Chapter 32
The driver opens the door and we join the throngs of über-gorgeous people making their way inside. Dallas obviously fits in, and what I find is that I’m dressed just as beautifully as all of them. In fact, the dress and the coat are my favorite things I can see.
I belong here.
I can do this.
And I love everything about it.
The glamour of it all is so New York. So sophisticated and in-your-face.
Everything screams we are the best at everything it’s possible to be the best at.
The architecture is so grand, the fashion is excitingly new and the general ambiance assures you that you’re in the absolute center of where everything that matters is happening first, spearheading culture as we know it.
Inside, there are actual waterfalls cascading down the marble walls.
White fairy lights and larger pendant lights hang in snazzy, well-thought-out designs from the high ceiling, filling the space with a honey-warm glow.
Chairs have been arranged in rows that flank a long runway that disappears into a lit archway at the far end.
The air smells expensive and clean. Low, architectural music wafts from hidden speakers, so different to New Orleans music it could have originated on a distant, modern planet that’s never heard of jazz, saxophones or clarinets.
Dallas leads me to the front row, where there are two empty seats among full ones. People clock him the way people always clock him—the recognition, the careful not-staring that couldn’t be more obvious. I’m learning to walk through it the way he does, noticing but not entirely acknowledging it.
I can see other famous people whose names I can’t immediately recall. A supermodel. An actress. That older lady with the sunglasses who always sits in the front row at fashion shows.
The guy to the right of our empty seats sees us approaching and stands.
“Dallas,” he says, but his eyes are on me and the way Dallas’s arm is wrapped tightly around me.
He’s around Dallas’s height, which puts him several inches above six feet, with dark hair and the kind of easy confidence of the super-wealthy.
He’s good-looking in a much different way to Dallas—less intense, more open, the warmth coming off him like a steady heat source. He offers Dallas his hand.
“Colton.” Dallas shakes it. “Good to see you.”
“You too, man. It’s been … since the Morgan event? September?”
“October. You owe me a dinner.”
“I owe you several.” His attention turns to me and he checks me out with curiosity. He extends his hand with the ease of someone who has never once had an awkward introduction in his life. “Colton Maddox.”
“Amelie Thibodeaux.”
“Where are you from, Amelie? Do I detect New Orleans?”
“You nailed it,” I laugh. “Am I that obvious?”
“You really are. And that is the sweetest accent.” Colton grins at Dallas, giving his arm a light, playful punch. “Best city in America, hands down.” He says it with sincerity, and I like him immediately.
“Colton’s wife is Lila Bailey,” Dallas explains.
“Oh. Wow. I love her clothes.” I glance down at my dress. “I mean, I’ve only seen one of her designs so far but I’m obsessed. I’m excited to see more.”
Two couples on either side of us join the conversation.
“Dallas, you have to introduce us to your mystery guest,” says a stunning woman in a red dress, with warm brown skin and a Texas twang, which I forgive her for because she radiates friendliness like it’s the only emotion she knows how to feel.
“As soon as Colton announced Dallas was bringing a plus one, we’ve all been dying to meet you. Hi, I’m Dusty.”
“Amelie.”
I suppose her comment suggests that it’s completely out of character for Dallas to bring a plus one.
That he’s brought a date is shocking and intriguing to them.
I remember the things Dallas told me, about never connecting with another person before—in the shower, when he held me up against the Italian tile and made hot love to me, after I told him about the pill-taking fiasco (which we still need to deal with).
I glance up at him, feeling a tiny kernel of …
faith in him. He wasn’t lying. He was telling the truth.
Not that I didn’t believe him, but still.
I’ve believed a lot of lies in my life and it’s more comforting than I know what to do with, that he’s capable of being true to his word.
“This is my husband Cash, Colton’s brother,” Dusty says.
“Since when am I introduced as ‘Colton’s brother’?” Cash says it good-naturedly, and the banter obviously comes easily in their family. He’s a little burlier than Colton, a little more seasoned, but they definitely look like brothers.
“Since my wife happens to be the star of the show and the reason we’re here,” Colton explains with exaggerated patience and with obvious pride at the mention of his wife.
There’s another couple too—another Maddox brother, clearly. He’s an inch or so taller, his hair is a shade closer to black and his expression carries a little more gravity. He has his arm around a petite woman with long dark hair, perfect posture and an extraordinary face.
“Alexander,” Dallas says, and they shake hands the way people do when they respect the hell out of each other. “Ivy, nice to see you again. This is Amelie. Amelie, Alexander Maddox and his wife Ivy. Alex and I met at Harvard. A long time ago now.”
Ivy kisses Dallas’s cheek. Then she kisses mine. “We’re so happy to meet you. We’ve all been telling Dallas forever that he works too much. We’re so glad you finally convinced him to take some time off.”
I smile and feel a light heat warm my face.
I’m sure it’s more than obvious to everyone what he spent his time off doing.
News travels fast, and Dallas Wilder’s new status is clearly the talk of the town.
I find myself … not hating it. That he’s willing to share me and our connection with his friends feels like it carries a certain amount of weight.
“Noah’s not here tonight?” Dallas asks them.
“He and Lucky are in Ireland,” Colton says. To me, he clarifies, “Our fourth and final brother and his wife are building a house in County Cork. Lucky wanted Noah to meet the builders, who happen to be some of her cousins. Apparently she has thousands of them.”
The lights blink and we take our seats. Dallas’s arm is around me. He leans close and whispers in my ear. “Okay, Amelie Thibodeaux?” Checking in. Making sure I’m good, like he so often does.
I nod. I am okay. “You were right. This is the best surprise I’ve ever had.”
“There’s more. This is only the first half of it.”
Before I can ask him what he means, the music gets louder and more dramatic and the lights dim, leaving only spotlights on the runway.
The first model walks through the arch.
Watching the show, I forget everything.
The clothes are breathtaking. Each look is its own work of art. Lila Bailey’s collection incorporates a lot of suede, leather, silk and fur. It might be described as cowboy glamour meets sexy, feminine, boho chic. I absolutely love it.
I’ve never been able to afford to think much about “fashion,” but I know what I like and what I don’t like.
These clothes are beautiful in a way that makes you understand what a beautiful outfit is for, and how a piece of clothing can transform the person wearing it into the best possible version of themself.
The designs are incredibly flattering. You can imagine yourself wearing them and find yourself wishing you could.
“She’s so good,” Dusty whispers, elbowing Colton.
“My wife’s a genius,” Colton whispers back and it’s kind of adorable how smitten and proud he is.
There are as many as fifty looks and each one is more stunning than the last.
The audience is rapt the entire time, and especially me.
The models do their final walk and we all stand up and clap.
Colton does one of those wolf whistles with his thumb and finger as soon as a young woman, obviously Lila Bailey, walks onto the runway after the last model.
She’s gorgeous and beaming in a way a person can only do when they’re realizing their wildest dreams. She waves to the crowd and blows Colton a kiss before heading back through the arch.
“That’s my wife,” Colton tells someone behind him.
The ambient music starts back up and waiters come out, carrying trays of champagne flutes and fancy-looking finger foods.
We get up with the crowd to mingle and it’s not long before Lila comes out.
She runs straight into Colton’s arms and he lifts her and kisses her, a little more lustily than the situation probably calls for.
It’s obvious the two of them are very much in love and I can’t help noticing how freely she gives herself to him.
Like she fully, completely trusts him and has no need to ever second guess it.
I notice that detail specifically because that’s the part of me that’s broken.
My ability to trust another person, somewhere along the line, got shattered.
To witness the pureness and immensity of it in another person somehow focuses all the light in the room onto exactly that.
I want that.
I want to trust like she trusts.
I look up at Dallas, who’s holding my hand and laughing at something Cash just said.
To me, Dallas is by far the most handsome man in this room—and there are a lot of handsome men here tonight.
In four short days, my life has wound itself around him with the tenacity of a hearty, well-watered vine that won’t take no for an answer.
Objectively speaking, he’s perfect in every sense of the word.
There’s no reason not to fully immerse myself in everything he’s offering.
But what if I can’t?
What if I’m too far gone?
Everyone congratulates Lila. She gives Dallas a hug and he introduces me. “Lila Bailey, Amelie Thibodeaux.”
She immediately notices my dress. “That is one of my all-time favorite designs. It completely sold out. Where did you get it?”
“New Orleans,” Dallas answers.
“It’s so perfect on you,” she beams.
“I love it so much,” I tell her honestly. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn.” And I’ve worn it for three days straight because I don’t have anything else to wear.
I think of my box of thrift-store clothes under the single rickety bed nine states south.
The threadbare uniform that’s somewhere in the hotel laundry room and the other one I left in the white limo, long gone.
I think about how my daddy taught me how to beam my imaginary diamonds out into the world, so it didn’t matter that my clothes were old.
Something he taught me, I realize now, because he was gambling all our money away. And I suddenly hate him for all of it.
He stole so much from me. He’s the reason I lost everything and have spent years of my life working so hard to merely survive.
How could you do that?
But now’s not the time or place to dig up old wounds.
I can, and am, appreciating—wildly, in fact—that I don’t have to wear those old clothes anymore. I have this dress, which I’d be perfect content to wear every day for the rest of time.
That’s when I hear Dallas say to Lila, “The show was spectacular. We’ll take one of everything.”