Six
KYLE
I’ve spent the last week thinking about tonight, about how I would handle everything. The gala, the people, the spotlight. I thought I’d be ready for it. But now, as I sit beside Elodie in the back of a sleek black limo, the world rushing past outside the tinted windows, I realize that nothing could have prepared me for this moment.
Elodie’s a vision in that red dress. She’s stunning, radiant, and somehow, despite everything, I’m more at ease with her beside me than I’ve ever been with anyone else. She’s real, unpolished, and so much more than just a pretty face.
I glance at her as she fidgets with the hem of her dress, smoothing it down for what feels like the hundredth time. She’s been doing that since we left her apartment, adjusting her hair, looking at her reflection in the window like she expects something to change.
“You’re fine, you know,” I say softly, nudging her shoulder with mine. “You look perfect.”
She glances over at me, eyes wide, a little uncertain. “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t know if I’m pulling this off.”
“Elodie,” I say, leaning in a little closer, letting my voice drop to something more intimate. “You look like you belong here. You belong anywhere you want. No more worries, okay?”
She bites her lip, still not convinced, but she smiles a little at my words. That’s enough for me. Her smile makes everything worth it.
The limo driver takes the corner a little too sharply, and I reach out instinctively, my hand on her knee to steady her. The warmth of her body under my fingers surprises me, and for a moment, I forget all about the fancy event ahead of us. Forget about the cameras, the people, the world I’ve been living in. All I can think about is her, how I want to protect her, make sure she’s okay, that she feels safe with me.
“Thank you for this,” she says after a beat, turning her head toward me, her voice soft but filled with something I can’t quite place. “I mean it. This... this is so far out of my comfort zone. I didn’t think I’d ever—”
“Hey,” I interrupt, squeezing her knee lightly, “I wanted to do this. Don’t second-guess yourself.” I’m not sure where this protective feeling is coming from, but it’s there, and it’s raw. “You’re doing me a favor but trust me. This is not just a date anymore. You’re someone I actually want here.”
She smiles again, her eyes meeting mine, the tiniest hint of vulnerability in them. “I don’t know if I believe you but thank you.”
The limo continues to wind its way through the mountain roads, and I find myself thinking about how different she is from everyone I’ve known for the past few years. So much of my life since the war, and since I started writing books, has been about appearances, how things look to the world, what’s expected of me. But Elodie? She’s nothing like that. She’s not here for the fame, not here to climb some social ladder. She’s just... her. And that makes her even more beautiful in my eyes.
The drive takes about thirty minutes, and I try to keep the conversation light. We talk about the weather, about the quirky small-town shops she loves to visit, about the animals she volunteers with at the shelter on Saturdays and how I should start volunteering more, and her big family Sunday dinners. It’s easy, and I realize I’m more comfortable with her than I’ve been with anyone in a long time.
The ride to the airport is smooth, the city skyline slowly coming into view as we near the runway. Elodie’s still looking out the window, the faintest frown on her face as she adjusts her dress once again. I can’t help but smile, wondering if this is the side of her that no one else gets to see, the one who cares so deeply about the small things, the details that others might overlook.
“Wait!? Airplane?” Elodie asks, looking out the window with shock on her face.
“Did I not tell you the gala is in New York City?” I ask, as I try to remember our previous conversations.
“No, well, maybe. I knew. I just didn’t… put it together. Wow.”
“Come. Let’s have fun.” I hold my hand out to her, and together we board the private jet in a flurry of surreal excitement.