De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  I flip the phone around and show her the sign., “At a pub.”

  “Does that say cock?” she laughs out loud.

  “Sure does, Autumn, sure does.” I turn the phone back so I can see her.

  Oliver has gotten up and walked behind her. He’s rolling his eyes. I’m not the only one who sees it, so does Autumn.

  “Jealous, Oliver?”

  His eyebrow quirks. “Of a rooster? No.”

  “It’s a cock. You girlfriend is going to–”

  “Autumn, you’re pushing,” he warns.

  “Right, anyway, you have fun with the cock and call me when you leave. We need to dish about your weekend, this guy,” she thumbs over her shoulder, “hasn’t stopped smiling.”

  I can’t help but laugh, because Autumn is being over the top sarcastic and I can only imagine it’s very annoying to Oliver.

  I find it oddly comforting and think maybe it’s moments like this. Moments that are silly and nonsensical that will make Oliver loosen up, and then maybe, just maybe, he will someday have more memories built on happiness, than the pain he has clearly suffered.

  Chapter Twenty

  Natasha

  It was a huge transition moving from Brooklyn to London. It was filled with excitement and hope. But thinking back on that day, just a few blinks ago, as I sit in the back of a Mercedes SUV, being taken to a private jet to fly from London to Paris, I kind of feel like I’m not just across the ocean from a life I loved, but on a completely different planet. Add to that the mind-blowing reality that, this weekend, I’m going to actually be designing patterns, picking out fabrics, talking with seamstresses, and beginning to bring my sketches, my designs, to life. I realize I’m actually in another universe.

  Walking onto the sleek black jet, I try to contain my excitement, excitement forgotten for a couple days, but as soon as the flight attendant shuts the door behind her in the cockpit, I raise my hands in the air and spin around in circles while laughing at the insanity that has become my life.

  Hidden from the world, so no one thinks I am not eternally grateful for all I’m blessed with, I don’t care that I’m being childish as I turn in circle after circle giggling. I’m being present, Mom would be proud.

  When I’m so dizzy I have to stop, I stumble back and hit something of a brick wall, but it’s soft.

  I inhale a smell that I couldn’t define before, but I can now. It’s almost like a bayberry candle. The sweetness in it reminds me of Christmastime. A hint of nutmeg and unknown spices settles nicely into an outdoorsy, earthy smell that reminds me of the forest in the spring.

  “What are you wearing?” I ask as I did when he put the wool jacket over my head last weekend.

  “Clothes.” I look back over my shoulder and his hand leaves my hip. “What are you imagining?”

  His question catches me off guard because it’s delivered with narrowed, intense, near black eyes.

  I turn around and shrug, “Being happy?”

  A near smirk forms in the corner of his mouth when he asks, “Happy, huh?”

  He looks so much more carefree today in his fitted dark gray Henley, loose dark blue jeans held up with a black leather belt, and on his feet, black leather boots, unlaced. I assume it’s his weekend look.

  “Yep,” I grin. “You should try it.”

  To that he scowls, and I am brought right back to Monday and Oliver in a power suit.

  “Forget it,” I turn around and walk to one of the pod seats.

  When he sits across from me on the leather sofa, I glance over as I reach in my bag for my earbuds.

  “I wasn’t being a dick, Natasha,” he sighs as he leans back. “Besides, I think you owe me some niceties for covering your ass with the girl trying to pick you up the other night.”

  I laugh, “Oh please, Shana isn’t a lesbian.”

  He links his hands behind his neck and shrugs, “So you say.”

  “What makes you think–” I stop mid-sentence. “Never mind.”

  He sighs, “Just like that, never mind.”

  Half of me wants to completely ignore him, but the other half of me wins as I take out the one earbud I managed to put in before he; my mind stutters over words until it comes up with the perfect one, he ‘Olivered’ all over my party.

  I can’t help but laugh. “You know what?”

  He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “No, what?”

  “I have spent most of my life trying to blend in so I won’t be bullied by people like you.”

  Both his eyebrows shoot up in shock.

  “And I’m sorry that you get to be my guinea pig when it comes to sticking up for myself with your type.”

  “My type?” he huffs.

  “Yes, your type. But because you’re safe, because you won’t hurt me anymore than I’ve already allowed you to.”

  He interrupts, “I wasn’t trying–”

  So, I cut him off, “I’m not finished. So just be quiet.”

  He sits back and folds his arms over his chest, looking at me with an intensity that would cause me to waiver a couple days ago, but I’ve figured him out.

  “I wasn’t–”

  “Bullshit,” I snap.

  “Watch your mouth,” he scolds me.

  I poke my thumb in my chest. “When I’m angry, I sometimes curse, deal with it.”

  His eyes narrow.

  “You and I, we may not be the same, but the burden we choose to carry, or should I say, I chose to carry, and you still lug around on those big old shoulders of yours, is self-imposed. You’ve been shit on–”

  “Natasha,” he warns.

  “Oh whatever, I’m going to curse, you… you, big bully.” I stop, waiting for a reply, he doesn’t give one so I continue, “A week ago, I saw myself in you. Where I hide behind makeup and lowering my head so my hair covered this fucking scar.” He winces like I slapped him across the face, and I’m glad. He deserves it. “I spent an entire weekend either avoiding you or trying to show you I cared and you, you just couldn’t do the same. So, whatever.” I throw my hands in the air as the plane takes off. I don’t even miss a beat as I buckle myself and continue. “So that’s on you, pal. Not me. You do what you need to do, and I’ll do what I need to in order to avoid the freaking freeze that radiates around you.”

  It was the moment I said the word bully that everything I’d ever been taught about people who treat others poorly, because inside they’re miserable, comes true.

  “That all?”

  “Yes, as a matter-a-fact, it is. I won’t even bother giving you the common decency reminder when it comes to safety, like now. I should be saying,” I change my tone to mimic someone younger, “Hey Ollie, you should buckle up, we’re taking off, but I won’t.”

  He chuckles, “You just did.”

  As he buckles himself, I huff, “I was giving you an example.”

  “Bullshit,” he laughs.

  “Watch your mouth, Ollie.”

  I try not to pay any more attention to him, but I happen to notice the way his knuckles turn white where he grips the white leather seat of the couch.

  Once the plane evens out, I start to put my earbuds in.

  “I did try to apologize.” he says as he sits back with his arms crossed and eyes closed.

  “I must have missed that.”

  “I’m sure you did, when you slammed the door in my face and ordered the driver to go.”

  “After you picked me up like I was some petulant child, when in fact it was you who–”

  He sits forward and points at me. “And I saved your ass on the phone with Autumn. What the hell else do you need, Natasha?” He opens his mouth to say more, but closes it and sits back again.

  My chest tightens, and I regret being so hard on him.

  “Apology accepted.” Then I quietly put in my earbuds.

  After a few minutes, he unbuckles and walks to the bathroom. When he comes back out, he walks to the bar, takes one of the crystal decanters and pours some ambe
r liquor in a glass. He tosses it back and fills it again.

  He turns and looks at me, holds out the glass and says, “Do you want one?”

  I don’t know whether to answer or continue to pretend I’m listening to music.

  I decide to pull out my earbud. “What?”

  He glances down at my phone and quirks an eyebrow. I look down and realize the screen clearly shows no music is playing.

  “I asked if you wanted a drink.”

  “No thank you.” He tosses it back.

  “Only drink at bars with special names and girls who wanna pick you up?”

  “She was gushing over you.” I roll my eyes.

  He lifts his chin and smirks, “Yeah, what’s her number?”

  “It’s in my phone, I’ll give it to you. But I will do so with warning, she likes Harry.”

  “Harry?”

  Why is he acting normal? Like nothing happened, like I didn’t just chew his ass. What the heck?!

  “What?” he asks.

  “I just, we just, I, I, I–” I snap my mouth shut to stop from stuttering, so hard his eyes squint as if he felt it.

  After a moment, he turns around and fills the crystal rocks glass again and drinks the contents.

  Then he sits across the aisle on the edge of the couch.

  “I apologized, and I mean it. Pretty sure I told you a week ago, I’m not into the emotional shit–”

  “But–” I begin to interrupt.

  He holds his hand up stopping me. “But I suppose I can try.” He looks down. “That is, if you’re still willing.”

  Yes! Screams inside my head, but with a man this big, this headstrong, I assume you gotta push a little harder.

  His head is still bowed when he looks up through his black lashes. “I didn’t blow your cover on the phone.”

  “Fine.” I nod.

  He leans in. “No, it’s not fine. I broke whatever connection, whatever trust, whatever–”

  He appears to be having some internal battle that I’ve been dragged into and it hurts my heart. I lean forward. “Oliver, it’s fine.”

  He flops back and lets out a deep sigh.

  Something hits me that can’t be ignored. “You know, I’ve never actually heard the words I’m sorry come out of your mouth.”

  He opens his eyes. “I prefer to say, I apologize.”

  “I’ve noticed, why?”

  “I’m not sorry for who I am or the choices I make anymore. Hate the words ‘I’m sorry’, actually.”

  “Why?” I press.

  “Made a promise to Maisie I’d try to keep looking forward. Made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t be sorry for the man I have become in spite of it.”

  I don’t know what to say.

  He stands and fills his glass again and drinks. His back still to me, he moves his head from side to side, stretching his neck, I assume.

  “You, you caught me off guard. So, I apologize for the need to feel I had to protect myself against you.”

  I laugh and he stiffens. “I’m sorry, but that makes absolutely zero sense.”

  He turns around and looks at me intensely as he takes a drink.

  “Oliver,” I motion between us, “That’s kind of ridiculous if you think about it.”

  He shrugs as he sucks in air between his perfectly white, straight teeth like the whiskey is burning his throat.

  “What?” I ask now feeling uncomfortable.

  He shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  As soon as I ask the question, I realize I’m touching my scar.

  He sighs and tosses the drink back, turns and sets the glass down. While he answers the question I already know the answer to, he opens the fridge and grabs something. When he turns around, he opens one of the bottles of water in his hand and gives it to me.

  Then he walks over and sits again on the couch. “I know you’ve been through some shit. I’ve seen pictures.” He pauses, and I look down at my lap. “So, when you bounced onto a plane full of strangers, with a smile and no fear at all, I thought, she’s a fucking warrior.”

  I can’t help but smirk and glance at him. “Was it the size of my muscles?”

  He smirks and looks at his water as he opens it. “More your personality. You were born with something that could’ve been bigger than you, and your tiny little ass kicked its ass. Fucking intimidating.”

  “Oliver.” He looks away from his bottle and up at me. “Language.”

  He smiles and I swear it’s the most genuine I’ve seen from him.

  “Are you drunk?” I laugh.

  “Not drunk, just relaxed,” he admits.

  He stares at me for a moment longer now, his eyes sparkling. I feel warmth spread in my chest, the kind of warmth you only feel from those who are truly genuine.

  “So,” I shrug.

  “So,” he sighs and leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Tell me what you were imagining when you were twirling around out there?”

  I smile and then take a sip of my water.

  “Let me guess, someone at the bar? What’s his name, Harry?”

  “Pfft, you may think you saw a warrior when I got on this plane, but when it comes to relationships, or even the possibility of one, I’m incredibly inept.”

  He tosses his head back and laughs. “I bet you’ve broken more hearts than you’ll ever know.”

  “Yeah right, I haven’t even had my first kiss.”

  His face loses all expression.

  I laugh and tap my lip.

  “Fuck that,” he snaps and this time it’s not at me.

  I shrug, “It is what it is.”

  His eyes narrow.

  “It’s not like I’m out seeking that kind of thing.” I laugh, “Actually, I avoid the awkward at all costs.”

  His response is quick. “Why?”

  “Well,” I sigh as I ponder the thought, “I guess maybe I’m afraid I’ll be awful at it.”

  “Not possible.” I wait for an explanation, and when he stands and walks to the bar, he gives it to me as he pours another drink. “Kissing doesn’t require skill. Just like fucking, a man’s happy to just get his dick wet.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  He drinks the entire content of his glass, then turns around. “It’s true. Men just aren’t that deep.”

  “Well, those are the men I will avoid. I want one with a little depth. I want someone who wants me and as crazy as it sounds, I want to be good at it.”

  He nods, then shakes his head as his chest rises in a silent chuckle.

  “What?” I laugh.

  “I’m not sure.” He leans back and looks up at the ceiling.

  After a few silent moments, he sits forward. “First time you rode a bike, you were nervous as hell, right?”

  “I would be, but I haven’t ridden a bike.”

  “What?”

  I tap my lip again. “Lots of surgeries. When there were longer periods between them, my parents divorced. Mom went to work and I went to every camp or after school art program we could find.”

  “We need to rectify that situation.”

  “We?” I laugh.

  “Yeah, you need to learn how to ride a bike. You live in Europe for fuck’s sake.”

  “And you’re gonna teach me?”

  “Yeah, I am.” A playful smile graces his face. “You conquer your fears one at a time and soon, Little Warrior, you’ll be fearless.”

  “So today bikes, and tomorrow boys?”

  “Boys?” he huffs. “I’m not sure they’d know what to do with you. And besides, you’re old enough for a man.”

  I laugh and so does he. By the look on his face, I can tell he’s laughing at himself for the offer.

  “Oliver?”

  Still smiling, he asks, “Yeah?”

  “If you start being a jerk again, I’m going to be so pissed off at you.”

  He leans slightly forward with his eyes narrowing a bit and tells me, “You have m
y word.”

  And for some reason, down deep, I know his words are gold.

  The rest of the flight we talk civilly and with an honesty that comes from two people who have decided to be friends, maybe even more than friends… maybe family.

  On our way to the house, I ask him if we can keep the lessons to ourselves. I don’t want my mom to think she should have taught me to ride a bike when she was so busy trying to make me happy in every other possible way.

  He agrees without hesitation. “Wouldn’t ever want someone who clearly loves their kid to think otherwise.”

  His statement makes me realize that he and I are much more alike than I had thought. Which must be where the familiarity I felt immediately with him stemmed from. It’s also probably the reason I felt such an immediate connection with Stella.

  “What are you imagining now?” he asks as his head rests against the black leather of the seat behind us.

  “A world where people like us no longer listen to the internal voices of our pasts and enjoy everything the present and future have to offer.”

  With his eyes still closed, he pushes his knee against my leg as if to say, me too.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Natasha

  Laying in bed, I am looking up at the ceiling and smiling when I hear a knock on the door. I sit up as it opens and see Oliver as he pokes his head in.

  “Just wanted to remind you that O600 is still a go.”

  I nod and salute him. “Sir, yes, sir.”

  He shakes his head. “I mean, six AM.”

  I sit, pulling my knees up to my chest and nod.

  “And Natasha, if you hear me–” He runs his hand through his hair.

  “I’ll come wake you up.”

  “That’s a negative, Little Warrior, I need you to ignore it.”

  “That’s a negative back.”

  “Natasha, just sleep.” His voice is almost a plea.

  “Sleep well, Oliver.”

  “You too.”

  I stood at his door while he fought his nightmares, again. I know he thinks I promised not to go in, but it couldn’t be helped.

  When he mumbles the first word that doesn’t seem to terrorize him, “Grace.” I can’t wait any longer.