Chapter 36
My very first fashion show.
My last, if Hunter Ashwood had it his way, so I soaked it all up.
The high, ornate ceilings of the venue I’d helped scout. The red velvet drapes across the large (and usually bright) windows. The columns that reminded me so much of the Ashwood restaurant we’d been at. Everything felt, looked, and smelled rich.
The models were ready. Hunter Ashwood was on stage; Camila, Oliver, and Gabriel were backstage, biting their nails, nervously finalizing looks, and making last-minute changes. Taking out earrings here and adding a necklace there.
Everyone was nervous. Everyone was exactly where they were supposed to be.
And I was too busy to get distracted by something as trivial as anxiety.
Or Elliot Ashwood, standing opposite me, ready to wave the models past the velvet drapes and onto the runway.
My eyes definitely weren’t flicking to him every few seconds.
I definitely wasn’t getting more irritated every time I found him still steadily watching me.
Outside, the carefully curated guest list started clapping. Flashes went off, and a second later, Hunter Ashwood rushed through the curtain and past us, back into whatever (luxurious) hole he’d crawled out of. That was our cue to send out the first girl in one of Camila’s dresses.
I waved her out and tried not to care that Hunter hadn’t so much as glanced at his grandson, who was still looking after him. Or me, who he’d mentally fired already.
In sync with the music, we sent a new girl out every ten seconds like clockwork. The man opposite me hadn’t looked at them once. If it weren’t for me, we would’ve sent Andreina out there with a crease in her shoulder pad.
Twenty minutes passed in a blur. The applause blended with the strict yelling and precise instructions backstage.
But we survived. No one had tripped or lost a piece of their outfit, and I felt the exhaustion of three basically sleepless nights as soon as the last model slipped through the curtain again, leaving loud applause and flashing cameras in her wake.
Camila, Oliver, and Gabriel took the stage, and no one would be able to tell how panicked they had been, running circles around us just thirty minutes ago.
They bowed and smiled and waved, and my exhaustion took a back seat as I watched them on a small monitor beside us, thinking, dreaming, feeling determination bubbling within me. I want that to be me.
I wanted it so badly, my chest ached and my eyes were glistening.
Mom had never come close enough—but I was here. Really close to achieving what we’d always dreamed of. Nothing but Elliot Ashwood stood in my way.
“Hey—” But that didn’t mean I needed to talk to him right now. Our fight in the office a few days ago was more than enough; we didn’t need to start yelling at each other out in the open.
“Nope.” I shook my head, hurrying past him the second he reached for me. “Not now.” Not ever. His hand slipped back into his pocket. But he did follow me, all the way into a greenroom no one seemed to use. “I don’t have time to argue tonight.”
The door would’ve hit him square in the face if not for his hand coming up just in time. Slowly and carefully, he closed it behind him. Leaned against it, probably intentionally blocking the only way out.
Saying, without words, If you want to leave, you’ll have to go through me.
“We don’t have to argue.” His voice was too soft, his demeanor too calm.
The alarm bells in my head sounded.
“What, then? What have we ever done except argue or kiss?” I pretended to search an empty drawer, just to be doing something. “I don’t think there’s an in-between. There never has been.”
Something in his demeanor cracked. I think he smiled despite himself. I could tell he was trying not to, forcing the corners of his mouth back into a straight line and failing. His head shook in response, as if that would make it better.
“How do you keep doing that?” he muttered under his breath, and I wasn’t sure if he actually wanted me to hear. It stopped me in my tracks regardless.
“Do what?”
“I want to be mad at you.” He shifted on his feet, fiddling with the bow charm on his necklace.
Meanwhile, I clung to the clipboard against my chest like a lifeline.
“I want to be so mad at you. For ignoring me, blaming me, and somehow turning everything into a problem I caused. I told you I didn’t know about Hunter’s decision.
I talked to him, but—” He let his head fall back, eyes closing.
“See? I’m doing it again. Justifying myself in front of you when I have no reason to. ”
He wanted to be mad at me, and I wanted to believe him. So badly, my heart fluttered wildly. “I don’t believe you.” How could he not know something that seemed so obvious to everyone else? To the lowest Adeline Ashwood employees? It made no sense. “I can’t believe you.”
Believing him had me lose sight of what mattered most in this world, and that was making my mother proud. Even if she wasn’t here to witness it.
I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly, continuing to stare up at the ceiling.
Waiting, wondering if he should say what’s on the tip of his tongue, and eventually deciding against it.
His eyes cut back to me. “I don’t know what else to say to you.
I don’t do lies. The rest of my family loves them, but—”
He was doing it again. Justifying himself in front of me. That’s why he cut himself off. That’s why I felt so bad. “There’s nothing more I can tell you besides the truth: I didn’t know.”
“There’s nothing more I can say either.” And I meant it when I squeezed past him and muttered, “I wish there was.”
I stayed at the venue until the last guests left, keeping myself busy to avoid accidental contact with Elliot. I helped clean up, then wished the Ashwood team a great night at the afterparty. Instead of going with them, I went back to the office.
Maybe because I couldn’t get that picture of our head designers on stage out of my head. Or maybe because I knew the studio was the only place Elliot definitely wouldn’t go to.
Thanks to Allegra’s need to share every part of her life on social media, I knew both of them were at the afterparty, and I’d made a good choice by not going. She was laughing, dancing, and batting those beautiful eyes at her camera.
I reached for the bottle of cheap wine I’d gotten at a liquor store on my way over.
Nothing compared to the stuff I’d had with Elliot, but it was getting the job done.
I only felt half as miserable as I continued working on Daphne’s dress.
The soft, calming pink of the fabric probably had as much to do with that as the fact that I was tipsy.
By myself. I’d never been drunk by myself.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted into the speaker the second my best friend picked up her phone.
There was rustling on the other end of the line, the sound of her heading from the bedroom into what I assumed to be Henry’s kitchen, or living room, or study.
If she’d been at her place, she wouldn’t have left her bed at all.
There wasn’t another room to go to in her studio apartment.
“Are you drunk?” she whisper-shouted, sounding just as confused as I felt.
“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I think so. But I’ve never done this before—drink my feelings away.”
“What feelings?” Concern worked its way into her tone. “Are you alright? What happened?”
I groaned. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” she basically screeched. “You always know! Everything! Where are you? I’m coming over.”
My phone was about to die anyway, so I simply hung up and sent her my address.