Buying the Bride

by Penny Wylder

  Never in my life have I looked this good, and when I tell the make-up artist, she laughs.

  “I don’t know about that,” a deep voice says from behind me. “I imagine you look this good all the time.”

  Andrew Xellum is standing in the doorway, that same hungry look on his face as he takes in my hair and make-up. He glances at my crew. “I need to show her the space.”

  My make-up artist nods. “She’s ready; everything but touch-ups.”

  “Excellent. Delia, if you’ll come with me please.”

  I stand and follow him. We go down a narrow hallway and into a windowed space covered in curtains. I recognize it as the inside of the Prow Art Space, the tiny glass gallery on the very tip of the flatiron building. The ground is covered in gauze and fluffy fabric that makes it look like we’re walking on a cloud, and I imagine that it will look that way from the outside as well. Just like May described, there’s a circular platform. Andrew—can I call him Andrew if it’s only in my head?—holds out his hand. “Up here, please.”

  An electric jolt goes through me as our skin makes contact. I can feel that touch through my entire body and damn, does it feel good. Suddenly I’m trying to remember the last time I was touched by a man, even casually. It’s been way too long if a touch on the hand is making my body feel this way. Or maybe it’s him. Holy shit, I’m staring at our joined hands and this is my new boss. I blush furiously and he gives me a smirk that makes it seem like he knows exactly what that skin-on-skin contact did to me.

  “You’ll be up here the entire exhibition. You won’t have to move. The curtains will rise, and you’ll be in the first outfit. After 10 minutes, the crew will come in and convert the look from day to night. That will be in full view; it’s the whole point. The clothes are designed to change tone quickly, and you won’t ever be exposed. After the next ten minutes, the curtains fall and the crew will help you do a quick change before they rise again. Pretty simple.”

  I clear my throat. “Do you want me to stand still? Change poses?”

  It’s such a basic question, something a more experienced model should know, that I almost expect him to laugh. I’m desperate for any clue on how to do this and keep down the latte that I had earlier. But he doesn’t laugh. He considers, stepping back and taking me in, even though I’m only in my tank top and jeans. “You can move,” he says after a moment of silence. “Just not too fast. I’d say maybe two or three poses per look. That will give you time for a couple of revolutions for each pose.”

  “Okay,” I nod. “I can do that.”

  Andrew checks his watch. “Curtains go up in fifteen minutes,” he says with a little smile. “I’ll be watching.”

  A shiver goes through me as he turns to leave, and my mouth opens before I can stop it. “Why me?” He turns back at the door. “You could have had so many models with more experience. Not someone who’s never modeled before. So why?”

  Just like with my earlier question, I can see him consider his words carefully. “Most people in fashion are looking for something brand new. A look or a combination of features that they’ve never seen before. That’s not what I look for in a model. I want someone who makes me feel. When she walks down a runway or you see her in a photograph, she has a spark that connects with you.”

  “So you’re saying you think that I have that spark?”

  He smiles. “No. You don’t have the spark. You have the whole damn fire.”

  And then he leaves me there gaping after him, my entire body tingling with his words.

  One of the crew comes to get me, and while they dress me I’m in a daze. I don’t think I’ve ever made that kind of impression on anyone before. And the way he looks at me gives me shivers down my body that make me imagine darker, more intimate moments with just the two of us between a set of sheets.

  I lock those thoughts down because this is a job, and he’s my boss and I can’t afford to think like that when I’m about to be stared at for four hours. I’m dressed in a pair of long bolero pants and a coral dress shirt, and my face and hair get tweaks as I’m guided down the narrow hallway again.

  God, I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve never been afraid of getting up in front of people, but this feels entirely different. New. Nerve-wracking. I’m helped up onto the platform, and I wobble in my heels. They arrange my pants around the shoes and I nearly lose my footing again as the rotating platform starts to move. Suddenly there’s music, and I know that the music will play outside as well. The curtain starts to go up and I try to control my breathing as I pick a pose. This is real. This is real. This is real.

  There’s a crowd of people gathered outside the windows. Of course there is. If what May said is true, then Andrew Xellum is famous for works of fashion bordering on performance art. Anyone like that is going to have fans that show up to see his next piece of work. Oh god, I might throw up. Don’t look at them. Don’t look at them. I don’t focus on the faces; I focus beyond them as I’m turned around slowly. I pick a point and stare at it for as long as I can, and it helps me keep my balance. If I’m going to be rotating for four hours I can’t afford to be dizzy.

  I’m on my second rotation when I see Andrew. He’s standing further back from the crowd, watching just like he said he would be. All those thoughts I tried to lock down come flooding back and my focus narrows to just him. I don’t feel dizzy or overwhelmed or panicked. Instead I feel a new kind of focus, that crippling nervousness I felt moments ago melting away. I slowly change my pose, aware that his eyes are on me, and the movement is slow, sensual, and right. I suppose if you have the right audience you can always find what feels right.

  There’s not enough time to think about what Andrew Xellum being the right audience means because the crew is here and they’re changing the look. A few clever hooks in hidden places and the bolero pants separate and are folded up into a sexy short skirt. Openings in the sleeves of the blouse appear to show a little more skin, and suddenly it feels like I’m ready to go dancing.

  I let a smile appear on my face as I change my pose and rotate. I see Andrew nod. He likes this. I like it too. It’s not nearly as hard as I thought it would be, especially when I can feel his eyes on me. It feels like no time at all until the curtains drop and I’m whirled into the next outfit, and then the next. There’s a theme to the clothes, each look starting out tame, and becoming sexier and sexier with each transition. I feel sexy too, knowing that wherever he is, he’s watching. He’s been moving around outside the window, and every time I find him again I get a burst of energy.

  The curtains drop and the crew rushes in. “Last one,” someone whispers to me. It’s a deep purple gown with a plunging neckline, lace sleeves and plenty of sheer material around my legs. This is definitely the most couture of the things I’ve had on today. I step into the dress, and there’s some type of body suit inside, but I don’t have a good picture of what the transformation will be. It doesn’t matter though because I’m high on the moment.

  The curtains rise and I sweep the skirt out and let it drop. I can’t be a mannequin in this dress, it needs movement. I break my rules for this one, and I don’t stop moving. Even though it’s slow so I don’t fall off my pedestal, I dance, swaying with the music that’s flowing through the speakers and making the dress dance too.

  The crew comes in for the final time, and this time there isn’t a clever flowing and clipping. With two buttons, half the dress falls off, revealing the bodysuit I felt underneath. It’s more skin than fabric, and I realize that this is the final transition: eveningwear into lingerie.

  I lose my momentum for just a second. Do I want to be in front of half of New York in my underwear? The answer comes immediately and unexpectedly. Yes. Striking a new pose, I raise my arms above my head and lean into it, using poses that push the line between fashion and something too sexy for the Flatiron building on a sunny afternoon. I find Andrew again, but this time he’s not outside. He’s standing in the doorway of the gallery. The encouraging smile he�
�s worn this whole time is gone, replaced with a look of intensity and sheer heat.

  The curtains drop and the crew comes to help me down. Suddenly I realize how exhausted I am. My feet are aching from hours in high heels and I’m sweating. I didn’t feel any of it until this moment. Someone from the crew hands me a water bottle, and another one a robe. They pull me down the hallway, I assume to get me out of hair and make-up, but Andrew stops them. “I’d like a moment alone with Delia, please.”

  No one even questions, just subtly disappearing and leaving the two of us alone. But not even that is enough, because he pulls me into another tiny room across from the dressing room. It’s cluttered with random electronics and paraphernalia for the gallery, and there’s barely room for the two of us to stand together, but we do.

  He towers over me, and I can feel the heat coming off his body in the small space. “That,” he says, “was everything I hoped for.”

  “I’m glad you liked it,” I say, breathless at how close he is after hours of being drunk on the feeling of his gaze. I want to reach out and touch him, and he’s so close that I’m can barely stop myself from reaching out.

  “I want you,” he says, and my breath catches. “I want you to work for me.”

  Stupid, Delia. Of course he wants you to work. This was a job, not an audition for which model is going to fall into his bed. On the heels of disappointment comes a wave of happiness. He wants me to work. I can pay my bills and not have to worry about being evicted! “I’d like that.”

  “I want to know if you can handle it,” he says, his voice sliding low. “I want to know that you’ll do everything that I ask, because I haven’t found a muse like you in a long time.”

  “A muse?” I smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever been called someone’s muse before.”

  “I want you to be mine,” he says, inching just a little closer, and I suddenly find it hard to breathe. “I want you to say yes, not only for me, but because it will help you too.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”

  “The things I’ll ask you to do won’t always be easy. And a lot of them will push your limits. But they’ll also help you become more. I told you, you have that fire in you, and I want to help you make the world burn brighter with it.”

  I laugh a little, his passion at once arousing and unnerving me. “You come on a little strong, Mr. Xellum.”

  “Yes, I do,” he says, his expression not changing. “And I always will. I know what I want and I never compromise, which is why I need to know if you’re able to handle it.”

  “I think you’ll be surprised at what I’m able to handle,” I say, giving him a sly smile. “I accept.”

  “Perfect,” he says, straightening. “I’ll tell May and she’ll handle the details.”

  He opens the door and strides out, just like yesterday, leaving me gaping and turned on in his wake. The man certainly has a flare for dramatic and abrupt exits. Damn.

  I lean against the wall, my energy evaporating, but I’m smiling. I have a job and the hottest boss in the world.

  4

  “Girl,” Fleece says the second I walk into the Blind Scorpion, “I’ve already seen it on YouTube. I wish I could have been there. You looked like a badass.”

  I laugh and practically collapse on my chair. Before I even came over here I dropped off the rent check to Joe. So not only am I exhausted, I’m relieved, which just makes me that much more tired. “Which look did you see? You can’t have watched a three-hour show on YouTube.”

  She gives me a look that makes me blush. “You know which one. The only look that anyone is going to be talking about. The last one, obviously.”

  “Yeah,” I say, blushing. Looking back now, I can’t believe that felt so natural. I’m embarrassed just thinking about it. “I honestly don’t even know how I did it.”

  Fleece rolls her eyes. “You know that I’ve known you for ten years and I know instantly when you’re lying, right?”

  “Ugh. Fine,” I say. “But give me a drink first.” She passes me another one of her concoctions—I’ve learned not to ask what’s in them anymore. “It was him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I sigh. “I mean, it was him. Andrew Xellum. Have you seen him?”

  Fleece rolls her eyes. “Of course I’ve seen him. He’s so gorgeous it’s just unfair. But I’m still not sure what he has to do with your performance other than hiring you?”

  “I mean, I thought I was going to vomit, but then I saw him watching me and the whole performance suddenly made sense. Like thinking of him as the audience was what I needed to make myself cut loose. It’s hard to explain.” I take a deep sip of my drink. “But the best part is that he wants to give me more work. So I really owe you one for making me go.”

  Fully expecting her to be overjoyed, I’m surprised when her face is wary. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I didn’t say anything because you really needed the work, but I’ve heard things about him. I’ve heard that he’s a bit cold and demanding and he can be hard to work for. There are rumors about why his last favorite quit. I don’t know, maybe he did something that was over the line.”

  “You could have said something last night if you didn’t think it was a good idea.”

  She sighs. “Why would I do that? You’re broke and about to be living in my apartment. You needed the money. I’m just saying to be careful. Things can be too good to be true.”

  “I will admit that he’s really intense,” I say, remembering our conversation in the little closet, “but I’m going to give it a shot. I’m not signing a contract with him or anything so it’s not like I can’t walk away if I need to. Plus, so far he hasn’t done anything I wouldn’t expect from a highly driven man who works in fashion.”

  Fleece chokes on a laugh and I follow suit. “Well,” she says, “I’m happy you have work. Free drinks all night in celebration.”

  “Barbara is going to kill you,” I say, raising my eyebrows.

  She nods to someone trying to get her attention down the bar. “Barbara better worship the fucking ground I walk on after all I’ve done for her this week. I think I’ll risk giving my best friend a few celebratory drinks.”

  She hurries away, and I turn in my chair and lean back against the wall. During the exhibition I felt like I had nothing but energy. Now I feel like I could crawl into bed and sleep for a week. But at least I’ll be able to do that with money in my bank account. That’s a new feeling.

  I’m zoning out, almost ready to bail and go home to sleep, when Fleece makes her way back over to me. “By the way, you know you’re basically going to be a celebrity now, right?”

  Laughing, I roll my eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

  She shakes her head, “I know you’re new to this, but in the fashion world, Xellum Studios is it. Even though his stuff is really out there when he does shows, his designs are gorgeous and everyone loves them. He’s a huge deal.”

  “I’m guessing you also didn’t tell me this so I wouldn’t freak out.”

  “Maybe,” she grins. “I’m guessing you haven’t checked your social media pages today, have you?”

  “No.” I grab my phone up the bar and open Twitter. I’ve always been a lurker on Twitter; following my favorite celebrities and friends. The only followers I had were my handful of friends. Tonight, I have over four thousand followers. The sight nearly makes me spit out my drink. “What the fuck? How did they even find me?”

  “Welcome to the age of the internet. That transformation video is already going viral. You’ll have way more followers in the morning. Check your Instagram.”

  I do, and there’s an even bigger jump. 6000 followers. “This is insane.”

  “Absolutely, but use it. The more popular you are, the more money they’ll have to pay you,” she says with a wink.

  There are no words for this, so I just take a sip of my drink.

  “Oh,” she continues, “
you may want to update those profiles to say who you are. Not just ‘retail associate,’ since you’re clearly not that anymore.”

  “Right.”

  I feel a little dizzy. If I had known this would change my life completely, would I have done it? Am I going to regret it later? Right now I don’t, but who knows in the future.

  “I know that look,” says Fleece. “You’re starting to second guess yourself.”

  “What if you’re right?” I ask her. “What if it is a bad idea?”

  She shakes her head. “It was stupid of me to even bring that up. It’s not a bad idea. You’re going to make more money than you’ve ever made in your life and work with one of the most talented designers on the planet. Don’t worry, I’m going to be right here while you do it. Now drink your damn drink while I make you another one.”

  I raise my glass. “Yes, ma’am.”

  5

  Walking in to this art gallery was the closest thing I’ve ever really felt to being a celebrity, and I’m not sure how I feel about it. Sure, my social media accounts have blown up in the past couple of weeks, but people still don’t recognize me on the street. But the crowd waiting to get into the gallery where Andrew and his friend Heather are putting on a collaborative show? Those people know me. They’re asking for autographs and taking pictures and I feel anxiety rising up in my chest when May and a giant security guard fish me from the crowd and drag me inside.

  “Do you ever get used to that sort of thing?”

  She grins. “Never.”

  “Perfect.” I supposed I’ll have to get used to it if I want to keep doing this though, and for now, I want to. So I have to suck it up and deal, even though the thought of any of those people just coming to see me makes me kind of want to pass out.

  She starts walking towards the back of the gallery. “This way to hair and make-up.”