Sneaking a glance in the living room, Leon was sitting on the floor waving a rattle in front of Timothy as he chatted with Clare.
She’d nail this competition, deal with Ashton tonight and then it was all going to be roses from there.
Her life would be back on track thanks to her newfound cooking skills and a gorgeous man by her side.
After all these years of losing, she was finally winning.
Chapter 32
Bebe awoke to daylight streaming through the curtains, and Harry, lying next to her, fully-clothed and asleep, his arm around her. He’d stayed all night to care for her.
Gazing at him for a moment, she briefly wondered what it would be like to settle in with him and make a home. Would it be nice to stop for a while? For the world to stop spinning?
His eyes fluttered open.
“Sleepyhead,” she said, giving him a poke.
“What’s the time?” he asked, groggily, stretching his arms above his head.
Glancing at her clock, she told him the time.
“Hey, thanks for taking care of me,” she said.
“It’s no problem,” he said, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Can I see you after work?”
She nodded. “That would be nice. I’ll buy you dinner to say thank you.”
He hesitated. “Bebe?”
“Yes.”
He rubbed her shoulder. “If you ever want to talk more about your father and that situation, or if I can help, let me know. I worry these headaches may be stress-related if you are carrying that around.”
She nodded. But it wasn’t just that. How on earth could she walk away from him in a few weeks’ time? “Maybe you’re right.”
He kissed her cheek as they stood in the doorway, prior to him leaving. “Have a good day and I’ll speak to you later, okay?”
She rubbed her temples. Time for a shower and a strong coffee to tackle the day at work, yet for some reason, that felt like the least of her problems.
“Are you okay?” Cole narrowed his eyes as she walked into the studio later that morning. “You look pale.”
Still? She’d bronzed and contoured and rouged. And she still looked pale?
“Nice to see you too.”
“You know what I mean. Now you’re here, can we please go over the designs for Andrea? I’m not sure if I have the fabric right and we need—”
“Do you think they would extend my contract here?” she interrupted.
He scoffed. “In a heartbeat. You’re brilliant.” He frowned. “What happened? Did your visa fall through?”
“No. It’s …” She looked down. “I wonder if maybe I should stay in town for a bit longer.”
Cole folded his arms. “Stay? I would love for you to stay, but you have been given an opportunity of a lifetime in New York. It’s near impossible to get into L’Or.”
True. It had taken several attempts, despite an excellent portfolio and impeccable references, yet, was her enthusiasm waning? “I know, but …”
“But what?” Cole’s eyes widened. “Is it hipster boy?”
“Hipster boy?”
“You know, barista boy? Henry?”
“Harry,” she corrected him. “You know his name.”
Cole smirked. “Okay. I’m teasing. Yes, Handsome Harry. Is he the reason you are re-thinking your destiny?”
“I’m not re-thinking it, but maybe I wouldn’t mind seeing where things go with him.”
Cole heaved a sigh and crossed his arms. “Cute baristas grow on trees. Master classes like this don’t. Is it really worth giving up your dream for him?”
“I like him.” The first time they’d shared a bed, it had been pure lust. But last night? That had been something else. Tender, caring and loving.
Surely that was the foundation of something real and long-lasting? “We have chemistry.”
Cole held up his hands defensively. “I’m not saying you don’t, but go and do your thing. If he loves you, he’ll follow. Or he’ll be here afterwards. You have been given a gift from the universe to create art.”
“I can do that here.”
He shrugged. “You could, sure. But you could be huge. Go to New York. Chase your dreams. Send him a first-class ticket to meet you in Europe when you’re designing for Prada. You need to do this.”
“But…” She wanted to be with him now. “Long distance is difficult.”
“Let him tag along if he likes you as much in return. He can pour coffee for the Manhattanites. It’s hardly an insurmountable problem.”
She inspected her nails. There was a chip in her violet nail varnish. She should slip down to the salon at lunchtime, but the exercise seemed exhausting, as did so many things right now. Being wrapped up in the linen sheets of her bed with Harry stroking her hair was the only place she wanted to be, or had the energy to be.
What did that mean? Was it simply that she was feeling tired and unwell and she wanted to retreat into a nice world of swirling sheets, old movies, honey and lemon drinks, jazz music, and Harry? She rubbed her temple, trying to break up the discomfort. Should she go home and go back to bed? Maybe she could see if Harry would come over too.
Or was it more than that? Did she need a break? To land somewhere for a bit after an endless life on the road. As fascinating and interesting as her life had been, was her body aching for some routine and familiarity?
“Oh, I saw this in the newspaper while I was waiting for coffee.” Cole tossed her a copy of The Age. “The arts section.”
She picked it up and flicked through the pages. There was a lengthy feature article about Petra Baranov, her career and her latest exhibit. It was accompanied by a large photo of her mother, looking blow-waved and impeccable in a crisp white shirt and Ferrari-red lipstick.
“You got a mention.”
“Petra lives with daughter, Bebe, a fashion designer.” She paused. “Wow. One for the scrapbook.” She tossed the newspaper aside.
“What is going on with you this morning? You’re all over the place!” Cole paused and tilted his head. “Do you have another headache?”
“Yes.” She winced. Despite Harry’s tender, loving care the night before and a dose of aspirin gulped down with her double espresso, a painfully familiar ache spread over her temples.
“Oh, Bebe. Not again. I’m worried about you. Have you seen a doctor about this?”
“It’s not just the headache, it’s this!” She pointed at the newspaper, the photo of her mother staring at her. “I always feel like I can never live up to my mother’s name. I have been given everything and every chance to succeed—the best universities, the most amazing experiences, internships—and I’m still a mere passing mention in the amazing life of Petra Baranov.”
“I doubt your mother would see you as a footnote.”
Bebe scoffed. “She doesn’t notice anything I do. Maybe I should just give up and stay here.”
“Oh.” Cole pursed his lips. “That’s what all this is about, is it? You’re going to stay here because you think you can’t live up to her? How can you achieve greatness when you won’t even try?”
“I wouldn’t be giving up. But maybe it would be nice to be in one place. I’ve never known that sort of life, and maybe it’s not bad.”
“Of course, it’s not bad, but you’re selling yourself short if you think it’s your only option. If you want to stay with hipster boy and work here and buy a house in the suburbs, good for you, but I don’t think you do.”
Her mother certainly hadn’t wanted that. And look at all she had achieved. The sheer enormity of it weighed on Bebe’s shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“Well, think about it, but quickly. This is a big opportunity. I’m going to make you a special tea concoction for your head and I’m going to make an appointment for you to see a doctor.” He walked into the kitchen, murmuring something about chamomile and jasmine and antioxidants.
She took a deep breath and opened up an app on her phone, searching for flights to New York. Cole
was right. This was an opportunity of a lifetime, and how could she throw it away for a guy she’d only known for a few weeks.
Her finger hovered over a link that said purchase tickets. It wasn’t time to get cold feet now. She pushed her finger against the screen.
This was her moment. She’d be more than one of the accessories in her mother’s closet—the perfect Chanel brooch or the neat silk scarf. She’d carve out her own name. She was Bebe Baranov, and she wasn’t just going to live up to her mother’s reputation—she was going to exceed it.
Chapter 33
The Fitzgerald house was never as quiet as it was when Dad tested each dish in the competition. He awarded marks for presentation, taste, technique and a raft of other categories that made scoring complex and time-consuming.
“Okay. I’ll tally the scores.” Pete smirked when each dish had been tasted.
Mum was right. His face was smug.
“Hurry up then,” Dad said.
Pete produced a calculator from his back pocket.
“Is that your old scientific calculator from year-twelve math class?” Steve asked.
“Yep. Still works.”
Steve scoffed. “All that university and you can’t add up a few single-digit scores?”
Pete input the numbers. “There are those weird half points.”
“They’re constitutional,” Dad reminded him. “We added those in two years ago.”
“All right. No-one is disputing that, get on with it, Pete.” Steve held up his hands in surrender.
Pete tapped away at the calculator. Silence fell upon the room as everyone drew a collective breath.
“Yes! We won!” Pete jumped up and down. “By one point! I told you! That spanner crab ravioli never fails!”
“One point? Come on, let me see that!” Michelle took it from him. She’d really hoped she’d done enough to win.
She ran her eye down the score sheet. “That doesn’t add up!”
“What?” Pete had his arms around Clare, but looked up when Michelle waved the paper at him.
“Pete! Add it again. It doesn’t look right.”
His eyes skimmed the page and his face fell. “Oh. I didn’t add that up correctly.”
Groans and a chorus of jeers followed.
“Oh, good work, Professor,” Steve said. “You’re clearly not a doctor of mathematics, though I’m now absolutely terrified about taking any drugs that come out of that pharmaceutical company of yours if you can’t add up five scores.”
“The half points are confusing.” Pete scratched his head.
“Never mind that, who won?” Lauren asked. “I have to get to work. I’m on night shift.”
Pete ran his finger down the page and looked up while everyone watched him with bated breath.
“Need a calculator, PhD?” Luke teased.
“No.” Pete gave a huff, and shoved the paper towards Michelle. “You won.”
“I did?” She added up the score in her head. She didn’t want to make an idiot of herself the way her brother just had and jump the gun on her celebrations. She hugged Leon. “We won!”
“You won. I don’t think I was much help.” He planted a kiss on her cheek.
“He shouldn’t have been any help.” Her sister folded her arms. “That’s cheating.”
“Congratulations!” Dad pressed the trophy into her hands, which was one of Mum’s wooden spoons—spray-painted gold—and mounted on a piece of chipboard.
She held it up and beamed at her siblings, who by now looked either grumpy, tired, or simply over it. But she didn’t care. It may have just been a homemade trophy, but it meant the world.
“Should we go out and celebrate?” Leon asked. “My shout.”
“Oh. Thanks, but I’m meeting a friend tonight.” Her voice wobbled on the word ‘friend’.
She looked down at the trophy. Should she tell him about Ashton? He’d been open about his relationship with Pip, but then again, that was just them talking. It wasn’t like he was catching up with her for a drink.
Best to say nothing. Deal with it and move on. What he didn’t know, couldn’t hurt him.
She sat at a table at the restaurant she’d told Ashton to meet her at. She checked her make-up in her compact. Was she too dressed up, or not dressed up enough? She’d wanted to go for worldly and sophisticated but in a casual, ‘I always look this way, and oh, boy, am I over you, Ashton James!’.
She’d taken a sip of water but nearly choked on it as she realised Ashton was there.
He’d shown up. It would have been easier if his inner-flake had taken him off to a nightclub, but clearly not. He must really want to talk to her.
They exchanged a kiss on the cheek and some mundane chatter as they ordered a glass of wine.
“You look so good,” he said.
So did he, but her inner voice tried to push that thought away, “I should let you know, I’m seeing someone else,” she said.
He tilted his head. “Really? And here I was thinking you were pining over me? Well, I guess it’s my own fault for letting you go. Who is he?”
“He’s a guy I went to school with.”
“Childhood sweetheart. How cute.” His tone was dripping in sarcasm, which startled her for a moment.
She’d never, ever seen him jealous before. After all, there was little for Ashton to be envious about between his looks, money, and power.
She tilted her head. Was he really that hurt she was seeing someone else?
“Is it serious?” he asked.
She considered Leon her boyfriend. They hadn’t had serious discussions about their future, but it felt like it was heading that way given how much time they spent together. “I care about him.”
“Guess that’s my own fault, right?” Ashton ran a hand through his hair, and looked down. “I never meant to hurt you. There was just so much pressure from my family to step up.”
“And get rid of me.”
He exhaled. “It wasn’t like that.”
She leaned back. “Oh, so that’s why you broke up with me.”
“I needed some space.”
“Space to be with Gretchen?”
“She doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Your family love her.”
He rolled his eyes. “You know what my family are like.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Not really. The only time I ever met them was a rushed introduction on a ski slope.” The pain of that afternoon came crashing back when she’d finally thought he’d introduce her to his wealthy and powerful family, yet instead, he’d hurriedly explained that she was ‘someone he’d met here.’
It was true, they had met there originally, but he’d said nothing about how they’d been dating, or spending time together or how they’d been falling in love.
“What do you mean?” he asked, seemingly confused.
“They looked blank when you introduced me. They had no idea who I was or what I allegedly meant to you. It was clear that you’d never mentioned me to them at all, and apparently, as soon as you did, it was over.” A bitterness rose in her throat as she remembered his mother’s humiliating words about her.
How different it had been with Leon’s family? To be included and hugged and invited to dinner?
It was how her family treated her sibling’s partners. Her parents would never treat someone the way the James’s had treated her.
Taking her hand in his, he ran his thumb over hers. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t like that. Come back with me. It’ll be a fresh start, just you and me. I miss you.”
Her mouth fell open. “Go back with you to Canada?”
“Yes. The truth was,” he said, a sheepish look on his face, “I was confused. I felt so much for you, but I convinced myself that I didn’t. I shouldn’t have sent you that text message.”
The message that had sent her life crashing down around her? “The text you dumped me with?”
He winced. “That was so wrong of me. I wasn’t thinking straight. I was co
nfused. I was overwhelmed with how I felt about you and so very wrong to let you go.”
She looked at him. He wasn’t one to admit his failings so she knew that eating the humblest of humble pies wasn’t something he had ever really had to do.
Whatever Ashton James had wanted, he had. Money, looks, opportunity…his parents had served up everything to him on a silver platter.
“But what will change with your parents? They hate me.”
“They don’t hate you. They don’t know you. They have survived this long in the public eye because everything we do is calculated and perfect. You just threw them.”
“Because I’m not calculated and perfect. Because I get lost and fall off boats.”
“Because you’re different and free-spirited. And I miss that.”
She rolled her eyes. “And the falling off boats?”
He chuckled. “I even miss that as I wouldn’t get the chance to rescue you if you’re here and I’m back home.” He grasped her hand more tightly. “I mean it, come back with me. We’ll start again. Look, don’t say anything now, okay? Take some time and think it over.”
Pull away. Pull AWAY! She screamed at herself yet it was as if her hand was stuck in place. Leon! Think of Leon. But as she tried to focus, Ashton leaned in and gave her a kiss.
A sweet kiss that brought back so many memories. Familiar feelings washed over her taking her back to the ski slopes, the fluffy beds of eye-waveringly expensive hotels, the taste of liquor from expensive cocktails at exclusive parties…She pulled back.
“Think about what we could have together. How much fun we could get up to. It’ll be just like old times, but better, I promise,” he said.
What was he handing her here? It was like the keys to the universe, yet it left her cold.
She took a deep breath. She no longer wanted the universe. She wanted her job at Espresso Walk, Saturday afternoons at the football with Leon and that dinky, spray-painted trophy now sitting on her bedside table.
“Ashton, I’m sorry that you’ve come all this way if you were under the impression that I wanted to try again, but I’m seeing someone else. I really don’t feel the same way about you anymore.”
The Things We Never Knew Page 15
