Chapter 12
AURELIA
Our luxury condo overlooking Central Park seemed like Christmas had exploded inside it. Garlands had been draped across every railing, string lights framed the windows, and a twelve-foot tree glittered in the corner like it’d been decorated by actual elves.
I tugged on the thick wool coat I’d left slung over a chair, then slipped into my boots, and grabbed a cute, fashionable hat my mother had picked out, jamming it onto my head.
“Aurelia!” her voice floated down the hallway, commanding despite her holiday cheer. “Darling, the driver is here. We must get going.”
Of course, we must.
With Regina, there was never any other option. We’d come to New York to shop, and shop we would. Until we dropped, if we had to. We’d already been out in the streets for most of the day, but clearly, she hadn’t had enough.
Minutes later, we were pulling up to Bergdorf Goodman.
The store sparkled like a jewelry box with all the holiday displays, totally leaning into the idea of over-the-top charm.
I followed my mother from department to department, nodding, smiling, spinning obediently in front of mirrors while she pursed her lips and issued verdicts about the gowns I tried on.
“This one washes you out.”
“That one makes your hips look wide.”
“Oh, no. No sequins at Christmas, darling. It’s much too tacky.”
After the fourth gown, I was done with her picks. Clearly, this wasn’t working. I changed out of the dress I’d had on and back into my own clothes, then turned to face her. “I’ll try one more, but my choice this time.”
She tilted her head like she was skeptical but waved a gracious hand toward the evening wear section as if granting me permission to do it anyway.
One dress in particular had caught my eye from the moment we’d walked in and I made a beeline for it, browsing for my size before I plucked it off the rack and took it to the dressing room with me.
It was Christmas red and bold, covered in crystals that shimmered under the lights. The kind of dress that said, Eat your heart out, Jessica Rabbit.
As soon as I pulled it on, I knew this was the one. The fabric hugged every one of my curves like it had been made with me in mind, as if it was daring me to step into the spotlight and let the upper crust stare.
For once, I didn’t care what my mother would think. This was the one I wanted. Squaring my shoulders to prepare for the argument I knew was coming, I straightened up and pushed the curtain aside.
Smoothing my hands over the crystal-studded bodice, I stepped out of the dressing room, but then I nearly squeaked in surprise. Right there on the husband chairs in the middle of the department, looking insanely bored, was none other than Harrison Westwood.
He was splayed out like he was seconds away from dozing off, one ankle propped on his knee, his tie loosened, and his whole posture screaming that he’d been forced into retail hell against his will but refused to be awake for it.
Frank Sinatra belted out Christmas hits from the sound system, but Harrison didn’t even seem to notice it as he looked up like he’d felt me appear.
His eyes locked on mine across the distance between us.
Outside of arching an eyebrow at me, he didn’t move, just blinking like he wasn’t sure I was real. Then slowly, deliberately, he straightened in the chair, unfolding those long legs. His gaze swept across the dress in a way that made my pulse trip.
“Aurelia, there you are.” My mother appeared beside me, circling like a hawk. “That color is much too loud, darling. The crystals make you sparkle like a chandelier and that slit? Good heavens, no.”
I wasn’t really listening to her, though. Because Harrison was on his feet now, his lips curved into that wicked, devastating smirk that said he’d already thought of at least twelve inappropriate things to whisper in my ear. I’d seen it the other day in the conference room, too.
As he started moving, I suddenly knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was about to come talk to me. My heart started hammering. Sure enough, he strolled right over, his hands in his pockets and this insanely casual, yet weirdly intense air about him as his eyes remained glued to mine.
“I didn’t picture you as the Bergdorf type,” he said when he reached me, his voice low and amused. “If I’d known the flight you had to catch was headed here, I would have offered you a ride. Christmas shopping?”
Tendrils of heat licked my insides at the sound of his voice, and the way he was looking at me through those bluish hazel eyes wasn’t helping my cause. Before I could even begin to form a response that would catch him as off guard as he’d caught me, Regina’s hand clamped onto my arm.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said crisply, giving him a dismissive kind of glance that she usually reserved for overeager sales associates. “This is the ladies’ department.”
“Mom—” I started, but Harrison just grinned, utterly unfazed by her rudeness.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, not moving so much as a muscle.
Regina narrowed her eyes. “Perhaps you should also keep in mind that this is a private conversation.”
“Mother.” I took a breath, trying to keep my voice even as I finally managed to break eye contact with him for long enough to look at her. “This is Harrison Westwood.”
Regina froze. She blinked hard once. Then her entire face lit up like she’d been handed a Cartier box. “A Westwood. How interesting.”
I tilted my head, waiting for an explanation, but she was already smoothing her coat and glancing around like she was looking for something. Finally, she looked back at me. “I’ll be by the shoes when you’re done changing, darling.”
She glided away without another word, not even to say hello or goodbye to Harrison, but he still smiled at me like I’d just turned his entire day around.
“Well, that wasn’t awkward at all,” I muttered, my head shaking as I watched her go. “What are you doing here?”
“Shopping,” he said as if that explained his presence in the ladies’ department of a store thousands of miles away from home. “Why are you here? Are you on a mission to try on every glittery thing in the city?”
I turned on my heels and headed back toward the dressing room. He followed as if I’d invited him, leaning casually against the door after I’d shut it and smirking at me in the reflection of the mirror. “For what it’s worth, that dress is perfect.”
“You don’t even know what it’s for.” I huffed, tugging at the zipper that refused to budge.
“It doesn’t matter what it’s for. It’s still perfect.” His chin lifted a little higher. “Trust me, I’m an expert on these things, but fine. I’ll bite. What’s it for?”
“My mom’s throwing a party. A Christmas Ball,” I said, still struggling with the zipper.
“She insisted that I come shopping with her even though I have mountains of dresses at home. Apparently, none of those will do. I’m supposed to look like, I don’t know, festive arm candy, maybe? Don’t judge me.”
His dark eyebrows swept up. “Arm candy? Dude, if you show up in that dress, no one is even going to notice they’re at a party. Besides, I would never judge. It would make me too much of a hypocrite.”
The zipper refused to cooperate, but I wrestled with it until my shoulder ached before I gave up. “This thing is stuck.” I turned to him and pointed at my back. “Do you mind?”
“Do I mind unzipping you?” A soft scoff came out of him.
The heat of his hand brushed against my spine as he tugged the zipper down in one smooth motion. My breathing hitched, my lungs proving themselves to be as traitorous as the rest of my body.
“There,” he murmured, still standing close enough that his warm breath ghosted across the back of my neck. “It sounds like we’re both in New York against our wills.”
I glanced at him over my shoulder, fighting a smile. “You came with your mom, too?”
He grimaced, but then he pumped his eyebrows at me once and took a step back.
A tiny one, but it put enough space between us that at least I could breathe again.
“Guilty as charged. It’s our annual bonding trip, and by that, I mean she bonds with every high-end boutique while I become intimately acquainted with their waiting chairs. ”
I laughed, and suddenly, being trapped in a dressing room with Harrison Westwood didn’t feel like such a punishment.
Turning my attention back to the mirror, I pretended like the goosebumps on my arms were from the draft in the small room rather than from the memory of Harrison’s hand trailing down my spine.
“I know what you mean,” I said, holding the dress up so I wouldn’t accidentally get naked in front of him. “These last few years, I’ve been managing to get out of it, but not this time.”
“I commiserate.” He finally started backing away and stepped out of the cubicle but stayed right against the wall outside.
I could see his shoulder in the crack he’d left in the curtain.
“We should get a drink tonight. Take a break from the maternal pressure and potentially get someone to ice our feet.”
I gathered the edges of the dress so I could step out of it. “I should say no. My mom has a mile-long list of things for us to get done.”
“But?” he prompted, his lips tugging into that infuriating grin as he popped his head around the curtain but kept his eyes closed. “You want to say yes, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.” My heart skipped as I hung the dress back up and wondered if his eyes were shut as tight as he was pretending. Strangely, I didn’t think I’d mind too much if he snuck a peek. “Let’s do it.”
The acceptance came out greedily, like I’d been waiting for him to ask even though I hadn’t even known he would be in town.
After I’d gotten dressed and pulled back the curtain, he pushed off the wall, closing the distance between us enough that I felt the heat of him despite the fact that he wasn’t touching me.
His gaze swept across the gown hanging on a hook behind me again, lingering much longer than was normal before he leaned in. “Buy the dress, Aurelia. If you don’t, I will.”
Heat shot through me, butterflies erupting in my lower abdomen with such furious flutters that I nearly forgot how to breathe.
When I turned, he was already backing toward the door.
Then he shot me one last smile, almost roguish this time, and cocked his head so that a lock of that dark hair fell across his forehead.
“I’ll see you tonight, Jessica Rabbit.”
With that, he disappeared and an unexpected, extremely girly giggle escaped me. So he noticed the resemblance to the character, too. I wonder if I should be surprised.
The fact was that I didn’t know Harrison very well at all, but I knew things about him I doubted he’d shared with many people, and he could say the same about me. That night when we’d talked, I’d found it so easy to open up to him. Just like it’d been that first morning at the coffee shop.
Something about Harrison Westwood set me at ease while simultaneously working me up, just in a whole different way.
Once I’d taken a moment to catch my breath, I collected my things and slung the dress over my arm. Then I went to find my mother. Dutifully meeting her at the shoe department, I saw the moment she noticed the Bergdorf bag in my hand.
“Please don’t tell me you bought that dress.”
“Fine, I won’t say it, then.” I slid a pair of heels off the display, studying them much more intently than I needed to since I’d already decided against them.
All I needed was a moment to gather my thoughts, and studying these shoes like I was about to write a thesis on them would give me that moment.
Mom huffed. “That gown is completely impractical.”
I finally returned the heels to the display and looked at her. “Maybe, but it’s mine and I like it.”
Her gaze sharpened, but before she could launch into a lecture, I seized the opportunity. “Why did you react that way to Harrison? You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”
For a beat, her perfectly held expression wavered, but then she adjusted her scarf, exhaled sharply, and muttered, “Because his mother is a witch. That’s all there is to it.”
Without another word about the dress or the Westwoods, she spun around and marched to another rack of shoes. I stared after her, for the first time wondering if there was more to her feud with CC than I’d thought—and how their rivalry might impact the friendship I felt blossoming with Harrison.