Hopeless Vows (13 page)

“He had flowers delivered to the office on Monday before I got there with a note about friendship. A guy’s never made a gesture like that.” I sound infatuated, even to my own ears. I’m hoping she doesn’t call me out on it.

“Sounds like you’re falling for him.” No such luck. Glancing at her, her expression puzzles me. She’s actually scowling at me.

“I didn’t say that,” I say defensively. Her reaction to her assumption isn’t completely unfounded. She knows I can’t fall for this guy, not with my past.

“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face,” she bites back, refusing to meet my gaze. What the hell is her problem? “Don’t get used to it. Sure, he’s all sweet now, but then he’ll be just like every other man. I’m sure your dad was a real charmer at first too.” If she had slapped me, I wouldn’t have been as stunned as I am now.

“Wow, that was real nice,” I say weakly. I will the tears back that sting behind my eyes. No matter how much time passes, my parents are still a sore subject. If I can avoid talking or thinking about them, I do. For her to stoop to that level is beyond hurtful.

She reaches over and puts her hand over mine. “I’m just looking out for you because I care. I’m your best friend and have had your back for eight years. That’s what we do for each other. I don’t want you setting up unrealistic expectations, you know?”

I get what she’s saying, but that doesn’t lessen the pain or disappointment her words inflict on me. “I know.” My lips form a shaky smile, and I drop it.

After Janey and I part ways at the spa, I head on over to get my hair and makeup done. This is always the part I dread. I usually have no idea how I want to look. Ironic, I know, especially for someone who writes about fashion, but it’s easier to spot the trends and say what works and what doesn’t when it’s not on you.

“Ciao, bella!” my stylist greets me as soon as I walk into the salon, giving me a kiss on each cheek.

“Ciao, Marco. How are you?” I ask as he leads me to his work station, the cameras following close behind and finding a spot to set up. Marco is a short, Italian man with dark features, the kindest eyes, and the most adorable accent I’ve ever heard.

“Oh, you know. Beezy, beezy all day long.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “What all dis? You movie star?” he asks as he gestures toward the cameras.

With a sigh, I say, “Not exactly. They’re filming me for a reality TV show I’ll be on.”

“Ahhh! Brava! Bellissima movie star you gonna make!” His exuberance makes me laugh quietly while I shake my head. “So tell me, what we do for you tonight? Hmm?”

“I don’t know.” I let out a huff. “I’m going to a black-tie event for my work tonight, so I need to look nice.”

“What you dress look like?”

“Whimsical, ethereal, light, and flowy.” I’m in love with my dress. Out of the several I’ve had to wear to events, this is my favorite so far.
Other than my wedding dress.
The thought crosses my mind uninvited, causing me to pause. It startles me at first and is unsettling. Austin is starting to embed himself into my every thought. How am I going to walk away from him at the end of this when I think about him so often?

“We do bello soft curls, pull over here one shoulder?”

My nose scrunches up as I think about it. “Eh, no. The neckline and bodice are killer. I don’t want to hide it by draping my hair over it.”

“Okay, okay, no problem.” He tussles my hair around a little more. “How ‘bout we do nice, loose, elegant. No sleek and edgy. We do loose, messy bun. We make nice braid or twist you long bangs and pin everyting nice and loose. Elegant!” he exclaims with a wave of his hand.

“It’s simple. I like it,” I respond with a smile. It’s going to look perfect with the gown.

“Brava. Good. So . . . tell me . . . is new man? Hmm? Tell me, tell me.” He’s always so friendly and happy. It makes me want to tell him everything, but I know I can’t.

“Maybe,” I reply vaguely. I’m not exactly allowed to discuss the show to a bunch of people while it’s filming.

Suddenly, he stops working. “Maybe? Just Maybe? You no tell me more? Come on, bella. You tell me everyting!” He waves his arm with comb in hand for me to continue.

I glance at his reflection in the mirror, making me laugh. He’s wagging his finger at me when I don’t fess up to all the gritty details he’s hoping for. My hands go up in defense. “There’s nothing to tell. We’re still getting to know each other, but he’s really nice and sweet. It’s going well.”

He lets out a disappointed huff. “Hmph, okay. Si, si. You no want to tell Marco. Is okay.” I suppress a chuckle to keep from further antagonizing him.

It’s almost time for us to leave, but I haven’t come out of the bedroom yet. I take one final look in the mirror before walking out to meet Austin in the living room. The anticipation of seeing him in a tux makes me antsy and excited. Visions of our wedding dance through my head. He’s every suit designer’s fantasy with his broad shoulders and trim waist. When they design suits, they do it with his body in mind.

My dress is stunning. Since I was on vacation, the racks at work were pretty well picked over. Most people opt to wear the bigger named designers, and for that I’m grateful because they missed this masterpiece. I love finding the hidden gems—the underdogs of the fashion world—the designers that make exquisite items but no one has heard of. If anyone had paid more attention to the quality of the gown versus the tag on the inside, they would have seen the beauty in it. The lines, the way it flows, its ability to make you feel sexy and elegant—it’s all flawless. You put this exact dress on a celebrity at a red carpet event, and soon everyone will be wearing this designer.

The bodice is made of a very thin, nude mesh. From a slight distance, it gives the appearance I’m naked except for the delicate branches that crawl up the waist and thin out as they reach the bust. Flowers are sewn sporadically onto the branches, giving the gown depth and texture. A thin, black ribbon circles my waist with a few flowers trailing down below it. The dress transitions from the nude color on top to a grey at the bottom, the silk organza flowing out, giving it lots of volume and movement. The sexiness of the dress comes from the slit up the front of my right leg that goes up to almost my hip. I’ve paired it with a simple pair of strappy silver shoes.

Before I head out to see Austin, I decide to take a picture of myself in the full-length mirror and send it to Janey.

Me: What do you think?

Her reply comes a few moments later.

Janey: Who did your makeup? It’s not blended very well.

I look in the mirror again. I was a little worried about all the eye makeup. I’m more of a minimalist, preferring to go easy on the eyes and have a pop of color on the lips. It’s outside my comfort zone and now I’m afraid I look like a clown.

Me: The same people that always do it . . .

Janey: Maybe they were having a bad day or something. Blend out the corners of your eyeshadow better. You look like a drag queen.

A knock on the bedroom door stops my reply. Shit, I don’t have time for this.

“Jillian, you okay in there? It’s about time for us to go,” Austin says from outside the door.

“Uh, yeah.” Tentatively, I walk to the door and open it slowly. Despite new worries about my makeup, the corners of my mouth tilt up into a smile as my eyes take him in. His hair is styled, something I’ve noticed he hardly ever does. He’s gelled it to one side, giving him a more polished look. As I predicted, his tuxedo looks amazing, making me want to pounce on him like a dog in heat.

“Wow,” he says, breaking the silence. “That dress—you look incredible.”

“You haven’t even seen the best part,” I say with a grin.

“What’s that?” He takes a step back and trails his eyes up and down my body.

“This.” I pull my leg forward, exposing it through the slit. With the volume of the dress, the slit is hidden unless I’m walking or standing with one leg in front.

His focus stays glued to my leg for several seconds before I clear my throat to get his attention. “Are you sure we have to go?” he asks in a raw voice. His tone alone begins to heat my body. There’s been this sexual tension, an underlying current between us for a while, but I’ve done my best to squash and dismiss it. With the heated look he’s throwing my way, I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be able to resist. I desperately want him.

Let your guard down. Trust him. He could be the one
, my heart pleads.

What happens when he finds out
, my mind reminds me.

I’m dying here. Please, let him touch you. You know he’ll make you feel good
, my body begs.

I’m spinning and being pulled in different directions. Even though I know what I should do, I can’t seem to back away.

“Jillian?” he says barely above a whisper. I’m unable to speak; my brain is fried and unable to form words, so I raise my eyebrows in a wordless acknowledgment. “I’m gonna need you to stop me.”

My head tilts to the side slightly. “What ar—” I’m cut off as his lips crush against mine. One hand wraps around the back of my neck while the other one snakes behind my back, pulling me close to him. Austin’s lips ravage mine, taking from me everything he can and then some. And I give it.

Willingly.

My hands grip the lapels of his jacket tightly like a lifeline. Before my mind registers what I’m doing, I pull him back toward the bed. My body reacts to what it wants, even if my head is screaming for me to stop. There’s a carnal need forming within me, and the Jaws of Life couldn’t peel me off of him now.

We’re frenzied, our tongues diving into the other’s mouth with such urgency that coming up for air isn’t a thought. Breathing is secondary to fulfilling the ache in my core. The backs of my knees hit the bed. I’m about to lay down when he pulls away, breaking the connection. The lust surrounding my brain doesn’t register what he says the first time. I stare up at him, dazed and disoriented. And a little disappointed he stopped us. Well, a lot frustrated too. His deep chuckle pulls me out of the fog and brings me to the present.

“What?” I ask with a little more attitude than necessary.

“That was the intercom. Our ride is waiting.”

Ride? Where are we . . .”Oh, shit! The party! We’re gonna be late!” I run as fast as I can in my current attire, pick up my clutch off the bed, grab Austin’s hand, and drag him to the elevator. I’m sure my makeup is a mess, but I’ll have to worry about that later.

Same goes for my feelings for Austin. I’ll stow it away and pretend like that just didn’t happen.

Yeah, easier said than done.