Intimate Mergers

by Raleigh Davis

  In the movies, trying on a dress in front of all these mirrors looks glamorous, but I feel more like I’m under a microscope. Pinned like a specimen.

  The poppies are overpowering me. All I can see is the dress and the bursts of red and pink on it—my head looks like an afterthought, floating above it all.

  Lucy has a hand at her chin, her mouth flat. I can see the professor in her now.

  “Hmmm,” she says.

  “Yes,” says the clerk, as if that noise made perfect sense.

  They study me silently for a few more moments. “I don’t think—”

  Lucy shakes her head. “No. No, this isn’t it.”

  It’s exactly what I was thinking, but I still feel like I’ve disappointed them. “Maybe we can come back some other day.” We’ve been at this for two hours, and this is the first dress Lucy has even thought worthy of my trying on. At this rate, we’ll be here for the next two weeks, and I’m dying for a nap.

  And I miss Paul. I wanted to see him this morning, steal a few more moments together.

  Lucy gives me a look, and I know I’ve really disappointed her now. “Grace. Grace. This is very important. We can’t leave without a dress. The dress. And we won’t.”

  “No,” the clerk says, a fervent light in her eyes. “We won’t.”

  “Ooookay.” I glance around for an exit. If I make it outside, maybe some passerby will let me use their phone to call January to save me. If I make it.

  Lucy claps her hands together. “I’ve been doing this all wrong. I can see why, now that you’re wearing that.” The silk that she was just caressing so lovingly is dismissed with a flick of her fingers. “Not fresh. Not demure. Dark elegance.”

  That… doesn’t sound anything like me. Like Paul, yes. I’d describe him like that, especially after last night, although not to his sister.

  A warm shiver works its way up my back as I remember how he said mine.

  “I agree completely,” the clerk says even though she was saying the opposite a few moments ago.

  “Are you thinking…?” Lucy asks.

  “I am,” the clerk declares.

  “The gold velvet,” they squeal together.

  Lucy turns to me, both excited and relieved. “This is the one. The one we should have put you in immediately.”

  I have no idea what they’re talking about. There’s been no velvet dress at all, at least not that I’ve seen.

  “I guess I’ll try it on,” I say with a definite lack of enthusiasm. Velvet sounds heavy, suffocating. Not me at all.

  Lucy’s excitement hasn’t dimmed a bit though. I thought I enjoyed shopping, but Lucy takes it to an entire other level. One I don’t think I can keep up with.

  “This will be perfect, I promise,” the salesclerk says. “And we’ll have just enough time to get it altered for the gala.”

  I go back and pull off the poppy dress, carefully handing it to a different clerk. I wait and shiver in my bra and panties, trying to imagine what this gold velvet wonder will be like. Will the gates of heaven open when I see it?

  What I really want is for Paul’s mouth to drop open when he sees it. I want to look so stunning he can just barely control himself. And after the gala, when we’re alone…

  My visa expires in forty-some days. I’m going to wring as much pleasure from Paul—and him from me—as I can.

  The clerk comes back with the dress draped over her arm, jerking me out of my thoughts. When she shakes it out, revealing the full length of it, all I can do is stare. It’s just so…

  To call it gold velvet is like calling Paul a thirty-two-year-old man. Yes, both those words would describe him, but neither would capture him. They are literally the blandest things you could say about him.

  It’s the same for this dress. I reach out to touch the velvet, the nap short but soft. The fabric itself is cool, but as it shimmers, it takes on the color of flames—so many colors at once I can’t capture them all. The velvet is possibly the softest thing I’ve ever felt. I could just wrap myself in it and never leave. Make a little dress cave all for me.

  “Yes?” the salesclerk asks. Her smile says she already knows what my answer will be.

  I reach for the dress, and she helps me put it on. The magic doesn’t disappear once I’m wearing it. It intensifies.

  The bodice is fitted, with a high neck that somehow manages to look both enticing and proper all at once. The skirt clings to my hips, then falls in lush folds to the floor. The velvet isn’t too heavy—the weight is comforting actually.

  I hold out my arms and spin, just for the sheer pleasure of it. As I do, I realize there are panels sewn into the skirt, strips of silk so thin they seem to float under the velvet, catching the light and adding new dimensions to the gown with every motion.

  My hair gleams in time with the hidden bits of silk, and I’m almost lit from within by the fire shimmering from the golden velvet, and I feel…

  I feel like a princess. Exactly like a princess. Only better, because this is no fantasy.

  I spin a few more times, taking in the sheer joy of catching sight of myself in the mirror, the skirt flaring out around me. I wish I were a ballerina so I could just spin forever in this thing.

  “Grace?” Lucy calls out from the main salon. “Is it okay?”

  I laugh, wild and happy. “Um, it’s way better than that.”

  “Let me see!”

  To my eternal delight, Lucy’s jaw drops when I come out. I can tell her reaction isn’t faked or polite.

  “Wow.” She actually rises from the couch she’s so impressed. “Wow.”

  I trip up to the dais and swish the skirt for her, showing off the hidden silk. And then I spin some more even though I’m starting to get dizzy. But I’m so in love with this dress I can’t seem to stop.

  “I think that’s the one,” the salesclerk says dryly.

  Lucy laughs. “She’ll be the envy of everyone at the gala. Which is going to make it difficult next year, with everyone trying to outdress her.”

  I abruptly stop spinning. That’s right—this is my one night to shine in this dress. Afterward, I’ll have nowhere to wear it. The smart thing would be to sell it, use the money for something better instead of letting it collect dust in my closet.

  Just like Cinderella’s gown, this thing is going to be unwearable for me after midnight.

  “I won’t have to worry about that,” I say with forced brightness. “I won’t be here next year.”

  Lucy rolls her eyes. “If my brother was smart, he’d propose to you for real. I doubt he will, because he’s actually not that smart, but I keep hoping.”

  My mouth drops open. The clerk discreetly clears her throat and disappears into the back.

  “You want me to marry your brother?” I’m too shocked to keep that quiet or demure.

  Lucy narrows her eyes at me. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to. You’re not that good of an actress—you’re not faking what you feel for him.”

  I suppose I should be offended that she doesn’t think me that good an actress, but I’m still too shocked at what she said. At how clearly she’s seen what I never should have shown. “But I’m not at all suitable.”

  Lucy huffs out a breath. “Bullshit. Paul needs someone who understands him. Mother’s only considering who can best handle the family, but I’m thinking about who can best handle Paul. And not in a controlling kind of way—he deserves to have someone who will always be on his side. Who will understand all the parts of him, not just the ones my mother thinks are most important.”

  I have no idea what to say to that. Of course I would always be on Paul’s side, the way he’s always on mine. And I suppose I do sort of understand him—he really enjoyed the wrestling.

  Afterward, in his bed, we connected in ways I never have before with a man. So… maybe she’s right.

  “Wow,” I say. “That is really profound.”

  Lucy beams. “I have my moments. I’m usually right about most things. I’m definitel
y right about this.”

  She might be, but Paul doesn’t see things that way. I’m only a means to an end. Not in a mean, mercenary way—he wouldn’t take such good care of me if he were either of those—but our relationship isn’t any deeper than that. Even with the sex.

  Right?

  “Paul doesn’t think of me like that.” When I say it, I don’t sound half as convincing as Lucy did. “You need someone like Amelia, only not in love with someone else.”

  “I already told you how I feel about Amelia,” Lucy says. “You’ll do just fine as Paul’s wife. My mother comes from a different generation, but you—you’d be the breath of fresh air in his life.”

  I don’t know what to say to that. I love being with Paul, and we had tons of fun at wrestling, which I never expected, and I can definitely see how he needs someone on his side when it comes to family events, and when it’s the two of us alone, something magical seems to happen, but…

  But there’s everything else waiting for us outside just the two of us. “It wouldn’t work.” I know I’m not going to convince Lucy, but I suppose I’m more convincing myself at this point. “All of this is born out of desperation. Both for him and for me.”

  The resigned disappointment in Lucy’s expression is almost more than I can take, and I’m reminded of how she called Amelia a coward. Perhaps now she thinks I am too.

  The salesclerk comes back then, hands full of pins and chalk and a measuring tape. Once she’s done pinning and tucking, she takes the dress away. I only just keep myself from protesting, even though I knew the moment was coming. But it’s so hard to say goodbye to something that beautiful.

  After, Lucy suggests we have lunch at a small, exclusive café nearby. There’s an enclosed patio with heaters, and we sit under them and enjoy the most delicious pasta. Lucy talks about everything except Paul, which I’m grateful for.

  I’m pondering dessert—tiramisu or gelato—at the end, even though I’m very full.

  “They make the gelato here,” Lucy says. “It’s the best I’ve had. Outside of Italy, that is.”

  Because of course she’s been to Italy and knows the best gelato places there. If life were different, we might go there together and she could share with me the wonderful things she’s found.

  There’s a shift in the pressure in the air, a subtle press of warmth against my bare skin. And I somehow know without seeing that Paul has walked in.

  He has eyes only for me as he makes his way to our table. When he reaches my chair, heat flares in his eyes and I know he wants to kiss me. I want him to kiss me. He dips his head… then pulls back.

  “Grace. Lucy,” he says too brightly.

  Right. He can’t kiss me because his sister knows this is all fake. Which means… we’re lying to his sister now too. I think.

  I touch my forehead, briefly. This is getting too confusing.

  “Paul.” Lucy looks happy to see him but also puzzled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see you.” Am I imagining it, or did he glance at me when he said you? “Both of you.”

  “We found the perfect dress today,” Lucy says as he takes a seat. “You’ll love it.”

  He angles himself so that he’s facing me more than his sister. “Did you take any pictures?”

  I start to pull out my phone when Lucy gasps. “No. You can’t see her in the dress before the gala.”

  “It’s not a wedding,” Paul says. There’s something underneath his dry tone that makes my heart clench.

  Or maybe I’m imagining things now that we’ve slept together and I’m falling for him. And I’ve decided to not stop myself from falling for him no matter how terrible that idea is or how badly my heart will break when I leave.

  Lucy rolls her eyes. “Right,” she mutters. I tense as I wait for her to bring up all her arguments about how Paul and I really should get married, but she thankfully keeps those to herself.

  Paul’s knee brushes mine under the table. My breath comes in with a tiny squeak. He glances at me with a knowing, secret smile.

  He did it on purpose. I’m not at all sure what to make of that, except that it made my heart dance. So I shift, brush my knee against his.

  I’m rewarded by another of his looks.

  “We’ve got so much more shopping to do,” Lucy says, oblivious to our little game. “I don’t know how we’ll get everything Grace needs in one day.”

  “Everything I need?” I cock my head. “What else do I need besides the gown?”

  Lucy takes a deep breath, and I can see her preparing a massive list to rattle off. Oh no.

  Paul raises a hand, cutting her off before she can even start. “Grace should get only the things she wants.” He turns to me. “We’ll probably be having family dinners every few days. And there are cocktails with business partners, dinners with their wives, and the press will probably be trying to take your picture everywhere soon.”

  “The press? But nobody cares about me,” I protest. And then it hits me—how often have I seen Paul in the papers and on the gossip sites? The press loves to feature him… and they’re going to think I’m marrying him. I swallow hard. “You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

  “He doesn’t have to.” Lucy folds her hands and leans over toward me. “Our family will tell everyone, and the press will pick it up very soon.”

  I look down at what I’m wearing, suddenly appalled by the white blouse and skinny teal jeans I picked out this morning. “I can’t be photographed in this!”

  “My point exactly.” Lucy gives me an assessing look. “Although, it’s actually fine. You’ll need some sunglasses. Very large ones. Always have them on whenever you leave the house.”

  Paul shakes his head at her. “You don’t have to do everything this tyrant commands,” he says to me. “Pick whatever you like best.” And then, in front of his sister and everyone, he takes my hand, squeezes it.

  I can’t tell if he’s pretending or not. The heat in his eyes, the… the affection…

  “Whatever you choose will be perfect,” he says.

  And I believe it.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Paul is a very different person when he’s with his friends.

  Which of course he is; we all are. But seeing him with the Bastards, being part of the group as someone they trust, is a revelation. He laughs louder, longer, makes cruder jokes, sits more loosely with them.

  He touches me more when he’s with them.

  We’re at Logan and Callie’s house, having just finished an intimate dinner with them, Mark and January, and Finn and Doc. It’s a couples-only night, and Paul and I are one of the couples. Everyone’s in the living room, chatting and lounging as we digest our dinner, and Paul’s arm is draped over my shoulders as we sit together.

  Not the back of the couch, close to my shoulders, but on my shoulders.

  If anyone thinks it’s strange that we’re acting like we’re together even when they know we’re supposed to be faking, no one lets on. No, we’re simply accepted as another couple in the group, no questions asked.

  Maybe the other guys have already talked to Paul about it. I have no idea what he might have told them. That we’re sleeping together while we can? That it’s fake outside his bedroom, but very real inside?

  Judging by the gleam in January’s eye, she very much wants to ask me about it, but she’s holding back. I don’t know what I’d tell her though. I’m falling for him, and I can almost see a future for us… except for the fact that his mother still hasn’t warmed up to me, the rest of his family hasn’t either beyond Lucy, and I’ve got huge immigration issues too.

  Oh, and I haven’t breathed a word of any of this to my parents. When I talked to them yesterday, they laughingly told me they saw a picture of Paul the other day with a girl who looked very much like me except she was dressed like a queen and Paul looked very much in love. Had he fallen for my twin?

  They laughed about it because of course their daughter would have told them if she w
as dating the Paul Tsai. She’d never keep something like that from them.

  “Do you know who she is?” Mom asked. I lied and said I had no idea, which they accepted, because of course the Paul Tsai wouldn’t tell me about his latest girlfriend.

  I changed the subject as quick as I could. I already disappointed them with no news about my visa status, so they didn’t linger on my prettier, luckier twin. The one dating the Paul Tsai.

  The Paul Tsai shifts next to me, pulling me closer to him. We’re connected from shoulders to thighs, as close as lovers.

  “Have you told Grace about the time you tried to tightrope walk over the Terman Fountain when we were at Stanford?” There’s a teasing twist to Mark’s smile.

  Paul shakes his head. “She doesn’t want to hear that story.”

  I set my hand on his knee. “Actually, I do. You tried?” I sense there’s a very good story behind tried, one involving a dripping wet Paul.

  “Thanks, man,” Paul says to Mark.

  Mark shrugs. “That’s what I’m here for: to bring up embarrassing stories from your past.”

  I’ve already been hearing stories of Paul’s past from his relatives. But those stories are about when he was young—a little boy, a teenager, barely a young man—and they all revolve around what a good son Paul was. Doing well in school, respecting his elders, always thinking of others before himself. They’re lovely stories since Paul can be a lovely person, but he can also be wild.

  I saw some of that at the wrestling night. I want to see some more.

  “There are these fountains at Stanford,” Paul says. “Terman is a long, rectangular one, almost like a pool.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Mark said, interrupting. “You’re not starting with the best part.”

  Paul groans. “That’s not the best part at all.”

  “It is,” Mark insists. He turns to me. “Our sophomore year, Paul got really into slacklining.”

  I pull a face without thinking. “Slacklining?”

  When Paul puts a hand over his face, my cheeks go hot. I didn’t mean it to sound so… horrified.