De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  His response, “And she’d have been dead without him as well.”

  My romance movie-loving heart swelled. And even though Harry’s smile wasn’t as exuberant as Aaron’s, it made me swoon.

  I could have sworn he was about to kiss me when he leaned in and picked a piece of popcorn off the blanket tucked under my chin when Shana woke up, but maybe I was wrong. And let’s be honest here, while watching a Harry Potter movie wasn’t on my list of places I wanted to be kissed, nor was kissing a boy I had met just days ago.

  My first kiss needs to be as special as the boy giving it to me… or one that will check off a box on my list of movie kiss reenactments.

  The next day, we finished them all. Every. Single. One. Of them.

  Harry’s friend, Charles, who wandered in and out of the common room while we watched, mentioned doing a walking tour the next day. Shana agreed for us.

  We started at eight the following morning at Leadenhall Market which served as the location for Diagon Alley (in the Philosopher’s Stone) and the Leaky Cauldron in the movies. Then onto London Bridge which was amazing, so amazing in its own right, and to Borough market that was also used in the movies. While walking to our third stop, Millennium bridge, we passed the notorious medieval prison, called ‘The Clink’, the River Thames, and then the bridge where the broomstick battle and the death eater attack was set. Australia house was next and was apparently the Gringotts Wizarding Bank. The Old Scotland yard, Claremont Square, or as Harry Potter fans know it, number 12 Grimmauld Place, the home of Sirius Black’s family, and the last, my favorite, King’s Cross Station, where Platform 9 ¾ would be.

  During the entire walk, Harry, Charles, and Shana asked trivia questions, and I was able to answer most of them, without too many clues.

  If I hadn’t started out as a super fan, I ended our six-hour walk as one.

  When we finally made it back, I was tired, and even more so when Shana, again, accepted the weekend invitation to take the train to Paris.

  When I sent Mom a message, I was happy she replied with have fun, but be safe.

  I would be, but if Harry tried to kiss me again, and we happen to be under the Eiffel Tower, I wouldn’t mind. It is one of the places I have dreamed of being kissed.

  Sitting on my bed, fresh from my trip to Paris, I FaceTime Mom. When she doesn’t answer, I look at the time and wonder what is keeping her.

  When I’m about to give up on her return call and message Autumn to make sure everything is okay, she calls.

  I smile when I see her sitting on the beach. “Good morning, Mom.”

  She grins, “Bonne après-midi.”

  “Paris sucked, Mom.”

  Her grin fades, and I feel bad for making her worry. “What? The pictures you sent were amazing. You looked happy.”

  “I mean, it was fun, but…”

  “But…?”

  I force a smile. “It’s just…”

  “Natasha, it’s me. Come on; tell me what’s going on.”

  I lean into the phone. “I liked a boy. I thought he liked me. Come to find out he likes Shana.”

  She holds her hand over her heart. “Your roommate?”

  I shrug, nod, and roll my eyes all at once.

  “There is someone out there for you, Natasha. He wasn’t the right one. God has bigger plans for you.”

  “My first Eiffel Tower trip, first kiss dream… ruined.”

  We both laugh at the silliness of my comment, and then something… odd catches my eye, and I lean in to get a better look.

  “Mom, is that a dog?”

  “Shit!” I hear a man’s voice. “Syphilluffagus, get your mangy ass back here!”

  I watch as the ugliest… animal runs smack into my mom’s back and I can’t help but laugh at the look of terror on Moms' face before she drops her phone.

  I can see him. He has dark hair, his face is lightly bearded, he’s shirtless, and his body is… Christ on a cracker, he’s perfect.

  “Pardon me, miss. My dog is blind as a bat but seems to still be drawn to beautiful things.”

  Oh, my goodness! I think he’s hitting on her. Mom is looking back at him, and I pray she’s not giving him a piss off look.

  He smirks as he picks up the dog then her phone.

  He’s definitely hitting on her!

  His voice lowers as he holds up the phone, “I think you dropped this.”

  When he glances at the screen, I smile and say, “Hi!” I hope to keep him there, so she knows he’s flirting with her.

  Beach kiss, beach kiss, screams in my head.

  He smiles at me, “Sorry to interrupt.” Then hands Mom the phone. “Your sister?”

  I say, “Yes,” and Mom says, “Daughter,” at the same time.

  He winks. “Enjoy the beach.” Then he walks away.

  I want to scream and stop him, but I know she would die of embarrassment. When she looks at the phone, she is crimson.

  “Is he gone?” I whisper.

  She looks back in his direction and then again at me with a nod.

  “He’s gorgeous and he was flirting with you, Mom.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Oh, my God, Mom, he most certainly was. And did I mention he was gorgeous!”

  “Shh…” she scolds, and I laugh.

  She tries to act annoyed, but then she smiles.

  “It would be the perfect kiss on a beach with a stranger moment, Mom!”

  “That’s a Natasha thing. You’re the one with the lists of all the places you want to kiss a boy, not me.”

  “Well, I’m not checking off any on my list, so maybe you should take it over.”

  “Natasha, you’re beautiful, intelligent, and your day will come. I promise you. But don’t forget to be present. Don’t miss all the beauty surrounding you just so you can check boxes on some list.”

  I take a deep breath and nod. “I know.”

  I hold up my bracelet. “I didn’t let it ruin the moment yesterday, Mom. I was being silly, in my feels for just a second. The Eiffel Tower was stunning and… and”—I laugh— “I checked it off my list with the perfect IG pictures as a bonus.”

  “The kiss will come,” she winks.

  “I know. But while I’m waiting, feel free to live a little, too. Practice what you preach.”

  “I’ll try.”

  Then I remember him calling the dog a name that sounded like an STD. “What did he call that… dog?”

  In the past week things have gotten more stressful but on a new level. My coursework, albeit not too difficult, consumed me. In that way, I take after my parents when given a job, a task, you do it to your fullest ability.

  No, it wasn’t, Block One, or semester one as most would know it by. Introduction to Fashion Design and Development, Product Technology/Creative Technique, Creative Production Development, Better Lives, or Introduction to Culture and Historical Studies, it was that Jean-Paul de la Porte’s successor had been named and with him came his right hand. Mom was out of a job. I know my mother will find something quickly, I’m sure every designer who learns she’s available will swoop in and offer anything to have her, but she isn’t interested. I didn’t realize it until she already had plans to move onto her next step in her journey. She was going to sell our apartment and start over. Honestly, she sounded happy about doing it.

  She assured me I had no reason to worry.

  But I did.

  Two days later, she told me, at Jean-Paul’s request, she would be going to Paris to help sort through his dealings and wasn’t sure how long it would be, exactly, but probably a couple of weeks at the minimum.

  The first week she was there, she told me she was coming to visit, and I made sure we had a plan to see as much of London as possible while she was here… and we did.

  We bought tour passes where we could hop on and off the double-decker bus at our leisure and managed to see The Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, The Shard, and London Bridge, all in one day. That night, she met my friends briefly
before we headed back to her hotel, and yes, we watched a movie together.

  I pressured her into telling me more about the man on the beach, the one she later kissed, and her eyes shined.

  When I asked when she would see him again, she shook her head. “Not all moments are meant to be forever.”

  The next day, I begged to go to Stonehenge and she almost missed her flight back to Paris.

  The next day, like the Stonehenge shirt I made Mom not only buy but wear, my world was rocked.

  During Better Living class, I’m called to the Dean of students’ office.

  “We have someone who would like to talk to you,” he says, hurrying me to a conference room.

  When he opens the door, I recognize the man… because I stalked his social media accounts… It’s the man who is taking over de la Porte, Bastien Josephs.

  “Mr. Josephs, Miss Petrov is here.”

  He stands when I step in and I look up at him. His pictures, although some near pornographic, do him no justice.

  “Um, hi?”

  He extends his hand. “Natasha, I’m—”

  “I know who you are.” I’m immediately on edge.

  “We all set then?” the dean asks.

  He nods, “Yes, thank you.”

  When the door is closed, he sits and waves to the seat across from him for me to do the same. “Can we talk?”

  Why am I even here?

  “Sure?”

  Then I recognize something else in him… Oh. My. God.

  “So, you said you know who I am. Your mother and I—”

  “Uh, yeah, but I’m sure she wouldn’t want me talking to you about it. She didn’t even mention it on the phone.”

  “Mention?”

  I grab my phone and open it, then push it across the table.

  He sighs, “Well, shit, this just got awkward.”

  “You don’t say.” I am so freaking uncomfortable right now, I want to be invisible.

  “Well, yeah,” he stammers, and I feel better, he’s as uncomfortable as I am. “So, I’m in love with your mother.”

  What in the hell?!? “Dude, you’re what? Twenty-five?”

  “You certainly are your mother’s daughter,” he tries to joke.

  It’s not funny, it’s my mom he’s talking about.

  “To make it even more awkward, I will tell you that I don’t care about age and the heart wants what the heart wants.”

  I cover my face and groan.

  He clears his throat. “I can see you’d rather be anywhere else but here at the moment.”

  “That obvious?”

  “Okay, look.” He pulls one of my old sketch pads from his briefcase. “This is amazing.”

  I want to laugh; I mean, really, that’s an old trick… but at least he isn’t trying to get a priest in here… yet. “Does she know you’re trying to get her kid to like you by pretending to be interested in her drawings?”

  “Well.” He laughs, “As a matter of fact, she hasn’t a clue I’m here and it’s probably going to piss her off.”

  “Well, that’s pretty ignorant on your end.”

  “I’d agree, but here’s the reality of it. Your designs are amazing. We just had a new designer bail on us. We have a show in less than a month, and these, these are better than hers were. I’d have discussed it with Angela, but I thought I had a better chance of getting you to agree.”

  My inner voice comes right out of my mouth, “How’s that working out for you?”

  “Not as well as I hoped.”

  I look at him. “I’m a student.”

  “I’m aware. And I know it will be time-consuming, but I did speak to the dean, and he agreed to let it be part of your final project.”

  “You know I’m a freshman, right?”

  “Yes, Natasha, I know. But your talent goes beyond your age. Just as my heart doesn’t see years. Neither are explainable, but both are true.”

  I wanna throw up.

  “Can you please pick what it is you’re doing here? Trying to sell me on your love for my mother, so she’ll, what, sleep with you or something?” He flinches. “Or get me to design a line so she’ll…” I pause. “Same desired outcome, I assume.”

  He lets out a frustrated breath. “You aren’t making this easy, huh?”

  If Mom likes him, I need to be alright with it. But I also need to, in a way, protect her. “She isn’t a toy.”

  “I never played with toys.” After the words escape his mouth, he starts to blush.

  I want to hide. “Ew, TMI.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying. Shit, this is really not going well,” he admits.

  “Right?”

  Oddly, I feel more comfortable knowing he’s feeling it too.

  “Natasha, I haven’t given a shit if someone liked me or not since… hell, school. But I’d really like it if you did.”

  School? Okay, so he didn’t like school either. That’s telling.

  I look for a way to prove a point. Then something catches my eye. “Is that a Rolex?”

  He holds up his wrist. “This? Yeah.”

  Gathering the courage it will take to drive this point home, I say, “Give it to me.”

  “What?”

  “Give it to me.”

  He shrugs, takes it off and slides it over to me.

  While he’s doing that, I slide my thrift store watch off my wrist and let it drop to the ground. Then I pick it up and look at it, drop it on the floor and pretend to stomp on it three times.

  He doesn’t even flinch.

  “Did that mean something to you?”

  “No, not really.”

  Grrr… “Give me something that does.”

  We stare at each other for a few moments, and then I start to stand. “Well, I guess you’re not interested.”

  “I see what you’re doing, but nothing material has ever meant shit to me. My word means shit to me. People mean shit to me.”

  “My mother means everything to me.”

  He smiles. “Then we have something in common.”

  I walk toward the door.

  “Natasha, please.”

  I turn back. “I have a class to get to. My education means shit to me.”

  “Great, then we have something else in common. Please, I have about twenty minutes before I have a plane to catch back to the Hamptons. The woman who did what my parents couldn’t is ill and needs me.”

  “Where?”

  “Fuck.”

  The way he says the word, and the way he suddenly looks different, but familiar, it hits me. “Oh, my God, you’re syphilis guy?”

  “Wow, that just doesn’t sound right.” He looks up at the ceiling. “A little help here?”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  He shakes his head in frustration. “That will not strengthen my cause.”

  “Well, it can’t hurt it, syphilis guy.”

  “Do you believe in angels, Natasha?”

  Okay, he’s totally wearing me down. I like him.

  Before I have a chance to answer, he says, “I do.”

  “Clearly.”

  “Please give me ten minutes of your time.” He sits back down.

  I decide to give him what he asked for. No harm in it, and I want the truth. “So, you really want my designs or are you really into my mom?”

  Without hesitation, he answers, “Both.”

  “You’re young enough to know what the internet is capable of, syph—”

  “My name is Bass, and I’ve never had syphilis,” he interrupts.

  I want to smile, laugh even. I can tell he really likes her.

  “I met your mom in the Hamptons. Neither of us knew each other and we played a little game.”

  “If this is gonna get gross, I don’t want to hear it.”

  He shakes his head and smiles. “Not gross, but confusing.”

  I sit and he visibly relaxes.

  “I saw her on the beach. She kicked off her shoes. I thought she was the most beautif
ul woman in the world. I asked her…” His eyes widen, and he pauses in thought. “She, um…”

  “Skip that part.”

  “The part when I may have said something inappropriate, and she may have walked away?”

  Sounds just like my mom. “Yeah.”

  “As luck would have it, she left her shoes. I picked them up and followed her.”

  His face tenses. “Some dick was hitting on her and she saw me with her shoes. We danced.”

  “On the beach?” I ask.

  “An outdoor bar deck. I tried to convince her it would be fun to pretend we had just graduated college and had not a care in the world.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I knew I wanted her from the minute I saw her, and she was carrying a lot of stress. I wanted it gone, just as much as I wanted mine gone.”

  Oh God, that’s so sweet.

  He continues, “Then she was on the beach—”

  I know this part, and I nearly clap because it’s playing like a movie in my head. “And I was on the phone with her.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t know her as Angela. I called her Bridge, and I didn’t know you.”

  He continues, and I can’t help but really like him. I cross my fingers and slide them under my legs. “If you wanna be with my mom, clean out your IG. She deserves better. If you want me to accept it, treat her like a princess.”

  “I’ll clean out the account. The others are already done.”

  I see hope in his eyes for the first time, and I have the same thing in my heart for Mom, hope. “If you came here to win me over, you wasted your time. If she’s happy, truly happy, I’m happy for her.”

  “I promise I will do everything in my power.”

  “Okay then.” I stand.

  “Wait. What about the designs?”

  “You can’t be serious,” I laugh.

  “As a heart attack.”

  He tells me that I will get the same contract Mona, the designer who bailed, was given and that I will be needed on weekends in Paris when I’m not too busy with school. “I expect you to really give a shit about this.”

  My heart is about to explode. This is like a fairytale, for Mom and me, in two very different ways, but I need to make sure she really likes him. “While I’m considering, you have to do me a favor.”

  “Shoot.”

  I give him a list of movies he is required to watch, and he looks amused.