De La Porte Fashion: The Complete Box Set

by Mj Fields

  He stops talking when I turn and walk to the full-length mirror.

  He’s not wrong. My boobs are definitely popping.

  “You’re more worried about my boobs than the fact this dress is three inches too long on me, and I may break my neck in those heels?”

  “I don’t want other men looking at you.”

  “That’s just ridiculous.” I laugh as I take the heels from him.

  I look up at Elijah as he stretches out his hand and can’t help giggling when he eyes my cleavage.

  He rolls his eyes slightly when I take his hand.

  Stepping out of the car and onto Fifth Avenue in front of the Met for the Schwartz fundraiser, my exhaustion dissipates.

  When he holds out his arm, elbow bent for me to hook my arm through his, I smile up at him.

  He smiles back then bends down and whispers in my ear, “Make sure you don’t fall out. It’ll make page six.”

  When the cameras flash, I am slightly stunned.

  When the reporters begin to shout questions, I stand a little closer to him.

  “Who’s your date this evening, Elijah?”

  “This is my girlfriend, Stella.”

  He takes a step forward, but then we stop again at another reporter.

  “What’s she wearing?”

  I cringe. I should be wearing de la Porte.

  “She would normally be wearing de la Porte, but tonight, it’s Christian Siriano.”

  “Where did you meet?”

  He stiffens but answers honestly. “We met as children in preschool.”

  I squeeze his arm, and he looks down.

  “She doesn’t mind you dating other women?”

  I snap my head in the direction of the ginger-haired reporter who’s looking at me smugly.

  He doesn’t miss a beat.

  “Stella knows there have been times when I’ve had to bring a companion to a function, but she’s now finished with college and back stateside. She’ll be by my side from now on.”

  Stella knows, but Stella never looked at it that way. And Stella is now pretty pissed.

  I inwardly kick myself when I realize I’m talking about myself in the third person.

  “What are you wearing tonight, Elijah?”

  He looks down at me and winks. “De la Porte, of course.”

  “Will Stella be working?”

  “She’s a modern woman,” he says, nodding and taking a few steps forward as he continues. “Holds a degree in design, has just finished an internship at de la Porte London, and has been independent and self-sufficient since she was a little girl. Of course she’ll be working.”

  Out of all the hell he has put me through today—be it purposeful or not—what Elijah just said about me to millions is worth a million kisses, and yes, it makes me feel … different.

  At the entrance, I stall, and he looks down at me, giving me a questioning look.

  “You just made me feel incredibly sexy.”

  Amusement dances in his green eyes. “Is that so?”

  I nod.

  He casts his eyes down to my excessive cleavage. “Just keep them covered. No one else needs to make you feel that way.”

  I unlink my arm and wrap it around his waist.

  He kisses the top of my head before pulling away then bending his elbow for me to take. “Professional in public.”

  Even though I don’t like it, I understand.

  “And bent over the bed in private?”

  His eyes widen then narrow with intent, of promise, before he looks away.

  Walking into the great hall, content to hang on to Elijah’s arm, I take a moment to take in my surroundings. Being a native New Yorker, I have been to the Met many times while in school for field trips. But now, having traveled outside of New York and the United States, I have a bit more appreciation for the beauty that lies before me. No longer a visiting child surrounded by other children who were all more excited about being outside the institutionalized system of education than the art, I take it all in with more mature eyes.

  “We’ll have drinks here in the Great Hall then dinner in The Temple of Dendur while a few speakers talk about the importance of funding the arts.” Elijah rolls his eyes. “Shouldn’t take long. Then we can get you back to my place so you can take that dress off and get some sleep.”

  I nod absently, looking around at the eight columns with special lighting that make the Great Hall appear even more magical than I ever remembered.

  I look up at the three domes and—

  “Stella, did you hear me?”

  I look up at him. “I’m sorry. Just caught up in how beautiful this place is.”

  “You’ve been here a dozen times, Stella,” he sighs.

  “Yet I’ve never really appreciated it until now.”

  He shrugs. “Well, while you’re admiring the place, I’m going to go speak to a few potential clients.”

  “Of course.” I nod.

  I watch him walk away then look down at the beautiful, marble mosaic floor beneath my feet.

  My feet.

  I giggle at the shoes he bought me. Although beautiful, they are about a size too small, just like the damn dress.

  “Penny for your thoughts?”

  I smile at the sound of the soft yet deep familiar voice but don’t look up.

  “Toe cleavage.” I hike up my dress a bit. “I’m not joking, Aaron. Have a look.” I look up into bright blue eyes sparkle in amusement.

  “From over there”—he nods toward the bar—“I noticed black hair, a deep, blood-red dress, and plenty of cleavage. Took me a minute to figure out who the goddess was.”

  I scowl at him and put my hands on my hips. “Oh yeah? What gave it away?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe the fact that you’re the only other person in this room full of hundreds of pretentious assholes who would laugh at themselves without a worry in the world.”

  I throw my arms around him and hug him. “I’ve missed you.”

  He laughs and hugs me back. “You, too.”

  Stepping back, I look him up and down. “You look good, Aaron. Are you good?”

  “I’m always good.” He winks.

  “But Natasha—”

  When a laugh bursts out of him, I fear the worst. The fact that I’ve only seen one of my oldest friends a handful of times since Natasha and Oliver finally got together over four years ago is a bit of a concern. Whenever I reached out, he sent pictures from some foreign land, telling me that he’s “living the life.” But now I see with my own eyes that, although he is still beautiful, he’s cracked.

  I put my hand on his shoulder. “I know you loved her—”

  “Stella.” He chuckles as he shrugs my hand off his shoulder. “I asked her on a few dates, not to be my wife.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing, Stella. Christ, you’re fucking adorable.” He looks up as a waiter stops in front of us and takes two glasses of champagne from the tray, handing one to me. “To you being home.”

  I cautiously tap my glass to his, my eyes not once leaving his sparkling, crystal-blue—dare I say happy—eyes.

  “Cheers to that.”

  Chapter Four

  The Past

  After the day the ashes fell, there was gray. Gray for days, weeks … for months maybe. I don’t recall how much time passed from that day, the day that should have terrified me. Yet, with her around, there was no panic, no worry.

  There was just … Stella.

  Until she wasn’t there anymore.

  My entire world had been altered. My schedule, my routine was distorted dramatically. But, as kids, “we’re resilient,” or so they say.

  As an adult, looking back, I know their worlds, my parents’ worlds, were affected even more. I also know that if you can make the “world” okay, safe for those you love, you feel you have done your job.

  But I knew things were bad even then. The walls of a home that were once warm, safe, and loving had begun to seep with fear, chaos,
and hate. Maybe it was always there, and I just hadn’t noticed.

  When the fighting between my parents worsened, that’s when I began to draw again. It helped lessen the anxiety and made me feel like a part of her was still with me.

  Apparently, it was evident in my drawings, since all of them had a girl with raven hair, topped with a bow, and a smile that lit up the world.

  I remember the ferry rides, but not the first one.

  I remember standing in front of a modest house, and then … she was back.

  Miss Ginny opened the childcare center in her Staten Island home. Everything except the structure seemed the same. She even had that big blue chair.

  To us kids, things had gone back to normal, even though they really hadn’t.

  I knew some of the other kids, but none of them mattered, except Stella. Her chapped lips, her wild hair topped with a bow, her crayons, her smile, her twinkling eyes. That’s what drew me to her like an invisible vortex.

  I remember her room. I remember sleeping there some nights when my parents had events, had to work late, or the weather was too crappy for them to come and get me.

  I think it started when we were four, right before we went to kindergarten.

  Those were my favorite memories. Those times, when it was just her and me … and her pain in the ass younger brother, Bruno.

  But after he fell asleep, she would make a tent out of her blanket, and I’d see the glow of the flashlight, knowing it was my invitation to come to her bed, Stella’s bed, and lay underneath those covers and color.

  We went to different elementary schools, but I was still put under the watchful eye of Miss Ginny at least three to four times a month. Then, so was he.

  Two became three.

  When his father and mine went into business together and Donahue and Hearst became the largest investment securities company in the country, everything changed. Our families spent a lot of time together. Hell, we even vacationed together. He and I also attended the same private middle school.

  No two people could be as different as we were, but we were friends from as far back as I could remember. Even club sports, his parents put him on the same team as me, or he wouldn’t play. We hung out all the damn time.

  There was no Elijah without Aaron, or Aaron without Elijah.

  We still spent time at Miss Ginny’s when the four of them, our parents, went on business trips when we were middle schoolers.

  I remember when Stella got braces. She told us it was to fix her buck teeth so kids at her public school would stop picking on her. I told her I’d take care of them. I’d bust a lip or smash a skull if she wanted me to. Not for nothing, but her buck teeth were part of the allure. They were part of her smile. I know it sounds fucked up, but it made her different.

  They weren’t that bucked. Hell, I can’t even begin to count the times I jacked off in the shower to the thought of that smile, buck teeth and all. Then I jacked off to the thought of her tinseled smile.

  Not gonna lie, I still do.

  It was always me who she was drawn to, and then … then it was him.

  When it was speculated that the funds our fathers managed were being mismanaged and the Feds opened up an investigation, shit hit the fan. Not just for our fathers, but for us. And nothing has been the same since.

  Then, the car accident, where we each lost a parent.

  Then we each lost the other. Not from death, but we lost them just the same.

  Words were said, lines were drawn, threats were delivered, lies were told, friendships destroyed, and now, all these years later, we’re still bound together. The fucked-up part is we can’t stand each other, yet we both co-own a company that neither one of us wants.

  We’ve managed to keep it civil for the company, but mostly for Stella.

  We both love her, and she has no fucking clue.

  Present

  Watching him with her brings out a side of me that I don’t even like, and I like myself a lot.

  The way she looks up at him like he’s a god is bullshit.

  He’s nothing but a wannabe.

  Chapter Five

  Stella

  Present Day

  “Where is that boyfriend of yours anyway?” Aaron asks, looking around in a vague manner.

  “Hey.” I snap my fingers in front of him. “What have you been up to? I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  He smiles. “I was at your graduation.”

  “We spoke for all of five minutes, and then you took off. I know you finished college. I didn’t even get invited to your grad—”

  “That’s because I didn’t go.” He winks.

  Aaron Esposito is a world-class flirt. Had I not known him all my life, I too may have fallen prey to his charm and natural charisma, like the other forty-nine to fifty-five percent of the population. Probably more than that. I bet gay men even get weak in the knees at the sight of him.

  As I look him over, I notice his normally lean but strong form has filled out. His chest is broader, his shoulders thicker, and his arms are, too. His face seems fuller, yet I’m sure underneath the light stubble now covering his face that is hiding that one dimple on his left cheek, he still has a baby face. His hair is the same—short on the sides, a little longer on the top—his eyes … Aaron has always had the most beautiful blue eyes, and they haven’t changed one bit.

  He smirks at me. “Stella McCarty, are you checking me out?”

  “Pft, I’m just trying to see what’s different about you. You’re hiding something.”

  “You think?” He smiles a dazzling smile, one that would blind you in the night if you weren’t well-prepared for it, or were born immune to his charm like I am.

  “Well, spill it. What have you been up to the last four years, besides travel?”

  “Same as you—college.”

  “And this summer?”

  “Oh, you know …” He shrugs, acting aloof.

  When I notice him looking over my head and around the crowd, I assume he has someone waiting.

  “Am I keeping you from someone?”

  He looks down. “I wasn’t aware there was anyone else here, Stella McCarty.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “So, what is it that you’re looking for?”

  “The only other person who matters—the man with the tray full of booze.”

  I turn to look for a member of the waitstaff and instead see my boyfriend with a woman beside him, basically hanging on him as he talks to a group of men.

  “Who’s that woman with Elijah?” I ask, knowing my itty bit of jealousy won’t be thrown in my face by Aaron.

  “You mean the man in the black dress?”

  I look back at him, and he winks.

  I look back at them. “She’s stunning, Aaron.”

  “She’s ordinary, Stella.”

  “Yeah right.” I force a laugh. “In a supermodel way.”

  “I guess if you’re into that kind of shit, sure.”

  “If by that, you mean, tall, rail-thin, with perfectly straight hair, and a neck like a swan, then sure.” I lower my voice and mimic his, “If you’re into that kind of shit.”

  He smiles, leans over, and whispers, “I think you and I are looking at two different women. I’m looking at the chick next to your boyfriend.” He draws out boyfriend, making the word itself sound completely and utterly ridiculous. “Then I see a woman who hasn’t eaten a fucking cheeseburger since she was probably two, drinks the least favorable beverage known to humankind because the calorie intake of something that may taste good is forbidden, and she’s probably pissed off at the world because, with no curves, she’s often mistaken for a man. Add to that, she’s hungry, thirsty, and not good-looking enough to be a model. So, she takes a mediocre job with a boss who is a narcissistic, demeaning fuck, just hoping to bank enough dough so she can buy some jugs, and by then, she’ll be past her prime for high fashion, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll still have a shot at Playboy magazine, but she knows it’s unlikely.”


  I elbow him. “Who is she?”

  “Miss Talcott.”

  “Who?”

  “She’s old money, but her daddy won’t give her access to her trust fund until she’s worked to prove she can handle that kind of money.”

  “So, he’s trying to get her to invest with him?”

  “No, Stella, she’s his assistant.”

  I look up at him. “What’s her name?”

  “Spencer Talcott.”

  “Oh, right. I guess I just assumed Spencer was a male assistant like all the others were.”

  He gives me an odd look then raises his hand, motioning for someone. When I turn to look, he is downing a glass of champagne before placing the empty on the tray and taking two more.

  “Another toast?” he asks, holding the glass out for me.

  “I’m not sure I should.” I yawn and turn my back on Elijah and Spencer Talcott, knowing the little green beast inside me is rearing its ugly head because I am tired.

  “Tired?”

  God, he knows me so well.

  “Exhausted,” I admit.

  “Then, why are you here?” he asks.

  “Elijah.”

  “Oh yes, Elijah.”

  I scowl up at him, and he sighs. Then puts his hands on my shoulders and turns me so I am again facing my boyfriend. From behind, he leans down. “Tell me what it is that has you so hooked that you’re back here in New York City instead of living your dream in London.”

  Looking over my shoulder at him, I try to gather my thoughts so that I can tell him all the reasons I chose de la Porte New York over de la Porte London. But it all boils down to the promise I made to the man I love.

  When I take too long trying to gather my thoughts, Aaron laughs. “He’s average-looking at best.”

  I elbow him. “He’s very handsome.”

  “Don’t women like them dark and handsome?” He runs his hand through his thick, black hair.

  “Tall, dark, and handsome,” I correct. “That’s what most women like. But—”