De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  I turn Maisie around. “Let’s get back.”

  We walk through an overgrown garden of wild flowers and full Japanese maple trees surrounding the home. I watch as Natasha takes in all I suppose she finds beautiful. She is female, after all. She walks ahead of us up the short path to the wrought iron gates where she stops and audibly sighs at the sight of Jean’s “home”.

  Maisie’s home is massive and beautiful, a beach mansion. This place is a four-story antique white mason masterpiece, almost museum like. I see nothing modern about it, at all.

  But then again, I’m not really looking at it, I’m watching her take it in.

  She looks up and smiles. I follow her line of vision.

  “Maisie, look, there are angels here.”

  I look down as Maisie looks up. If Maisie wasn’t already in ‘heaven’ over the idea of Bass being in love, and bringing this girl into her “family”, she was now. Never heard anyone talk or have a fierce belief in angels like Maisie does.

  I note the stairs it takes to get into the mini palace. No ramp, and just like the bar, it pisses me off. Maisie didn’t even realize I was basically carrying the chair up the stairs. And for that I’m glad.

  After maneuvering the wheelchair up the stairs in the entrance, we enter the mansion and hear Bass. “Why do you think those designs look so familiar? Why do you think I’ve kept the designer’s name confidential?”

  “What?” Angela steps back.

  “The night you were fucked up on wine and I carried you from the bathroom, I looked around while Autumn was helping you. I picked up a notebook off the pile in the box.”

  “You can’t do that, Bass. They’re hers. She’s—”

  “Hey, Mom,” Natasha laughs.

  Angela doesn’t move, her back is to us.

  “Mom?” Natasha giggles. “Maisie’s dying to see you.”

  Fuck, I think. Bad choice of words.

  Bass turns Angela around and smiles, “Look at our family, Angela. Ours.”

  Jesus, Bass, way to throw her into it when she hasn’t stepped ten feet inside yet.

  I look at her, Natasha’s smiling and her head isn’t down. She’s fucking beauti–

  No. Fuck no, I scold myself.

  Angela takes in a deep breath as she comes closer. She holds out one arm, and Natasha runs in and hugs her. While Angela hugs her daughter, she reaches out her other hand to Maisie, who takes it.

  Well fuck, they are a family.

  After a tour of the downstairs and the grounds, I pull Bass aside.

  “I want to run to de la Porte headquarters here. You all eat dinner together and I’ll be back later.”

  “Stay–”

  “I’ll be back.” I leave without saying another word.

  When I get back to the de la Porte mansion, Bass answers the door.

  “Was gonna send out a search party,” he jokes. “Your phone dead?”

  I nod as I blow in my hands to warm them. “How’d things go?”

  “Fine, you should’ve been here. You’re part of this family, man.” He gives me a concerned look.

  I nod again.

  “Did you get to de la Porte?”

  “I just took a walk.”

  “Well, why don’t you come in Maisie’s quarters and watch a movie with us.” He gives me a tight smile.

  “How bad is it?”

  “Sense and Sensibility,” he sighs.

  “You’re kidding, right?” I ask as I follow him in.

  Maisie’s quarters are the massive living room, with a hospital bed and handicap accessible items to the far left, and a living room in the center.

  When we walk in, Maisie looks up from between Angela and Natasha and smiles. “Remember the book Sense and Sensibility?”

  “How could I forget?” I half laugh.

  It was one of the many books Maisie insisted Bass and I read. She called it a classic, I called it unrealistic bullshit. Bass sits on the oversized sectional next to Angela, and I make my way to that side too.

  “Come sit here,” Maisie says, pointing to the spot next to Natasha.

  Fuck no, screams inside my head, but I have to keep it together. That’s what I told myself over and over on the nearly two-hour walk.

  Bass sits down and I make my way to… the past. When I sit, Natasha clicks play on the remote and smiles up at me.

  I immediately realize she’s much more at ease around people she knows, her mom. Oddly, I’m best with strangers.

  I nod and look at the television.

  During the entire movie, I want to crawl out of my skin. When she taps her knee to my leg, I almost do.

  She looks at me and nods to Maisie, who is smiling at Bass and her mother. Maisie chooses that time to look at me. I give her a nod, so she is reminded I think the two could make it work as well.

  She looks back at Bass. “I couldn’t be happier for you. You did good, Bass.” She taps Angela’s hand with hers. “Very well indeed.”

  “Now, if you could work on this guy.” Bass points at me.

  If that wasn’t awkward enough, Maisie’s reply made it worse. “Oh, he’s well on his way.”

  What the hell is she talking about? I ask myself.

  She gives me a wink and a smirk that says she sees something, and if she does, she’s seeing it all

  fucking wrong. But how do I tell her that? I fucking can’t, because she’s Maisie, and she’s dying.

  She looks away smugly and I look at Bass who looks confused. I roll my eyes and he

  smirks.

  Maisie puts her arm around Natasha and pulls her into a hug. Natasha pulls her feet up

  on the couch and snuggles into her.

  After a few minutes, her little feet are against my hip and I don’t like it, yet I can’t push them away, for more reasons than I care to admit. After several minutes, they seem to be applying more pressure, or maybe I’m just feeling them more.

  Unreal, I think. From sitting here watching a damn movie, to the little doppelganger feet

  pushing against me. This situation is unreal.

  When Maisie dozes off, I notice Natasha has done the same… and her feet are now on my lap.

  I’m ten seconds from crawling out of my skin when I slide left and let her feet hit the couch.

  Her eyes open and she looks disoriented, but I’m not sticking around to familiarize her with

  the surroundings. Not my fucking place.

  I hurry around the back of the couch and Bass looks back at me.

  “I need to hit the rack.” He looks confused. “Sleep, Bass, I need to sleep.”

  He asks Angela, “Do we have rooms picked out for them?”

  “Of course.”

  Angela leads us all up the stairs. I get a room directly across the hall from Natasha.

  Fucking lovely, I think as I force myself to thank her and then hurry in and shut the door.

  I can still hear them, though.

  “Unreal, Mom. This is unreal.”

  “Isn’t it?” Angela asks her.

  “I’m sure she liked you before she knew you were loaded, syphilis guy.” Natasha is calling Bass, what? I push my ear closer to the door.

  “I don’t doubt that. If I had, that would have disappeared when I learned she was just as loaded.”

  “What?” Natasha laughs like it’s a big joke. It’s not, Jean left Angela a lot of stock in the company.

  “I didn’t tell her everything,” Bass promises Angela. “Some things aren’t my business.”

  “What is he talking about?” Natasha asks her mom.

  Bass told me Natasha didn’t know about Jean and Angela’s affair. Usually, I’m a believer in telling the truth. Lies ruin lives, but in this instance, I don’t see what harm withholding the information about Angela and Jean’s affair would do.

  Bass begins to tell Natasha about Jean. Well, everything except his relationship with her

  mother. And I feel like a grade A fucking creeper, so I walk away and leave them to it. />
  I strip down without even bothering to turn on the light, there’s enough moonlight shining through the window to see the bed.

  My muscles ache from my body being full of tension, and I hope to hell my mind shuts down as fast as I know my body will.

  I wake to my whispered name, “Oliver?”

  I sit up, quickly wiping my hand over my sweat drenched head and jump out of bed, looking beside it, worried I’ve put my hands on her.

  “Where the fuck are you?” I ask searching.

  I look left when I see light coming into the room from the hallway.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I hiss when I realize where I am, and who the voice belongs to.

  Her.

  “Sorry, I… I… I…” She clamps her jaw shut as I walk toward the door.

  “You need something? Maisie okay?”

  She nods her head and clears her throat. “I heard you yelling.”

  “Fuck,” I sigh.

  “It’s okay. Maisie and Bass told me you’re a soldier, and that sometimes, you know, you,

  Um–”

  “Don’t sleep.”

  She nods and walks by me into the room. “I can’t sleep either. This is all a lot, so maybe you and I could–”

  She flips on the light by the bed and I shield my eyes.

  “Oh, um… I... I… I–” And I hear her teeth snap together.

  I blink and allow my eyes to adjust to the intrusion, hoping my brain and thoughts adjust along with it.

  When I see the way she’s looking at me, I should like it, but I don’t. She looks afraid.

  “Not a fan of tattoos?”

  She looks down at the floor and shakes her head. “It’s an art form. I love art. But… pants.”

  I look down and am grateful I’m not sporting morning wood. But then again, it’s not morning, and it’s not like I’m having dreams of fucking anyway.

  “I shouldn’t have come in. Sorry, I just thought you maybe needed a friend, and I–” She shrugs and starts to walk by me.

  Without thinking, I grab her elbow. “Stay.”

  Her body shivers at the connection, causing mine to as well.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Oliver

  I let go immediately and scan the room. I see my bag is already in the corner and quickly walk over to it. I open it and pull out a pair of gray running pants and step into them.

  She clears her throat and then asks, “You sure?”

  “Yeah,” I pull out a black hoodie and pull it over my head, turn around and look at her, “Better?”

  She shrugs and then bites the corner of her top lip.

  Fuck, what does she want?

  “I didn’t mean to make this awkward, but somehow, it always happens with me,” she plays it off as a joke at her own expense.

  I don’t like it, not one bit, but I get it. So, I play along, using my newly acquired “people skills.”

  “Not sure what’s keeping you up, and I’m not good at this shit, but if you need a sympathetic ear, I can fake it.”

  She smiles, she smiles so fucking big and bright, and laughs as she almost skips over to the chair next to the bed and sits. “I knew there was something about you that was going to make this easier.”

  “A familiarity?”

  She shrugs. “Yes, of the awkward variety.”

  I’m not sure I like that either.

  “You tackled me.” Her aspen green eyes sparkle.

  “Which should have scared the hell out of you, not make you feel comfortable enough to walk in a room with a Vet yelling in his sleep.” I shake my head as I push up my sleeves and sit on the edge of the bed.

  “You made sure you didn’t flatten me. One good turn deserves another.”

  She tucks her feet underneath her and looks at me, waiting for me to say something. I can’t think of a fucking thing to say. She’s goddamn Grace, but… different.

  “So, Maisie said you read Sense and Sensibility.”

  I nod. “She wanted us to be well read.”

  “How old were you when you went to live with her?”

  I see where we’re going with this; she’s trying to find out about Bass. I wish she’d just fucking ask.

  “To be honest,” she shrugs and looks down, “I can’t sleep because I have a million questions. I mean, I’ve only gotten to know the man my mother’s in love with for a few days on the phone before now. I trust my Mom’s choices. She’s smart and wouldn’t fall for someone who wasn’t. I’m hoping to get to know Bass without an awkward inquisition.”

  Okay, there’s the truth.

  “We were 17.”

  “So, you both visited her home and–”

  I stand and walk to the window.

  “I’m sorry, I just assumed.” I hear her get up and I turn around.

  “Don’t go.” She looks at me. “I just never talk about this shit.”

  She walks up to me, head up, direct eye contact, like a little warrior, but it’s all sorts of false confidence. I’ve seen it a million times in the field, in battle, and every fucking time it ends badly.

  I look at her. “You come to me and ask questions you’re afraid to ask him or your mother, with all sorts of bullshit confidence, why?”

  She starts to turn around and I risk the reaction from touching her the first time and do it again.

  Tremors again.

  She looks back at me. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “No,” I turn her toward me. “You want a history lesson–”

  She pulls her elbow from my grip. “You know it wouldn’t hurt you either. Talking about it may lessen the pain. It may also help make you less… abrasive over time, too.”

  “You ever hear the term, you show me yours, I’ll show mine?”

  It takes her no time to figure out I’m not talking body parts. She’s fucking quick.

  She takes my hand and bends back four fingers, then takes the one and traces her fucking lip.

  Hot and soft. Lord help me.

  “The scar was from a birth defect. It’ll always be there, even if you can’t see it, it’ll always be there.” She drops my hand. “You have marks on your chest and on your back. I’ve only seen marks like those in history books. I know it’s not the same. I can tell yours come from a place of pain.” She waits for me to respond. I don’t. “You covering them with ink and art means they’re ever present, just like this.” She points to her lip. “I thought maybe…”

  “You wanna ask me about Bass, you ask me about Bass. The other stuff will keep you awake at night, wishing you could crawl in bed with your mommy.”

  Her face turns red and then she does an about-face and walks to the door.

  “You got nothing else?” I call behind her.

  She looks back and glares at me. “I have a million more questions than I came in here with, none have a thing to do with Bass.”

  Then she walks out.

  I walk into the living room/Maisie’s room with two cups of coffee in my hand. When I walk around the partition, she’s already up and sitting in a cushioned rocker.

  “It’s five in the morning, Maisie.” I bend down and kiss the top of her head before handing her the cup of coffee.

  “I knew you’d be coming with coffee.” She squeezes my hand firmer today than she has in the last week.

  “Two sugars, French vanilla creamer.”

  “Perfect,” she says, holding it under her nose and inhaling the scent.

  I take a sip and sit on the edge of her hospital bed. We both look out the wall of windows.

  “It’s not our beach, Ollie, but that river sure is flowing.”

  “Say the word and we can head back to the Hamptons.”

  She chuckles and takes a sip.

  “I’m serious. This place is–”

  “Beautiful, and Bass needs to make it his home. Which means we’re here until it is.” She quirks an eyebrow. “No funny ideas of heading back to that desert either.”

  “I’m done, Maisie. I’m here
.”

  “But you’re itching.”

  I look at her, trying to figure out what the hell she’s seeing.

  “Not all wars are won in the field, son.” She pats her chest. “Some of the hardest ones are closer to home.”

  “I’m good, Maisie, I swear.”

  “I know you are, just wanna see you believe you deserve all that good.”

  We sit silently for a few minutes, watching the river and drinking coffee.

  “That girl is precious.”

  “What girl?” I ask knowing damn well who she’s talking about.

  “That little Natasha. She’s precious. This world’s gonna eat her up, that one.”

  “This world?” I ask.

  “She’s gonna be the face of de la Porte.” She finishes her coffee and sets it on the nightstand. “You make sure that doesn’t happen, will you?”

  “Maisie, she has a mother and–”

  “She’s gonna need a soldier with the heart of a warrior.”

  Warrior, exactly the word I’d use to describe who I sense she wants me to be. “I think

  she’ll be fine.”

  “You make sure of it, will you?”

  I glance over my cup at her.

  “Dying woman’s wish.”

  “Don’t say shit like that,” I scold her.

  “Speaking the truth. Bastien is gonna be keeping her mother busy. He’s not only in love, but he’s going to be proving he’s a man, not a boy. Angela might get wrapped up in that and not see her daughter’s struggles. You watch for them and you guide her.”

  Thankfully, Maisie falls asleep soon after her request. A request I didn’t agree to, but didn’t have the heart to tell Maisie fuck no, either.

  I’m out the door on my way to de la Porte’s Paris fashion house before anyone else gets up. I have no desire to face off with the little warrior wannabe any time soon. Actually, never would be too fucking soon.

  Once outside, I hit my phone’s map app. I hit current location and it pops up, Le Septieme, at the Quarter des Invalides of Paris. I type in my destination, The Avenue des Champs-Élysées. It’s only 1.2 kilometers, a seventeen-minute walk.