🎵Art Deco — Lana Del Rey
My head is pounding, but all I can hear is the harsh ring of my cellphone. I groan, reaching over to where it's laid on the nightstand.
"Hello?" I mumble. My voice sounds horrible. I'm in dire need of some water; my throat is drier than a desert.
"Ella!" Lydia shrieks over the phone. I wince. Too loud. "I've been trying to call you for hours, are you okay?"
I open my eyes, quickly removing the phone from my ear then back again to look at the time. It's two in the afternoon.
"Fine, just hungover," I grumble with a small smile, throwing my legs over the bed as I get up to go to the bathroom. My smile vanishes as I remember last night's events; it all comes flooding back into my head — dancing at Hydrate, seeing Harry there, going to the penthouse, dancing on the counter, Harry tending to my knee...
"Did he take you home?" Lydia presses over the phone, interrupting my stream of thoughts. I'm livid with myself — all this self-control that I've worked so hard on, only for it to crumble as soon as I see him. My stomach begins to churn as I remember Harry staying with me in my bed.
"Lyds, let me call you back? I'm feeling nauseous," I say quickly before hanging up. I lunge over to the toilet, unleashing the contents of my stomach just in time. I let him stay in my bed. My bed.
Granted, we didn't have sex — but somehow, him staying in my bed for however long it was, with his hands on my skin, that feels far more intimate than sex. And the idea of that unsettles me.
I vow to never drink to that point again and I vow to never allow myself to get that drunk that I let my guard down.
I stand back up, flushing the toilet and head over to the sink. As I brush my teeth, I let my thoughts settle in my mind.
I'm just trying to be a better man, he said. I nearly snort some toothpaste up my nose. How ridiculous! All of a sudden, now when he's lost me, he wants to be a better man?
I knew parts of him were genuine last night, I could just tell by looking in his eyes. But then again, how certain am I of his sincerity? He's done the unspeakable to me in the past. I spit the toothpaste out, rinsing my mouth again. I stare at my reflection in the mirror as I continue to think.
This is exactly what I didn't want; I've gone three months without letting the thought of him flood my mind. Of course, I've thought of him here and there, but this constant wondering and confusion only makes me feel crazy. I've worked too hard to protect my energy, especially from him, and it seems just from the sight of him, I easily lose my sanity.
I tried reaching out to you, another thing he said last night. Again, I still don't know what to make of that. I don't know what his intentions were with last night.
No, I know exactly what his intentions were — he always does this, after all, I do know him better than anyone else. He crawls back when things are convenient for him. He took my love for granted, and now when he fucked up, he realizes? He is the reason that we're here where we are now.
Out of curiosity, I exit the bathroom and walk over to the top left drawer of my dresser. I fish through the clothes until my fingers wrap around it. My old cellphone. I pull out, sliding my finger to the power button.
I left voicemails, he said. I purse my lips as the phone turns on, and an influx of calls and messages flood the screen. I swallow hard; I see glimpses of messages from Harry, but I ignore them as I press the button that leads to my voicemails. With a shaky hand, I hold the phone up to my ear.
"Aurelia," Harry says on the message, and my heart flips in my chest. "I've looked all over London for you, baby, where are you? Please call me back.
The message ends, but another one soon begins to play. Countless voicemails sound like the first one, until I get to one that sounds a bit different.
"Aurelia," Harry starts off on the message. "I miss you, I miss everything about you." His words sound jumbled and he's slurring — a sure sign he was drunk when he left this voicemail.
"I fucked up, baby. I know I'm arrogant, I know I'm too proud at times, but fuck, I'm trying, Ella. I just want to be better for you, I know it shouldn't have taken me losing you to realize this," Harry speaks. He sounds frustrated and I hear him sigh on the message. "Maybe we can be friends? Fuck, Ella, I don't know. I can't be just friends with you. It's not easy being jealous and I hate that I am the way that I am...I want to change that. I love y—"
The voicemail ends; he must have exceeded the time limit. I remove the phone from my ear, staring at it while I let my thoughts simmer.
Do I love him?
Of course I do. No amount of time or space could change the love I have for this man, despite how badly he hurt me. Maybe that's pathetic of me.
Do I trust him?
I don't know. I don't know how I can begin to trust him again after everything we've gone through.
It shouldn't have taken me losing you to realize this.
He's right; it shouldn't have. Frustrated, I grab the old cellphone and toss it into the trash.
One Week Later
"What a night," Brad groaned as we stepped into his car. I nodded with a yawn, grateful to finally be seated. It was Friday night — well, technically, the early hours of Saturday morning — and my shift at Lotus had just ended with Brad closing up the club for the night.
"I can't believe you had to break up that fight," I laughed, shaking my head in disbelief as he drove off. It was the most insane thing I've ever seen; two men were brawling on the floor in Lotus, and even the security were unable to pull them apart. Brad laughed with me.
"I know! I've never seen such a bad fight in my club, I need to hire better security," Brad said with a shake of his head and I laughed again. The air was crisp — the beginning of December had finally approached; it felt like it was just summer. Brad finally pulled off and I put the window up, not wanting to get risk catching a cold.
"Oh, I've been meaning to ask you earlier, but with the whole fight and all I didn't get a chance to," Brad suddenly said, stopping at the light. I turned to look at him, tilting my head to the side in curiosity.
"I know it's super last minute, but I only found out earlier today," Brad started, pressing the gas as the light turned green.
"Spit it out," I teased and Brad laughed.
"I'm invited to a charity art gala at the Ritz tomorrow night — well, tonight," he corrected, "and I know how much you appreciate art, well, I think you do, with the art up on your walls in your apartment..." I bit my lips to suppress my laughter; he was babbling.
"And well, I was wondering if you'd be my date — strictly platonic, of course! Just friends!" Brad added and I threw my head back in laughter.
"Are you nervous, Brad?" I teased as he rolled his eyes with a light laugh. "I'd love to be your date," I added with a smile. I saw the relief and then the excitement flood through Brad's eyes.
"Really?" He asked, quickly glancing over at me. I smiled at him again as he turns down another street. I was almost at my apartment.
"Strictly platonic," I joked and Brad laughed again.
"It's in the ballroom at the Ritz, so the dress code is formal," he added and I nodded. Formal. Did I own any formal dresses? I'd have to ask Lydia for help...
Which is why Lydia is over at my apartment, bright and early on a Saturday morning, with an armful of dresses. I groan as I rest my elbows on the kitchen island.
"Now how the hell are you here so early? And how did you even know about this?" I ask, taking a sip of my hot coffee. It burns my tongue, but it's too cold in my apartment, and I refuse to wait. Lydia emerges from my bedroom, walking into the kitchen. She places a hand on her hip.
"Men talk, you know," she says. "I heard Brad telling Jax about it on the phone yesterday, so I took my chances and got these dresses beforehand," Lydia replies, stealing my coffee mug and taking a sip of her own. Despite the brisk cold, the morning sun gleams through the windows, its rays dancing against the reflection of my refrigerator.
"How were you so sure I'd say yes? And how did you even get these dresses?"
Lydia rolls her eyes with a snort. "Fuck, you always ask a billion questions, Ella! Will you just shut up and drink your coffee so you can try them on?"
I roll my eyes this time, but smile. What's that thing that Lydia always says? I can read you like a book.
Of course, she'd know I'd say yes to Brad. As for the dresses, well, I know her better than anyone else, too; I know for sure there's a boutique a few minutes away from the tattoo shop, and no doubt Lydia charmed whoever worked there for these dresses.
Once I finish my coffee, Lydia grips my elbow and tugs me towards my bedroom, insisting that I strip and put on one of the three dresses she's brought.
The first is a beautiful, deep emerald with a halter style. The fabric is velvet, soft to the touch. It cascades down my frame nicely, but I frown when I look in the mirror.
"What?" Lydia demands from where she's seated on my bed. I swallow before I shake my head.
"No green," I reply simply, reaching over to pull down the zipper. This emerald dress looks too similar to a pair of eyes that I'd rather not think of right now. Lydia nods, not pressing me further, and simply retrieves the dress from my hands.
She hands me a gorgeous pink, almost like the color of salmon, strapless dress. Once I put it on, Lydia gasps from behind me. It falls elegantly on my frame, accentuating my figure. The color seems to make my skin tone pop, despite how pale I've seem to have gotten from the cold winter.
"Holy fuck," Lydia says quietly and a smile creeps up onto my face. I don't even need to try on the third dress — this is the one. Lydia seems to agree as she claps her hands in delight.
We spend the rest of the day — well, Lydia spends the rest of the day — helping me get ready before Brad comes to pick me up. I tell her we really don't need that much time, it's just a simple art gala, but Lydia insists on helping me curl my hair and do my makeup.
"So, you finally agreed to a date with Brad, huh?" She teases. If she wasn't applying eyeshadow on me, I'd roll my eyes.
"We're going as friends," I reply and Lydia giggles to herself. I know she's excited for me; I haven't heard from or seen him since last week. I know Lydia is happy that my attention is otherwise occupied, and so am I — I'm still upset over the fact I caved so easily and allowed him into my apartment — but, a small, silly part of me can't held but wonder...is he still in the city?
I shake the thought away as I listen in to Lydia prattling about her and Jax's plans for the weekend — they're leaving tonight to spend the week upstate with Jax's family, she's officially meeting his parents and I can hear the excitement in her voice. I smile to myself; nothing makes me more happy than seeing my best friend so happy.
About an hour or two passes, with Lydia finishing up my makeup and hair and helps me into my dress, when there's a soft knock at the door. Lydia grins, grabbing the clutch she got me and thrusting it into my hands. She steers me towards my door as I open it — Brad is stood in an elegant, dark tuxedo. He's holding a bouquet of roses and his mouth seems to part as he looks at me.
"Wow, Ella, you look amazing," Brad says, almost in awe. I feel the blush creeping onto my cheeks, the one that I always seem to get whenever someone compliments me, and I laugh.
"You don't look too bad yourself," I tease and Brad laughs with me. He seems to suddenly remember the bouquet of roses in his hand, and he holds it out to me.
"I didn't know what your favorite flowers are, so I got you some roses," he says. Lydia takes them from me, already rummaging in my cupboard for a vase. I smile at him.
"They're lovely!"
"Okay!" Lydia chirps from behind me. "You two get going, make sure you have your keys Ella, I'll lock the door when I leave. Have fun!" Lydia says, pushing me out the door and towards Brad.
I roll my eyes but blow her a kiss after instructing her to text me when she and Jax arrive at his parents' house. She waves me off. Brad and I head down into the lobby, out of my apartment building, and into the limousine.
"I'm kind of nervous," I admit, fumbling with my fingers as we sit in the back. Brad smiles genuinely at me.
"I know, it seems fancy, but a lot of my good friends will be there. And it's for a great cause! I have a feeling you'll fall in love with the art," Brad says and I smile back at him. I really appreciate him taking the time to consider how much I appreciate art, just by looking at the few paintings Estelle created that I have hung up in the apartment.
My thoughts must be all-consuming, because before I know it, the driver pulls up to the Ritz. I already see a few people walking in, dressing formally.
Brad steps out first before reaching out for me. I take his hand, looping it around his arm once we're out, and we step into the grand hotel.
The lobby is stunning and screams elegance; the floors are polished and a huge chandelier hangs from the ceiling. There's a long pathway to the check-in desk, but Brad steers me to the left towards a big set of doors that everyone seems to be going through.
The ballroom — I suck in a gasp. The ballroom is another scene of elegance, though more grand than the lobby. Tables are on one side of the room, surrounding the dancefloor. There's people everywhere with beautiful flower arrangements set in the middle on each of the tables, but my eyes go straight to the art. The artwork is set on pedestals around the room; from here, I can already see the various swirls of color and the beauty radiating off of the paintings.
"Brad, this is....wow!" I gasp again, turning to look at him. He grins at me.
"I knew you'd like it."
My eyes don't leave the artwork as Brad leads us to our table, where a few people are already seated. They smile genuinely at Brad and I as we take our seats. In front of us are little cards with numbers on them; mine says 6 while Brad's says 7.
"So how does this work?" I ask. A waiter walks by with a tray holding glasses of bubbly champagne, and Brad grabs two for him and I. I take a sip — wow, it's definitely expensive champagne.
"So, it's a silent auction. I don't know if you can see from here, but there's a little sheet on each table besides the paintings. Say I want to purchase that painting," Brad says, pointing to a painting that depicts the crashing ocean under a sunny sky — golden yellow hues and blue tints of color seem to mix together. "I'd write my bidding number, since it's all anonymous, and then how much I'll offer, and whoever bids the highest will get the painting, they'll announce it at the end of the night."
I nod. "Ah, I see..." I trail off. That must be what these little numbered cards for; our bidding number if we decide to bid.
"Bradley!" A man appears suddenly behind Brad. He's brown-haired and wearing a tux similar to Brad's. He claps Brad on the shoulder and Brad turns, a grin on his face as he gets up and hugs the man.
"James, how are you?" Brad says.
"I'm doing well, you didn't tell me you'd be here! And you didn't tell me you'd have such a stunning date as well," James jokes, reaching over to shake my hand.
"James Calloway," he introduces himself and I smile at him as I take his hand.
"Ella Bardot," I reply as we shake hands.
"And we're just friends," Brad says with a roll of his eye at the remark James made before turning to me. "James and I grew up together, our fathers went to grad school with one another."
"Really?" I ask with a genuine smile. Small world.
"Yeah, my old man is here actually, he's in town for the weekend. He'd love to talk to you," James says to Brad before he turns to me. "Do you mind if I steal your date, Ella?"
I laugh, waving him off. "I don't mind at all!"
Brad turns a shade of pink at the word "date" and I bite back my laughter. "I'm sorry, Ella," he says as James walks off. "It'll only be a minute, you can look at the art in the meanwhile?" Brad suggests and I nod.
"Don't apologize! I was planning on that anyways, you know where to find me," I reply with a smile and Brad quickly kisses my cheek before he follows James — the action has me taken aback, but I'm not mad about it; it felt nice.
I rise from the table, heading over to the pedestals. As I near the paintings, my eyes land upon one immediately. No one is looking at it; they're too immersed in the others, but this one has a pull on me.
The painting depicts a full moon, it almost looks real with just how detailed it is. It's almost as if flecks of light bounce off it, radiating actual moonlight. The moon casts down on a little garden, with dark hues of red and violets to coincide with the night. Under the moon is are the silhouettes of a couple in dance.
La danse au clair de lune, the painting's name reads.
"The Moonlit Dance," a deep, English accent speaks from behind me. I jump, startled as I look back.
My eyes meet those green irises that seem to follow me everywhere.
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i took longer than usual with this one because i didn't want to split it in two! thank you all for being so patient!!
i wanna say there's about 10 or so chapters left, give or take, so the rest of the action will pick up again in the next chapter! i've already written the beginning chapters of the sequel, but more on that later....
loveeeee,
ashley