, the carpet spreading beneath her feet. I couldn’t help but laugh at the image. Someone who was always so orderly, in a rush.
With the whine of the hinge and shriek of the knob, the door swung open. Based on the noise, I expected to find her with mismatched shoes and disarrayed hair like a child’s doll. But no. Anything but.
“What? What’s wrong?” she asked, looking down at her dress.
She didn’t wait for my response, rushing to the antique mirror in the corner of the large wallpapered room. She adjusted the straps and toyed with the buttons on the back of her bodice. I averted my eyes. It felt like an intimate moment.
She twisted, facing me, pressing her hands against the material running along her torso. “What about now? Do I look all right?” she asked earnestly.
If I hadn’t seen her look in the mirror, I would have assumed she was joking. Being sarcastic maybe. But she was serious.
My answer to her question, though? She, well, she looked more than all right. “All right” was so far from the correct word. But I wasn’t sure if there was a word for it to begin with.
I wasn’t religious, but I could appreciate the beauty of Italian churches.
Find something new to admire the longer I searched their glass ceilings and woodworked details.
It was impossible not to. Looking at Luna felt the same.
That was the only way I could describe her: beauty that had to be witnessed because she surpassed words.
I unlocked the hinges of my jaw. “You, uh, it—the dress—it, it looks good. The color is nice,” I explained ever so eloquently.
It was gray with a hint of blue, similar to the color of the ocean in the midst of a storm when clouds rolled above, the sun hidden away. Small rhinestones peppered the bodice, sparkling from the moonlight coming in through the window as she shifted.
“It’s been a long time since I wore this dress, so that’s good to know.” She tugged on a small piece of hair that hung from outside her bun.
“Only wear it to dances in countryside English mansions?”
She smiled. It was a quiet grin, but something about that made it feel genuine. “And for baking, of course.”
I laughed with surprise. “Of course.”
“We should head over.”
I nodded, stepping back and pulling the door shut behind us.
Other doors in the hallway opened and closed, guests exiting in long gowns and dark suits. As they inspected the area, they’d cast us inappropriately long glances.
I cleared my throat and offered Aldridge my arm. Confusion spread across her face. She was about to argue until the click of a door behind us made her jolt. With a sigh, her hand held my arm lightly as we stepped forward.
The silence weighed on me as others filled the entryway leading to the ballroom. Every room was occupied like a bed-and-breakfast. I could feel the attention we were collecting by simply walking together.
Between Aldridge’s rigid posture and my inability to hold a conversation without it ending in a fight, we were a publicity team’s nightmare. Imagining the two of us trying to dance together was disastrous. We were going to look like two cardboard cutouts.
“Not a fan of baking?” I asked. I needed to stir up some kind of conversation before this started to look like a fake high school relationship from an eighties rom-com.
“What?”
“Before, you said you hadn’t worn this dress in a long time and—”
“Oh, yes.” She shook her head, strands around her face bouncing. “It’s not that I’m not a fan of baking, I…”
It was odd watching her choose her next words. She never appeared stumped or confused. Decisive and sure; those two words described every interaction I’ve had with her. Decisive and sure about the insults she shared about my clothes, my hair, my job. I wasn’t sure why this would be any different.
“I actually really enjoy baking. But I don’t do it much because I’m absolutely horrible at it,” she admitted.
“Really?” I asked.
“I wish I was exaggerating.”
“How bad can you be?”
“Well, one time I tried making this cake with melted chocolate drizzled over the top. I had the stove going to melt the chocolate while the cake was in the oven. When I took the cake out, I shoved the melted chocolate out of the way—I had already wasted time looking for an oven mitt.
“Twenty minutes later, there was the strongest smell of smoke. That’s when I realized the weird smell was from the bottom of my cake burning because I put it on the stove, which was hot from the melted chocolate.
” She bit her lip, trying not to laugh. But it shot out anyway.
It was so loud that people turned to stare.
“What did you do with the cake?”
“I shaved the burnt part off, obviously!”
I laughed, thinking about her trying to cut through a burnt cake before anyone could see. Crumbs covering the floor and Aldridge giving herself a loud pep talk.
“I’ve practically been banned from bringing homemade desserts to family and friends’ holiday parties. I can’t blame them, though, I really am the worst. I got none of my mother’s genes.”
“Does your mom bake a lot?”
“She did.” She nodded, quieter now.
Did. I went to apologize, wondering what conversation I just forced her to stumble down. I had no idea.
“It’s okay. I don’t get to talk about her much,” she said.
“Not even with your brother?”
Surprised I remembered, her eyes held me. “No… He and my father are busy. And honestly, I think it hurts them to talk about her.”
“That makes sense. But that doesn’t mean you should have to talk about her any less to protect them. Your needs matter too.” Her lips parted but paused. “What?” I asked.
“Nothing, I just… that sounds like something she would’ve said, that’s all.” She gave me a soft smile.
I didn’t know what to say. Emotion flooded the back of my throat. “I’m sorry,” I started.
“No, no, gosh, don’t be. She was always shameless.
Bold. Spoke her mind. I never had to guess what she was thinking because it’d come right out.
I loved that about her. I guess you two have something in common.
” She laughed, as if she was picturing exactly that.
I wanted to hold the image close, wrap it in a napkin like a chocolate from a diner, and put it in my pocket.
“Are you admitting to loving something about me, Luna Aldridge?” I asked, hoping to get another glimpse of her laugh.
“That depends how shameless you are, Kieran Alexander. What were you holding back from saying when you saw my dress?” Her gaze flitted across my face, testing me. It unraveled me right there. It loosened a forever existing knot in my sternum and soared toward her, trying to grab on.
Words don’t exist to describe how you look.
Thankfully, the scene of the ballroom ahead cut me off, dragging her attention elsewhere.