De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  “Since now, I suppose.”

  “So, you swapped books for movies?”

  “Change isn’t always bad. Besides, it gives me a look at the women who will be in my men’s lives when I’m no longer here.”

  “Don’t, Maisie.” I shake my head.

  “I’m not afraid, Ollie.”

  I give her a look saying I don’t believe her.

  “It’s okay.” She holds her hand out to me and I take it.

  “It’s also okay to admit you’re afraid, Maisie. I’ve faced death a thousand times and none of them came without a little bit of apprehension.”

  “That’s because it wasn’t your time.”

  I hate that she sounds like she’s giving up. But I also don’t want to share my worries with her any more than I already have.

  “Well, I hear you have something to look forward to soon.”

  She smiles. “I plan to be here for that. But for the first time in a long time, I honestly do feel at peace.”

  I nod my understanding.

  “Please allow yourself to enjoy your time here, Ollie. It will be much less uncomfortable.”

  I look at her and she closes her eyes and lays back. “For me?”

  I agree, “Yeah, for you.”

  Gray, black, and white images of blown up buildings and smoke surround me. I feel like I’m fucking choking on it.

  “Oliver.”

  I jump up and look around the dark room.

  “You were, um… yelling.”

  When she walks by the window, I see her small frame lit by the moonlight. She stops and her back is to me.

  “You really need to stop coming in here, Natasha,” I sigh.

  “I don’t want to kiss you.”

  What the fuck did she just say?

  She clears her throat and turns around. “I think maybe I am coming off wrong to you. I think maybe you have it in your head that I’m attracted to you.”

  “Natasha–”

  She cuts me off, “First, you’re not my type. Second, I’m still trying to figure out why you seem so annoyed around me. Have I done something?”

  Not my type?

  “Oliver?”

  Not my type?

  “Fine, whatever, but you and I need to get along better for them, and for work.”

  She looks at my chest then up at my eyes, she’s waiting for me to responded.

  She sighs exaggeratedly and starts to walk out when I remember Maisie’s second request to try harder.

  “My parents took in foster kids, that’s how I met Bass.”

  Christ, that was fucking hard.

  “Maisie told me.”

  And that… pisses me off.

  I try to contain the annoyance in my voice. “What exactly did she tell you?”

  “That Bass and you met at your family’s home. That,” she points at some of the visible scars, “They weren’t nice.”

  I huff, “That’s putting it mildly. They were monsters.”

  She sits in the chair beside the bed, like she’s getting ready for story hour.

  “Are they still around?”

  “Is this information important and if so, why?” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “I was bullied pretty bad all through elementary, middle, and high school. When I finally went to art school my sophomore year, I was happy because no one knew me.”

  I can’t help what comes out of my mouth next. “It’s nice to leave the past in the past, huh?”

  “Yeah, until your stepbrother trades your most horrendous childhood pic for a picture of a girl who hates you’s boobs.”

  “What?” I almost laugh.

  “She thought I liked a boy that she liked. She found my stepbrother on social media and offered a boobie pic for some of mine.”

  “That sucks.” I force myself to stay in this conversation, because of my promise to Maisie, and I’m okay with talking about her.

  She shrugs.

  “So, you and the guy end up together?” Christ, I may as well just eat my fucking foot.

  She smiles and shakes her head. “We’re friends.”

  Awkward silence.

  Then she asks, “You have a girlfriend?”

  “I have one friend.” I hold up one finger.

  She tries not to laugh.

  It’s actually fucking adorable. “What?”

  “I was about to give you a, ‘Oh I don’t believe that’, but oddly…” she leaves it hanging.

  “So, this kid still a friend?”

  She nods. “I Facetime with Stella once a week, and Aaron and Stella every couple weeks.”

  Aaron and Stella, I have no idea why that makes me relax a bit but it does. “They a couple?”

  She laughs, “No.”

  And now I hate the name Aaron.

  She tells me about her time at the art and design school in New York City, and how they all attended together. How the group of kids she hung out with were her first friends, and how she hopes to someday, at least, have Stella and Aaron attend a runway show but hasn’t told them yet.

  The conversation flows easy, so fucking easy, when I don’t compare her similarities to Grace’s.

  The last thing I remember her saying was she wants to be my friend. And not just because I only have one, and that we’ll be brushing elbows on occasion, but because when I ‘chill out’, I’m actually nice to talk to.

  It’ll make Maisie happy.

  Part IV

  Oliver & Natasha (From Paris to London)

  Chapter Eighteen

  Natasha

  I wake to the sun heating my face, covered in the dark gray cashmere blanket that had been folded at the end of Oliver’s bed when I walked in at nearly midnight. I’m curled in a chair beside him. He’s asleep.

  My chest tightens as the thought repeats in my head. He’s asleep.

  He appears, for the first time since I walked onto the private jet in London, peaceful.

  His body is turned toward me like it was when I talked his ear off last night, but I couldn’t see him as well as I do now in the light of the early morning sun. His chest bare, one arm is under the right-side pillowing his head, while the other is raised and laying across the top of it. The omnipresent creases in the corner of his eyes, clearly caused by years of emotional torment beyond his twenty-six years, are missing and show him as he should be, unguarded.

  I can’t help but stare at him, I’m sure no one in my position could. He’s tragically beautiful. His black hair is longer on top than on the sides, his near black always guarded eyes, always a warning, are now closed; his face dusted with black hair covers the beautiful perfection it is without the tense muscles popping when he’s feeling cornered.

  The black ink covering him conceals the scars that have faded with time. I touch my own diminishing scar, one that now feels insignificant, and my eyes heat immediately as I recall the heart-breaking sounds of pain and anguish that have come from his room the past two nights.

  In situations where someone desperately needs help, I am the first to find someone capable of helping. I’m not so bold or brave as to normally step into a situation that calls to some deep-seated need to help someone who is suffering. But I couldn’t stop myself from entering his room either night. Even with everything I’ve seen and the information Maisie disclosed about him, something forced me to enter, uninvited and unwanted.

  Thinking about it actually brings on the realization that hidden behind my hair, my makeup, my need to appear unscarred, I may not have always allowed myself to truly help someone who desperately needed something as simple as hearing their name whispered to take them away from their pain.

  But both nights, lying across the hall from his room, upon sheets that feel like the soft petals of roses, in a palace where it would be impossible to not forget that outside the walls people still are hurting, and all for different reasons. But regardless of the reasons, their pain is no less than mine. In his case, it’s so much more.

  When I look toward
the open door, I see Bass staring at Oliver. My face immediately burns with embarrassment because I’ve been sitting here staring at him. My embarrassment heightens when I feel the wetness of tears I didn’t realize I was crying against my skin. I slide quietly out of the chair, Bass looks at me.

  I place my fingers over my lips telling him Shh, and tiptoe to the door.

  When I get closer, Bass steps back. I move out to the hallway and quietly close the door behind me.

  Bass runs his hand through his dark hair and whispers, “Uh, yeah, I’m gonna… run down the street and grab some fresh pastries at the bakery. Would you like–”

  “Give me a few minutes and I’ll go with?”

  He nods as I quickly tiptoe across the floor to my room.

  I throw my pajama top over my head and slip a bra on. I grab a burgundy oversized sweater from the closet, which is bigger than my room in Brooklyn, bigger than my entire dorm room in London, and throw it over my head.

  I pull off my pajama bottoms and grab a pair of jeans from the closet and pull them on as I hurry toward the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  When I look in the mirror, I am immediately grateful for the darkness last night because I didn’t have a stitch of makeup on.

  Dear God, I sigh as I brush my teeth with one hand and search through my makeup case to find concealer to cover my scar. When both tasks are complete, I look down at my makeup and itch to do a full face today, but I don’t have time, Bass is waiting.

  I run down the stairs and see my Chucks at the door next to Bass. He’s stops pacing when he sees me.

  I wonder if he’s mad that I was in Oliver’s room. Or worse, does he think…

  Of course, he doesn’t. He knows a man like Oliver would never be interested in someone like me. I bet he sees me as a kid, even though I’m not. I wonder what Oliver’s type is. Clearly not good enough if they haven’t captured his heart and shown him that love can heal all things. If they had, he’d be less guarded.

  This awkward conversation I’m having with myself isn’t helping this situation be any less so.

  I decide to joke, “In a hurry?”

  He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, “No, just wanted to surprise your mom with breakfast in.” He stops. “TMI?”

  “My mom’s pregnant.” I smile opening the door. “You sleep in the same room. I’m pretty sure it’s safe to assume you’re sleeping together.”

  Dear God, why would I say that… especially now?

  He laughs and follows me out. I glance back to see if he’s laughing because it was funny, or because of what he walked in on just minutes ago.

  It’s because he thinks I’m funny… I hope.

  After a few silent moments he says, “So?”

  I look over at him and want to ask, so what?

  “So, are you okay with me and your mom, or do you wanna explain what the hell you were doing in Oliver’s room?”

  Again, I choose to address the one that isn’t awkward for me. “I’m happy for her and you. I know it’s only been two days that I’ve watched you together, but I know my mom, and she’s changed.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You know the term embrace the suck?” He nods. “She embraced it, and always made situations less sucky. She never let anything break her. She was happy, but now I can see she’s truly happy.”

  He tries not to smile, but his eyes visibly brighten. I don’t hide my smile. Then I tell him, “We’ve gotten to know each other over the past week over text and I believe you love her. I imagine that you feel the same way she does. Like you were waiting for the moment you met so everything in the past made sense.” I need to bring it back in, “And if you’d been born when she met my Dad…”

  He laughs out loud, “I was!”

  I laugh at his reaction. “Well, I think you two belong together. I think the fact that she worked for your father and you met was fate intervening.”

  His eyes narrow, but he seems to bring it back to happy. I suppose it hurt that his father died before he had a chance to know him.

  “You love her–”

  “Deeper than I ever thought possible.” He tries to shake the smile from crossing his face.

  “Then I’m more than happy for both of you.” I smile. “And for my sister or brother.”

  Now he doesn’t even try to hide the smile, it’s bursts from the inside out.

  We walk along for a few more minutes when he asks, “So this morning?”

  And here I thought I was avoiding that.

  There’s nothing wrong with what I did, and the truth is always the best way to answer, but I also need to protect the bond I hope to build with Oliver, and not give away anything I think he’d not want shared.

  When we get back to the house, I’m a bit tired from keeping up with his pace. It’s like he couldn’t get back fast enough. If I did have any doubt as to how he felt about Mom, the near sprint from the bakery would have erased it.

  He hands me one of the two bags. “You mind going to surprise Maisie, while I go up ad surprise Angela?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Once my shoes are off, I head to the back of the house.

  When I step inside the room, I hear Oliver speaking to Maisie from behind the room divider and stop.

  “I know, but I have to. I promise I’ll be back every couple of weeks.”

  “You can’t just work from here, like Bass and Angela will be?”

  “I think it’s in their best interest that they have a presence in New York. Those board members are frothing at the mouth for him to mess up.”

  “But they hold a majority of the shares, and Natasha speaks of Autumn with highest regard. She’s Angela’s best friend, you know.”

  “I promise if I didn’t have to go, I wouldn’t.”

  I hear Maisie sigh at the same time I do. However, I’m sure it’s not for the same reason. She has him. His respect, his love, his loyalty. I’m just beginning to make headway with Oliver Josephs, a man I know will be in my life for a long time. A man who is part of this newly forming family that I’m embracing, even though it’s happening all too quickly, even though my past has taught me that it may come with pain.

  I clear my throat as I walk toward them. Although the past couple days would lead him to believe I may possibly be intrusive, I want him to know I’m not. I want him to trust me the way Maisie and Bass seem to already.

  “Good morning Maisie.” I smile as I bend down and kiss her soft cheek. “I brought pastries.” I hold up the bag.

  Before she has a chance to reply Oliver asks, “You go by yourself?” Before I have a chance to reply Oliver chimes in again. “Told you yesterday that was a bad idea.”

  “Ollie,” Maisie tisks.

  “It’s true, she buries her nose and doesn’t pay attention to her surroundings.” He scowls at me and I sit next to Maisie feeling rather smug, knowing he’s wrong and also, loving the concern he seems to have for me. Maybe not for me per say, but definitely for this family. “She’s going to be very well known soon, and there are people, like Ines, out there who aren’t happy with Bass. She needs to be fu–” He stops. “Aware.”

  Maisie’s shocked expression turns quickly to concern.

  I open the bag and pull out one of the contents. “Maisie, Bass and I chose a few things. What are you in the mood for, this croissant?” I reach in and pull out the next, “Or this Paris-Brest?”

  Maisie chuckles, “I think she’s aware, Ollie.” His face hardens, and I turn and look at Maisie.

  “Which will it be?”

  “I’ll take the croissant, give Ollie the breast.”

  I glance at him just in time for his staunch look of annoyance give way to shock. But then he looks at Maisie like she’s lost her mind.

  “Brest,” I say, correcting the pronunciation as I hold up the doughnut shaped pastry split like a bagel with a sweet creamy center. “Its name is inspired by a bicycle race between Paris and a city named Brest.”

  I hand
it to Oliver, he hesitates for a moment and then takes it with mild irritation. Then I hand Maisie her croissant and take another from the bag for me.

  We each take a bite at the same time and Oliver’s… creamy middle spills out of the side of his pastry, and I watch as it falls, almost in slow motion, and lands on his… crotch.

  Maisie nearly chokes on her croissant, causing me to do the same.

  Oliver looks down and then up at us, his eyebrow cock as he licks his lips and then asks, “Really, ladies?” Then he stands and catches the falling cream before walking out the door.

  Maisie falls into a fit of laughter and I can’t help but join her.

  “That one,” she shakes her head. “He’s a tough nut to crack. Been through hell as a kid, then jumped right into it as an adult.” No longer laughing she sighs, “He’s a beautiful and complex soul.”

  I could listen to her talk about him for hours, however the fear of him walking in on such a conversation gives me pause in asking questions about him. Instead I ask, “And how about Bass?”

  She looks at me for a moment as she contemplates her answer.

  Then she looks past me as if she’s waiting for him to come back in.

  “You remember the movie we watched the first night?” she whispers, and I nod and lean in. “Do you know the difference between sense and sensibility?”

  “I do, but I feel like I’m about to learn a stronger difference.”

  She winks and Oliver walks in holding two cups of coffee. As she goes on explaining, he hands me one and I mouth a thank you. When he stares at my lips, I suck in my top one as I turn back to Maisie.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pouring the second cup he carried in into Maisie’s, filling it, and then his own, before sitting down.

  “In the book, sense is evident in Elinor’s ability to act without judgement, reason, or restraint. She acted with coolness, proper politeness, and logical reasoning. Her sister Marianne was sensibility. Do you know why?”

  “I think so, but,” I shrug.

  She turns and looks at Oliver. “Ollie?”

  He swallows his coffee and nods. “She was emotionally driven.”