21. Lowen
TWENTY-ONE
LOWEN
It’s finally Friday night and I’m exhausted. Sitting in the bathroom, adding concealer under my eyes, I envision myself accepting the award, Oakley in the audience beaming proudly. I have to block out the rest of it.
It’s been a huge chore avoiding Alain in such an intimate group of people, but my thinly veiled warning on Monday must have scared him off. If I were to tell my side of the story, he’d never live it down. They think they know who Alain Durand is, but they have no idea. His talent has allowed people to forgive and overlook his many shortcomings, but they only know a fraction of it.
Oakley’s playing classic rock music on his phone, lying in bed after his shower with his eyes closed and his arms tucked beneath his head. He only has a loosely wrapped towel around his waist and the desire to walk in there and get us both dirty again is strong.
As I add powder to my face, my thoughts drift back over the last four days with Oakley. We’ve spent it talking and sharing ideas about future projects. He drove me by the building he’s going to work on with Yves Orpheus and we’ve arranged for me to meet him next week. He’s been doting on me, making sure I always have coffee or snacks or a hand to hold at every forced event, and at night, he drains every ounce of stress away so that I can sleep.
It’s been… perfect. Everything I thought I was getting with Alain. A true partner. Someone who values me and makes me feel cherished. I feel more beautiful than I ever have every time he looks at me. Only a fool would make any attempt to end this, and I’m not a fool.
I don’t know what to do next though. How to navigate what’s in my head. Do I just tell him that I want to keep it going but I might shut down and fuck it up at some point? Do I admit that I’m terrified of ruining his opinion of me and the way we work together? Do I jump in even though I’m scared?
I blow out a breath and focus on my makeup, trim the facial hair growing in, and style my hair. When I come out of the bathroom, Oakley is snoring softly. Poor guy. He’s never had to endure a solid week of events like this while still fielding questions from his team.
“Wake up, big bear,” I whisper, leaning in to run my hand over his belly.
He snorts, peeling his eyes open, then stretches his arms above his head. “Shit. Am I running late?”
“Not at all. I’m about to get dressed. The bathroom is free now.”
Oakley rubs his eyes then sits up, focusing on me. “Holy fuck.”
“What?”
He shakes his head. “You look like an angel.”
Playing with his beard, I smile. “I’m glad you think so. Wait until you see the outfit. It was designed just for me.”
“Can’t wait.”
I grab his wrist and tug him out of bed. “Shoo. Go get ready.”
“I’m going.” He kisses my neck and grabs my ass through the silk robe. “I can’t believe I even get to stand next to you, much less touch you.”
“If you’re a good bear, you can touch me a lot later.”
“Grr.”
We both laugh as Oakley disappears into the bathroom. Once he closes the door, I exhale, shake out my shoulders then put on the underwear I chose for the night. They’re a creamy blush so they blend in, adding a touch of scandal to an already daring sheer outfit.
I spritz myself with my fragrance and then a light spray of body glitter to catch the lights. Finally, it’s time to shimmy into this masterpiece Belle designed. Carefully, I slip into it, gently tugging the soft silk into place, then slide my feet into my sky-high pumps.
I study my reflection in the mirror, and for the first time in my adult life, I don’t recognize it. This isn’t me anymore. Yes, I still like pretty things—I adore this outfit—but the rest of it is so… artificial. My expression is practiced, curated, part of the persona I’ve built to keep people out. I let them speculate about me and say horrible, untrue things because I thought taking the high ground would make it stop.
This week has been a reminder of how fake it all is. The same people who wrote those horrible things smiled to my face. They wrote their little updates in their articles about what we wore, how we looked, who we were with.
I learned all about Alain’s new man, Gerard. At twenty-six, he’s far too young to be dating a man knocking on fifty, but what bothered me the most was how the article talked nonstop about how Alain mentored him, took him under his wing, and elevated his name. Not a single word was written about what Gerard thinks or wants for his life, or what his accomplishments were before he met Alain. The constant comparison to me must sting too.
Oh well. One more night. Tomorrow morning, we’ll go back to Willow Bay and our quiet lives and put all this behind us. I’ll have my vindication that I did matter in that world. I contributed to the beauty of Paris, and now I’ll make Willow Bay even better.
The bathroom door opens and Oakley steps out still in his towel, but his beard is cleaned up and brushed and his hair is styled. He turns in my direction and his jaw drops.
“Fuck,” he whispers.
“You like?”
“Jesus, kitten. How the fuck am I supposed to keep my hands off you all night?”
“Who said you have to?”
“I think laying you out on a table and ravaging you is probably frowned upon.” He rubs his growing bulge through the towel. “You look phenomenal.”
“I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
“Lay it on me.”
“I never wear a couture item twice. Sometimes I auction them off, but usually they just sit in my closet.”
Oakley nods, prowling towards me as his eyes heat. “Uh-huh.”
“How would you like to ruin this one later?”
His brow creases like he’s in pain. “I’m so addicted to you, kitten. You drive me crazy.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a hell yes.”
“You can smear my lipstick, mess up my hair, tear my clothes, whatever you want, big bear. You’ve more than earned it this week.”
He wets his lips as his eyes roam up and down my body. “Whatever you want, kitten. That’s my job.”
“You spoil me, Oakley.”
“I’ve barely scratched the surface, gorgeous. If you let me…” His words trail off, and I don’t think it’s necessary for him to finish.
I know he has feelings for me. The kind that scare me. The kind I never thought I’d have. What would happen if I could let down my guard and open my heart to him?
“Let me get the monkey suit on and then we can head down?”
I nod. “I’ll be in the sitting room.”
I fix myself my old standby, a dirty martini, but upon the first sip, I scrunch my nose up. I used to love this drink, but it tastes oddly bitter now. Is this some kind of brutal metaphor for my life or what?
All the way back in college, I initially chose the martini because I thought it made me seem classier than my peers. I was never a beer drinker, but I didn’t want to drink all the fruity concoctions that were popular back then—too worried about my weight and the opinions of other people.
It became my signature drink for so long because I convinced myself that high class people had things like that, but did it lead me to happiness?
I walk over to the kitchenette and dump the drink in the sink. From now on, I’m gonna drink whatever I want.
The door to the bedroom opens and Oakley steps out, and it’s my turn to gawk. Whoa. He cleans up nice, though if I’m honest, I prefer the loose towel.
“This alright?”
“You look amazing, Oak. Like the tall, sturdy drink of water you are.”
He smiles, tugging on the sleeves. “As long as you’re happy.”
“Well…” I glance at the clock on the wall as I pick up my clutch from the counter. “Showtime.”
“Let’s do this.”
We head downstairs, joined by a few other people in the elevator, but there’s still an hour before it starts. All the presenters and award winners have to come first to walk through everything one more damn time, as if this is the hardest thing we’ve ever done. Please. I could do this in my sleep.
I am pleased with the category I get to present—up-and-coming designer. I love being able to acknowledge and recognize a new-to-the-scene designer, and this time the winner is queer, gender-fluid, and absolutely fearless.
Oakley and I enter the ballroom, navigating to the front where our seats are and where the committee is gathered. He sticks close to me, his hand firmly planted on my lower back, and I feel calm. Unusually serene. Hmm.
I’m given my instructions one more time, the cue for when I should go backstage to present my award, and then I’m released back to my seat.
I spot Gerard standing awkwardly by himself near a water station and survey the room for Alain, but I don’t see him. Something about Gerard tugs at my chest, almost as if I’m seeing a younger version of myself, but I turn away. He’s an adult. Mostly. He can figure out his own life.
A few minutes pass, and when I glance in that direction again, Gerard is gone. Maybe he found his man. The room is warm and I could use a moment to check my makeup again.
Squeezing Oakley’s arm, I whisper, “I’m gonna run to the bathroom real quick.”
He nods. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
Chuckling, I walk back through the room and out the door, glancing both directions for where the bathroom is, but then I spot a shadow down a dimly lit hallway that isn’t being used. My body tenses. I would know that shape anywhere.
Alain.
And he’s not alone, but he’s definitely not talking to Gerard. I head in his direction to get a closer look since Alain’s back is turned to me. He’s got a pretty little thing pressed against a column, dragging his finger down the man’s chest in obvious flirtation. The sight makes my blood boil. His fiancé is in the room right next door and he’s still a piece of shit, chasing anything that moves.
“Excuse me, do you know where the restrooms are?”
Alain swings around, going pale as soon as he sees me. I tilt my head, making a point to look between him and the man he has cornered.
“How interesting. Some things never change. Guess the restroom isn’t this way.”
I turn on my heel and walk off, but Alain is quickly behind me, grabbing my arm. I pull my arm away, looking at him in disgust for even touching me.
“Save it, Alain.”
“It’s not what?—”
“Not what it looked like? Yeah, that sounds familiar. Funny thing is, I don’t care. I wonder if Gerard would though.” I make a yikes face. “Should we ask him?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t I? Maybe I should get down in the gutter where you like to play and turn the tables on you. Maybe I’ll whisper to a journalist or two what I witnessed and they can find out if it’s what it looked like. How about that, Alain?”
“What do you want? Money? Want me to say something nice about you to the press?”
“What I want, Alain…” I poke my finger in his chest. “Is for you to stop talking to me. I want you to forget I even exist, and I want you to sit in the mess of your own making.”
I stomp off, no longer interested in the bathroom break, and return to Oakley, who’s sipping water and chatting with another designer whose name I don’t know. Oakley’s whole face lights up when he sees me, but then it fades and a deep crease wrinkles his forehead.
“You okay?”
“Perfect.”
Oakley introduces me to the woman he’s talking to, Rebecca Stanmore, before she excuses herself and we take our seats, waiting for the ceremony to start. People file in, and I scan the room for Alain, finding him next to his man again, but looking very nervous.
“I caught Alain,” I whisper to Oakley. “Chatting up a pretty twink.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“Saw it with my own eyes. He’s still at it. It’s like there’s something broken inside him. Poor kid has no idea what he’s signing up for.”
“His fiancé?”
I nod, folding my hands in my lap. “It’s sad to see it, you know? I wonder now if people pitied me the way I pity Gerard. Did they see me and wonder if I was clueless or just lacked a backbone? Maybe they thought I was chasing prestige and didn’t care. It’s sad,” I repeat.
“It is, but it’s not your reality anymore.”
“Oh, I know.” Reaching up, I scratch the back of Oakley’s neck, smiling as he leans into my touch. “I taunted him though. Made him think I might tell Gerard or the press.”
Oakley grins. “Devious. Would you do it?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to be responsible for breaking someone’s heart.”
“That’s fair.” He lifts my other hand and brushes his lips over the back. “What is it about him? I think his personality is abrasive at best, and he’s okay looking in an artificial way. How did he get you?”
“First of all, it was a long time ago. He didn’t look like that. He still had a boyish charm when I met him. Also, he’s brilliant. His design instinct is impeccable. He’s very romantic too when he wants to be. He targeted me because I was his primary competition. He couldn’t beat me, so he broke me instead. Ours was a whirlwind romance, but once he said ‘I do’ it was like a switch flipped. Then instead of seducing me with flowers and fancy dinners, he used our profession, and it worked. We were the most sought-after design team in Europe for almost a decade. We had a wait list years long. We were at the top of our industry, and by the time I realized what he really is, my life was so entwined with his I didn’t know how to get out.”
“How did you?”
Memories of that horrible night rush back. “I was down with a terrible cold and resting at home, so I had to miss out on an engagement. He thought it was an excellent opportunity to hook up with the son of the host. He was caught getting blown by this kid in a bathroom, and the kid’s dad lost his shit and attacked him. The kid told Alain he was eighteen—still disgusting—but he was a mature looking sixteen -year-old. He also told his dad that Alain pressured him. No idea if that’s accurate or not.”
“Fuck, Low.”
I nod. “My phone was blowing up all night with people who were there telling me what happened. I got my sick ass out of bed, packed a bag, called a taxi, and went to a hotel where I stayed for a month while it all played out very publicly. I obviously couldn’t look the other way anymore.”
Oakley glares, shaking his head. “What a dick move.”
“He does like them young, and it backfired on him. He dealt with the fallout by paying people off and spinning it to look less than it was. While he did that, I hired the best divorce attorney in Paris. We had a prenup, but…” I pause, planting a smile on my face as two people stop to greet me. Once they’re gone, I continue, leaning in close so others can’t overhear. “In his humiliation, he wanted to take me down with him. He said he had no choice but to seek comfort with others because I was a cold fish, incapable of desire. He more than insinuated that ours was a relationship of opportunity and not love.” I chuckle darkly. “Funny that I actually thought he loved me.”
“I’m sure he did at some point. He just didn’t know how. For weak people with dark souls, holding light in your hands is hard. It’s like catching a falling star. Only the brave know to hold on with both hands.”
I turn and search his eyes. “What are you saying, Oakley?”
“You’re the light, kitten, and I’m the brave one. If you think for one second that when these events end I’m just gonna?—”
The overhead lights suddenly dim and the room fills with music and strobe lights, streaming across our faces.
Oakley lifts my hand to kiss it, and whispers, “We’ll finish this later.”
I nod, ignoring the flutter in my stomach, thankful for the distraction from processing my feelings.
None of this with Oakley was supposed to be real, but nothing in my life has ever felt more solid than his presence next to me. My friends always gave me an anchor when I needed it, and I know they’ll forever have my back, but for the first time in years, I’m wondering what it would be like to add a second port in the storm.
If Oakley is brave enough, maybe I could be too.