by Dani Collins
The costs were adding up so fast they made Nina hyperventilate. The rent alone was twenty-five hundred a day, which Reve shrugged off.
“I paid more for that garden party I didn’t attend.”
She searched his expression, still having trouble believing he was willing to gamble this sort of money on her, but from things he’d said about past deals, some in the hundreds of millions, this was small potatoes.
Even so, she couldn’t stand the idea of failing and causing him to take a loss. She worked sixteen-hour days, lingering long after Andre and his crew had left, adding finishing touches so her show would be ready by the end of the week. She probably would have slept there if Reve hadn’t been in his car when it arrived every night at ten, texting her that dinner was waiting and he was hungry.
She also probably would have slept with him if he’d invited her to his bed, but he didn’t. She ought to be glad for that, she supposed, but she was a little hurt that he was suddenly treating her like a professional acquaintance.
That’s not how she was thinking of him. Despite her exhaustion, she lay awake every night, longing to go down the hall and lose herself in their special brand of passion.
When she did fall asleep, she woke abruptly to anxious thoughts—worries about whether the investigator was learning anything and whether she’d be okay at the loaned flat in Germany.
She worried about how she would say goodbye to Reve again. It had been a lot easier when she had been angry and hurt.
“Why are you up so early?” He came into the kitchen wearing only pajama bottoms and a night’s worth of stubble. His voice held morning rasp that was intimate enough to awaken her erogenous zones, even as his morning erection was subsiding against the loose fabric of his pants.
She moved to the coffeemaker to hide the fact she’d noticed, but her cheeks were stinging and her voice was strained. “Early bird avoids the paparazzi. I asked your driver last night if he minded. He said it was fine.”
“Anything before seven a.m. is double time. Of course, he doesn’t mind,” he said drily.
“Oh. Shoot.” She faltered in rinsing out her travel mug. “I’ll add it to my expenses.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He moved to the cupboard and took out bread for the toaster.
They were back-to-back, and she was so aware of him that all the cells in her body seemed to align like magnets finding north. She could have stood there forever, basking in this closeness.
She swallowed and picked up the tea towel to dry her mug. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I wanted to talk to you. I need to go to Europe.”
“Today?” A zing of loss jolted through her, rooting her feet to the floor. She wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
“Soon. There’s a company I want to acquire.” Dishes rattled as he set out a plate and a butter knife. “We already have some capability for making car parts with 3D printers, but this German outfit is taking it to the next level.”
“Oh.” With a shaky hand, she poured the espresso she’d made for herself into a mug for him. When she caught his eye, she found him watching her.
Her pulse leaped in reaction, and her gaze took an involuntary inventory of his wide shoulders and relaxed biceps, the muscled pecs with small dark nipples and his sectioned abs.
“I can be out of your hair anytime. Dad heard back from his friend. He’s leaving his key with his neighbor. Dad wasn’t able to get me on a flight, but I’ve looked at what’s available. I just have to pick one and book it.”
“I’m not kicking you out.” Reve sent her a disgruntled scowl and yanked open the refrigerator. “I’m saying I could take you with me. When were you thinking of leaving?”
Her inner Reve-addict jumped on that suggestion, particularly as lust was trying to take hold in her, but she made herself say, “That’s not necessary. You’re doing too much already.”
“It’s nothing. I’m going anyway. I usually stay at my apartment in Paris. You can stay with me, same as we have been here.”
Platonically?
Her sister had been alarmed when she learned Nina was staying with Reve. And that they’d had sex.
Nina, it’s fine if you forgive him. It’s fine if you believe he never meant to mislead you. But your eyes are open now. Don’t let him hurt you again. Where are you two going if you start up again? You have a right to ask those questions.
Angela was right, but Reve didn’t seem to be taking anything for granted. She almost wished he would pressure her into an affair so she could succumb, then blame him for her own weakness.
“I might get recognized in Paris,” she pointed out.
“You might get recognized anywhere. That’s why my apartment is a good option. It’s more secure than some pilot’s walk-up in Frankfurt.”
“How long is the train from Paris to Luxembourg?”
“Three or four hours.” The toast popped and he turned to butter it.
She screwed fresh grounds into place in the espresso machine. “Could we leave Friday?”
“This Friday? The day your show opens? Don’t you want to be there?”
“Gawd, no.”
“Why not?” He frowned at her.
“Fear.” She curled her lip in disgust at herself.
“Chicken,” he chided, then offered her the plate with the buttered toast. “Eat. I suspect you’ve been skipping lunch. Would you trust Andre to break everything down?”
“Yes. Maybe. I don’t know what to think of him anymore.” She took one slice. “He said something that freaked me out.”
“What?” Reve clacked the plate onto the island and the second piece of toast nearly slid off it. His demeanor had gone from morning lazy to protective Neanderthal so quickly she could hardly swallow the bite of toast in her mouth.
“It wasn’t anything mean.” She cleared her throat, then turned to finish making her coffee one-handed. “It was actually encouraging, but I’m terrified he’s deluding both of us. He said he would cover the cost of leaving the show up an extra week if I gave him the green cocktail dress. I told him about my deal with you and that I would ask.”
She sent Reve a sideways look as she set the machine to gurgling and hissing.
His brow furrowed. “Can you alter that dress to fit him? He’s a pretty big guy.”
“He wants it as an investment.” This was the part that sounded like a delusion. “He thinks in a year, once my work has had a chance to circulate and build momentum, an original piece by Nina Menendez will go for, um...” She could hardly say it. “Five figures.”
“Is that a fact.” Reve leaned his hips on the counter and folded his arms. “If I had known that, I might have kept it in my storage locker.”
“Ha ha.” She rolled her eyes.
“I’m not joking.” He cocked his head. “Does he know about your connection to Oriel?”
“No. He probably suspects, but he genuinely likes the dress. He’s been super honest with me about all of my work. If he thinks I played it too safe or missed an opportunity to elevate a piece, he says so, but he doesn’t want me to change anything. He says it shows my evolution. He uses words like ‘inspiring’ and ‘exciting.’ I can’t bear to see his face when he discovers no one else likes any of it.” She was having flashbacks to Kelly’s tight smiles and bitchy nitpicking after a fellow seamstress had gushed over something Nina had made. “Being across the Atlantic when the doors open sounds ideal.”
“You big, giant chicken,” he accused, but his tone was gentle and the curl of his mouth held affection.
That smile put the sweetest joy in her heart, an expansive feeling that made her feel shy and emotive and happy.
His gaze touched her mouth and sexual tension crackled.
He swallowed and picked up his coffee. “If you change your mind and want to stay, let me know. Tell him I’ll call to
work out something for the dress.”
She nodded, releasing a low breath, disappointed.
* * *
Reve had been working long hours to keep his mind—and hands—off Nina. Every evening, after he’d gone home and worked out to the point of physical failure, he’d gone to collect her, texting from the street so she could slip in beside him undetected.
She always sagged with weariness, which helped him keep from making a pass, but he didn’t like seeing her push herself so hard. He knew how much this meant to her, though, and that she was trying to keep her mind off what would happen once she went to Europe.
Reve had hoped his investigator would turn up more, saving her from going to Luxembourg herself, but the village had been overrun with reporters when Oriel’s story broke. Apparently, the locals were being very tight-lipped. The man had at least located a property that was still in the family of the doctor who had delivered Nina.
Reve had taken a small liberty with that information, still concerned with what would happen to Nina once her story broke. He couldn’t leave her to fend for herself, not when he had the resources and experience to buffer her from the worst of the attention.
At the same time, he knew he was setting up himself—and her—for a rehash of his unsavory past if he let himself become part of her story. It disturbed him how much he was leaving himself exposed and why. He’d been blinded by sexual infatuation the first time with her and, yes, he still was. Despite working his body to quivering fatigue every day, he woke in the night so hard for her his whole body ached. Knowing she was just down the hall was pure torture, but there was a primitive, possessive part of him that liked having her close even if he couldn’t touch her. Plus, he knew no other man was touching her.
Ah, jealousy. The most manipulative emotion of all. He fairly groaned aloud as he realized how susceptible he’d become to it.
Did she realize how much power that gave her over him? She would, he thought with a dour look at the champagne he’d picked up on his way to collect her. He was practically advertising it.
But he was here now, literally turning into the block where the showroom was located. It was Thursday, and Nina had texted that the photographer was coming at seven and she would be ready to leave after that. Reve had purposely arrived at six thirty.
He went inside for the first time since the day he’d leased the space, and could hear Nina and Andre bantering good-naturedly as he neared the cloakroom at the top of the stairs.
“See Now, Buy Now is everything that is wrong with today’s world, not just fashion,” Andre bemoaned. “It’s the manufacture of trends. There’s nothing organic or artistic about it. Why even bother—Oh, hello.” Andre stopped dialing the switch that controlled the dimming of a track light. He poked his head into the showroom. “Nina, the most dashing man has turned up with champagne and only two glasses. I think that means one of us is supposed to take a walk.”
“What? Reve!” Nina appeared with a flushed smile that struck the backs of his eyes like sunshine, but she used her body to forestall his entering the showroom, which prickled his old, suspicious instincts.
From here, all he could see was a table set up in front of a window. On it was an ornate business card holder that looked like an antique from a French chateau, a cup of pens and a single rose in a silver vase.
“Text me when the photographer gets here. I’ll come back and close up after him,” Andre said as he put on a tailored green jacket.
Nina thanked him for all his help and they embraced, kissing each other’s cheeks.
As Andre stepped back, he said to Reve in a falsely pleasant tone, “If you spill one drop of that in my showroom, I will hunt you down and kill you with my bare hands.”
Reve thumbed the cork so it popped loudly and fell to the floor. Only a wisp of condensation emerged from the neck.
“So long as we understand each other.” Andre smirked and trotted down the stairs.
“This is a nice surprise. Thank you.” Nina smiled nervously as he handed her a glass crackling with a head of bubbles.
“I thought I’d come see—” He stopped short of saying what I’ve paid for. “How it all came together.”
They touched glasses and sipped, but she didn’t move from the doorway. Her eyes grew wide and anxious. Panic-stricken.
“What’s wrong? I’ve seen all of it before.”
“Not like this.”
“Like what?” She drove him a little crazy sometimes, being this emotionally attached to what? His opinion? “I’ll be kind, Nina.”
“I don’t want you to be kind,” she said, instantly cross. “I want you to be honest. I just don’t know if I can handle it.” She drained her champagne in a couple of swallows and set the glass on the shelf next to the bottle. “He’s serious about no food or drink in there.”
Reve seared his own throat with the cool, sizzling Salon Le Mesnil Brut and set his glass beside hers.
She jerkily waved him in ahead of her, then trailed behind him as he entered the long room. Tall tables and a couple of benches had been set up on the side of the room with the windows, probably to provide a space for buyers to sit and make notes or calls. The blinds on the windows were down, the showroom lit with lights that angled and pooled to guide focus.
The clothes were arranged down the inside wall and told a story that felt familiar to him since Reve recognized so many of the pieces. Still, it was a story he hadn’t fully understood until now.
The first few outfits were pinned to cloth-covered squares that hung on the walls. Sketches were pinned alongside them, showing how the pieces had first been conceived. Each was pretty and well constructed. The lines were straight, the buttons were scrupulously spaced. They were undoubtedly good quality and classic—and very safe. There was an innocence to them. A hesitation.
As he ambled along, however, the sketches and outfits grew more daring. Brighter colors mingled with contrasting textures. Here, the clothing was draped over chairs and displayed on hangers that created an impression the pieces had begun to breathe and find life.
He remembered Nina being the same as she gained confidence in what she was trying to say and do. Her growing excitement had been evident in the way she had begun to stray from strict symmetry and played with adding a bracelet or sewing on a spangled pin.
Now he stood among mannequins in polished ensembles fit for high-powered boardrooms and elite social events. There was a white pantsuit with a wide-brimmed hat, the green cocktail dress with its gold chain belt and spiked heels. A yellow top with a sharply pointed collar was accented by a long-strapped purse and sexy sunglasses. A frozen wrist was cocked to hold a jacket and a marble leg kicked out the slit of a cheeky ruby skirt.
Standing among these pieces felt as though he was at a party, one where everyone was having the time of their life.
The fun then ended abruptly.
A gown of silver and blue sat upon a dress form with sequins only partially applied to its neckline. The waist gaped because it was attached by dozens of pins, not stitches. One sleeve of the gown hung lifeless from the sewing machine beside it.
On the floor, among spilled sequins and scattered pins, a pair of designer shoes looked as though they’d been kicked off as the owner fled like Cinderella from her ball.
It was jarring, but even more so was the empty space that followed. A beam of light emphasized the emptiness. It shouldn’t have felt like such a blow to the heart, but it was. He was responsible for that absence of work. Guilt settled as a bitter taste in the back of his throat. Loss. He had hurt her with his callousness that day. Hurt her so badly she had stopped doing what she loved and run away from her dream.
He had to close his eyes to absorb the pain that enveloped him.
He kept wanting to paint her actions with ulterior motives, but that was his own defense mechanism. The truth was this was who she was—a sensi
tive, emotive artist who only wanted to add beauty to the world. She was so raw and honest she had put her entire soul on display for the world to see.
She had shown it to him, and he hadn’t appreciated what a privilege that was. It scared him that she was this open, it really did. Did she not realize how badly she could be hurt?
Bad enough she could walk away and tell him to burn all of this.
His nostrils stung as he drew in a breath. He wanted to take her into his arms, pour himself around her so nothing could touch her, but when he opened his eyes, he was looking at the dress she’d worn the day she’d come running back into his life.
It was a simple blue thing hung on a clear torso suspended from the ceiling—no head or accessories. It seemed to drift in midair like an apparition and was symbolic of her lost self, he supposed, with a hollow ring in his heart. The sense of something unfinished or unfound left a coil of deep longing inside him. It made him want to help her discover the rest of herself because he couldn’t bear how insubstantial and adrift this suggested she was. As though she was only a shell of the woman she used to be, untethered.
The blue fabric was light enough to show the small bloodstain she must have brushed onto it that day. Despite that, and despite the fact it wasn’t fancy or glamorous, he saw the small details that made it unmistakably part of the collection. Part of her, still alive and showing through. The skirt had a sophisticated flare that eschewed restrictions. There were crisscrossed straps at the back that had been hidden by her hair. They suggested a quiet defiance of convention, almost like graffiti that claimed, I was here.
Beyond that dress was a table piled with bolts of silk and linen and velvet in an array of colors. Ribbons and lace fell in coils from the top of it like ribbons off an unopened present. A pair of scissors sat atop a sketchbook open to a blank page.
* * *
Reve backed onto a bench and sat down, blowing out a low breath as though he’d been through something intense. His elbows went onto his knees and he rubbed his jaw before letting his gaze flicker back over the display.