Dedicated to amourkills for coming up with the previous chapter's title. Banner by emilymadison_16.
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Chapter 24: Choux à La Crème, Escargot, and Prince Charmings
"Hey, Kitten. Can I talk to you in private?" Ian's eyes shuffled around the table, darting from one person to the next.
Taken off guard by his sudden lack of attitude and quiet voice, it took me more time than it should have to nod. He took me by the hand and into the hallway, which was empty save for a few underclassmen that immediately scattered at the sight of Ian.
"What's going on, Ian?"
He serious expression was replaced with his usual smirk. "Nothing. I just wanted to get you alone."
My eyes immediately narrowed. "Why?" I asked suspiciously.
"I thought it would be rude to ask you in front of your friends."
He was being awfully vague today. I tapped my foot against the tiled floor. My leg wasn't always bouncing, but I enjoyed the sound it made. "Ask me what?"
"I need you to come with me to my dad's work party."
"That wasn't a question."
He rolled his eyes. "Will you go with me?"
"When is it?"
"Next Saturday. It's some posh event that he throws for his company. It's to help him make connections and having the family there gives him that 'family man' image that he doesn't have. And I'm going to be super bored there without you."
"Do I have to wear something fancy?"
"A formal gown."
"Would it be wrong to wear my prom dress from last year?"
He shrugged. "It's up to you. I'll pick you up around eight."
I nodded. "Okay, but I'm expecting good food."
"Trust me. My dad goes all out for this."
I wouldn't have agreed to go if I didn't know how much of a jerk Ian's dad was. I felt sorry for him, and he shouldn't have to walk around and act like his dad was Father of the Year. And if I was going to be a distraction from that, even minor, I would do it.
***
"Hey, Dad? Do you know where my prom dress is?" I called, shuffling through my closet. Once-neatly-hung-clothes were strewn throughout my room—on my bed, on the floor, everywhere.
He appeared in the doorway, remnants of sleep on his face. He was still in his pajamas: plaid pants and a grey t-shirt. Tufts of hair stuck up in different places, like a two year old rubbed gel in his hair. His stubble was dark, which meant that he hadn't shaved yet. He rubbed his eyes. "The one from last year?" he yawned.
I nodded, still frantically searching. "It's the long, blue one." I didn't bother mentioning the beading or the intricate detailing. It would just go through one ear and out the other.
"Oh, that one? I gave it to Pamela."
"Cousin Pamela? The one who lives across the country?"
"That's the one."
"Why would you do that? When did you do this?"
"You said you weren't going to wear it again! When they came over this summer, your aunt mentioned that Pam was growing up and going to prom next year. I told her that she could have your dress."
I groaned. "I just said that I was getting a different dress for Senior Prom."
"Whoops," he said with little apologetic tone in his voice. "What do you need it for anyways?"
"I'm going to a formal party and I need to wear the black-tie attire."
"So buy a new one."
"We can't afford it."
"I bet your mother has—"
I cut him off icily. "I'm not borrowing things from her."
"But she called me last night and said that you two were going to have lunch or something."
"She called you?"
He shrugged, looking a tad bit guilty. "We talk every once in a while."
"That's not healthy, Dad," I scolded.
"About you!" he defended. "It's not like I'm trying to win her back, Pumpkin."
"She's still your ex!"
"And she's still your mother and you will respect her. Understand?"
I had never seen him so annoyed and passionate about manners before, and it made me sort of irritated me because it was over my mother. Dad and I agreed on most everything, but Rochelle was not one of the things that we shared. Dad defended her and I did the opposite. It was obvious that his feelings for her had not faded away. It was sad that he hadn't moved on, but in a romantic's point of view, it was really quite sweet.
"Understood."
"Family is family. Family is supposed to be there even through all the mistakes and mess-ups. Call her." And then he left the room, shutting the door gently behind him.
I sighed, dialing her number. After three rings, I was sent to her voicemail. "Hi, you've reached Rochelle Summer's—" Oh, she kept the name. "—mailbox. Please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Beep."
"Hey, it's Charlotte. Call me back. I need to ask you something. Bye."
I pressed the screen in bitter annoyance, tossing it lightly onto my bed. I groaned and went to grab it.
If Dad could forgive Rochelle for shattering his heart into a million pieces multiple times, I could forgive Emma for sleeping with Luke. To be fair, I hadn't told her I was hopelessly in love with him. I kept it to myself. I shouldn't blame her. Luke was just so irresistible and charming when he wanted to be. Perhaps that was just my opinion of him. I thought he was always charming, even when he was completely disgusting. Luke was just someone I could be myself with, whoever I was. He accepted me. I just wasn't sure if I could accept him.
Immaturely and out of anger, I had deleted Emma's number. Only, I didn't really delete it. I mean, her contact in my phone was gone, but I knew the ten digits by heart. I had memorized it just in case I got stranded with only a payphone or a kind stranger's cellular device.
I dialed her number slowly, hearing the sound each number hummed when I pressed the screen. It rang twice before I heard her familiar voice. My heart ached. It had only been a week or two, but it felt like an eternity. Being a girl was lonely and not fun unless you had your BFF to share it with.
"Charlotte?"
"Emma," I breathed, unable to help the smile that was curving from my lips. "How are you?"
"Um, good, I guess. How are you?"
"I've been better."
"You're not mad anymore?"
I shook my head, even though she couldn't see me. "Not at you."
I heard her let out a breath. "Oh, thank goodness. I didn't know what I was going to do without you. I've been talking to Beth and Laurel, but it's not the same. They just don't understand my love for GU."
"Trust me, Emma," I laughed. "I understand your deep and passionate love for him."
"It's just that—" She sighed the sigh that only came when she thought of him. "—he's so beautiful and French. He's like a French pastry. God, he's yummy, Charlotte. I'm melting. I am literally melting. I just want him. Did I mention that he's French?"
Emma had an obsession with France. Her bedroom was Paris-themed, complete with a mini chandelier and a wall sticker of the Eiffel Tower. She had a closet full of Paris graphic tees and things that had French words on them. She had the Paris collections from Bath & Body Works. Her sweet sixteen party's theme was A Night in Paris. She wanted to try escargots because the French ate them, and she was in her fourth year of taking French.
I rolled my eyes. "What if I told you that he wasn't French?"
"I researched him, Charlotte." Her voice dropped to a deadly serious tone. "I know that he's French."
"You're such a stalker."
"Only when it comes to him! I'd stalk the world for him."
"Getting creepier, Em."
"Promise me that if you ever become famous that you'll hook me up."
"He's ten years older than year!"
"It's just a decade."
"Tenyears."
"It won't matter when I'm eighty."
"Fine, but I'm not going to be famous."
"Just promise me, please? Pretty please? Pretty please, with a pretty red cherry on top?"
"Okay! Okay! I promise."
"We'll be intertwining pinkies tomorrow at school."
"I figured."
"I bet GU has a pinkie," she piqued.
"I bet he does..."
"I bet it's a nice one..."
I listened to Emma gush about GU for hours, but I didn't mind. Not one bit because I had half of my best friends back. It reminded me of old times and how innocently (and sometimes not so innocent), bubbly, and sincere she could be. It was contagious and I couldn't help but add that GU had nice lips, to which she responded with a squeal and an "I know, right?!"
***
Rochelle called me back. I asked if she would be willing to let me borrow some of her non-promiscuous formalwear. I didn't say "promiscuous formalwear" to her, though. I said "appropriate dresses." She then asked what my definition of appropriate was. I face palmed and hung up the phone. I told Dad and he told me to call her back. She'll be arriving anytime soon. Dad said he was going to the grocery store, but I think that meant he was going to go to his friend Matthew's house.
It had been ten minutes since we hung up and she was due any moment now. I sat anxiously on the porch swing, nervously kicking the thin, old carpeting that covered the wooden panels. I tapped my fingers on the sides of the swing, looking up at every car noise. I heard the unfamiliar tires of a yellow convertible pull into my driveway. The purr of the engine was silented and I heard the driver's door slam shut. The click of high heels echoed. I saw her open the backseat and grab an armful of dresses. They came in an array of colors of all different lengths and designs.
My heart rate increased. I felt like it was about to burst out of my chest at any given second. My palms felt clammy and sweaty. I hadn't seen Rochelle in years; I hadn't wanted to. And here I was inviting her to my home. She was just a few seconds and a glance away. It was somewhat nerve-wracking.
I felt emotions wash over me as she stepped into view. Other than a few pictures that Dad had lying around, I never really knew what her face looked like. I was too young to have an image of her from my perspective. It was surreal, a dream. When I was younger, I always thought of the day where my mother would come to me and my dad to rejoin our family. As I grew older, I learned that this possibility was only a child's hope. I think that was the year where I had constantly watched The Parent Trap.
And the day where I gotten the opportunity to convince her to come back to us was here. And there was no way in Hell I'd take it. It was not beneficial to me anymore. It was to her. It felt good to be the one on the other side. I didn't want our "broken" family to be reformed again. It was just beginning to heal. In fact, it did heal. I think Dad was getting ready to go on his first date in years, but then she had to show herself again.
People always said that I was the spitting image of her. I responded to it by spitting in their faces. When I was younger, I took it as a compliment. In my eyes, even though she abandoned me, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. But now, all I saw was a selfish, putrid human being who didn't deserve happiness. Her hair fell in ringlets down to the middle of her back, almost reaching her waist. It was as if every shade of brown was present in her thousands of hair strands. Her complexion was clear, almost as clear as her eyes—the color of young, spring leaves. She was around 5'7" and probably a size four. Every part of her looked very...neat.
She saw me on the porch, and I swear her eyes lit up. She smiled and waved. It wasn't one of those regal pageant waves that I expected her to do. It was one where the fingers folded down, like you were waving to a baby.
"Hello, Charlotte!" she greeted. There was a tiny bounce in her step.
I gave her the half sun wave, as if saying "Sayonara."
Reluctantly, I led her into the house and upstairs to my room. She scanned the bedroom with her eyes, drinking in all the tiny details. She spent the most time looking at my photo collage, probably looking to see if there was a picture in there of her. I had a picture of her—I had stolen it from Dad—and kept it behind a picture of the entire Summer's family at our annual family reunion. I kept it well hidden though. The corners matched up exactly.
"You can put the dresses on my bed if you want. I imagine they're heavy."
I wasn't sure if I genuinely cared about her when I said that, or I just wanted her to stop looking—and judging—my photographs. I was assuming the latter
She nodded and did as I suggested. "Do you see anything that you like?"
I saw some prom-type dresses, all bright and vivid in color; cocktail dresses, some more revealing than others. But these had to have been the most modest ones in her collection. I'm glad she didn't bring the other ones. Although Rochelle was pretty, she still birthed me and I didn't particularly want to see any "family" member in such scanty clothing.
Strangely enough, one did catch my eye. The pizzazz of it paled in comparison to the other gowns. It was cream and it was made out of tulle. The single strap looked firm, as if to make up for the absence of the other one. There were tiny flowers sewn onto the strap. I think the simplicity is what drew me to it. Simple was beautiful.
Rochelle noticed me looking at it and held it up. "You like this one?"
I nodded almost hesitantly. Was I scared of looking bad in her eyes? Like I didn't want to be in a bad light because of my dress choice?
But then I realized. The dress was hers, so she has to like it.
Her lip moved to the left side of her face, as if thinking deeply about something. "Huh."
I frowned. What did she mean by "huh"? I waited for her to finish her thought.
When she didn't, I asked, "What?"
"I just wasn't expecting you to pick that dress is all. But now that I think about it, you look like the kind of girl who would."
I couldn't help that the comment made my nose flare up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, it's nothing bad. It's just not as intricate and eye-catching as the others."
"Are you saying that I'm a bland person?"
"I don't know you well enough to say that," she said calmly. She sounded so adult-ish. "I'm saying that if you wanted to make a splash at this party, that you would pick a different dress."
"I sort of just want to blend in."
She nodded. "Of course. When is this gathering?"
"This gathering"—I resisted my urge to snicker—"if you must know, is tomorrow."
"I hope it fits. If not, I can hem it real quick. Well, go ahead. Try it on." She shoved the hanger into my arms.
I shifted from foot to foot nervously, waiting for her to get out so I could change
She stood there expectantly with her hand placed on her hip. "Well?"
"I just...um...could you...?" I pointed awkwardly towards the exit.
"Oh! I guess I'll just wait out here." She sidestepped out of the room and shut the door.
It took ten or fifteen seconds for me to feel comfortable enough to strip. Just knowing that she was only a couple of feet away from me while I was naked made me want to cover myself with the nearest blanket. I locked the door as silently as I could for a precaution. Even though the door could easily be pushed open with a hard shove, the tiny metals that magically turned into a barrier helped me feel secure. And for that, I owed it much of my gratitude.
What on Earth was I doing? I was thanking a door for what? Shielding me from Rochelle? I could easily do that with a spritz of cheap perfume or insect repellant, not that I had any, unless you considered my body spray from Bath & Body Works.
I wriggled the dress up my body. The tulle on the skirt scraped against my legs. I looked in the mirror. It was certainly a pretty dress, but I felt instantly embarrassed as I looked at the brown stubble on my legs. I hadn't shaven in a week, maybe a week and a half, and I couldn't escape to the bathroom to eliminate the hair because that would seem suspicious.
"Are you done yet?" Rochelle called through the door.
"Uh...hold on a second!" I said, still mortified that I was a disgusting creature.
The bright idea to wear nylons came to me. As I felt the cool, velvety texture of them slide up my legs, I felt victorious. I would make a mental note to shave more often. Not every other day, but maybe twice a week. That sounded somewhat reasonable.
This new beauty ritual sounded expensive. I thought of all the new razor blades and cans of shaving cream I'd have to buy. For a normal person, a can of shaving cream might last them a month or two, depending on how often they shave. When I shaved, it was like someone broke out the whipped cream and wanted to have a party. I didn't mean to use so much of it, it just happened. I didn't want to take the risk of performing amateur surgery on my thighs. It would only end in disaster.
"Wow!" Rochelle exclaimed with a beam almost as sparkly as her glittery high heels. "You looked breathtaking, Charlotte. You're absolutely beautiful. Whoever your date is a lucky man."
I blushed and became flustered at her compliments. "Thanks."
"Do you think I could come over here and do your hair and makeup? I don't want to overstep by boundaries or anything, though," she added quickly, but hopefully.
Family is family, Dad's words echoed through my head as I chose my answer. I nodded. "Sure. I'd like that. Thank you."
The heartwarming smile that broke out made me want to give her a hug. I restrained myself, but if she knew, I was sure she'd appreciate the gesture. If Tyler had been witnessing this moment, I felt like he would be proud. He would do the little half smile I sometimes imagined he did. I thought it was his little way without saying anything. He wasn't a person who expressed their feelings through words, but his actions were more powerful. If Luke were here he'd send me two thumbs up with that cheeky grin of his. After Rochelle left he'd tell me that I was a strong person, even though he knew nothing about strength. Not yet, anyways.
***
I watched Ian's limo slow to a stop in front of my house. Even though I had ridden in it before, the excitement was still there. It was a luxury I knew I wouldn't have when he finally realized that chasing me wasn't worth it and that the game was pointless because no good would come after we graduated.
Per usual, the chauffer opened the door for me. "Miss Summers," he said politely, helping me inside the vehicle. "You look stunning tonight."
I giggled. "Thank you."
Ian sat in an Armani suit with a silky red tie. He smiled easily and patted the seat next to him. "Take a seat next to me, Kitten."
I scooted over to him, holding my dress so I wouldn't trip over it and expose certain lady parts that Ian didn't need to see. He opened the fridge and offered me something to drink. I declined politely.
"You look gorgeous, but you always do," he flirted with a wink.
I rolled my eyes. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Ian."
"I don't know. It's gotten me this far, hasn't it? I am in the Top Three."
"Top Three? I thought it was Top Four, Top Five if you count Luke."
"There are only three of us left in the game," Ian explained. "Beckett and Alec are out, which was expected. And then there's me, Tyler, and Luke left. If I had to put my money on the next person who'll quit, it'd be Tyler."
"Why? What's wrong with Tyler?"
"I can't see him taking your virginity."
"But you can see yourself and Luke taking it?"
"Kitten, the whole world can see you and Luke together. And a man's got to have confidence in himself. That's the attitude of a winner. You should know this."
We were about a mile out of Addison's city limits. I had passed the venue only a couple of times when we went to visit my Great Aunt Velma. She was an old, batty woman who collected teacups. She didn't like Dad much and she thought I was a disgrace to the family. Needless to say, our visits were brief and rare.
Men in suits held the door open for us and about fifty other people. I instantly felt out of place. Except for me and Ian, everybody here was in their mid-thirties to late-forties. I loved the dress I had on, but I felt so bulky compared to the sleek cocktail dresses that the other women had on. I felt like a reject at a high school prom, the one girl who stood in the corner drinking the spiked punch.
I saw Mr. Jameson walking around and conversing with the guests. He looked like he was schmoozing up to someone that could benefit his company. Ian definitely got his charm from his dad and they both pulled it out when they needed it. Unlike Ian's father, I didn't think Ian had a heart that was so corrupted to the point where he would harm his (future) child. There was no doubt in my mind that he would be a father given with the amount of girls he's had contact with, if he wasn't already. Whether he would make a good father or not, I wouldn't know. But at least he'd respect them. That I knew.
Just as Ian promised, the food was delectable. My original intent was to not look piggish as I bombarded the white-clothed tables, but I found that wasn't possible. One crystal dish—Mr. Jameson didn't hold back on anything—could only hold so much. I went through, maybe, seven dishes of appetizers, main dishes, and desserts. It was buffet style, but it seemed like I was the only one getting food.
"These are the most scrumptious things I've ever had, Kitten," Ian moaned, cramming a couple of cream puffs into his mouth. I was surprised his mouth could open that wide, but I guess I should've expected it with all the crap that came out of it daily.
Ian only had cream puffs, but he already had two plates of them. Some stacked on top of the other because he was too lazy to go back and get another plate. He said it was "convenient" and that his father would be proud of him for being innovative. If it was possible to get drunk off of cream, Ian would be the one to do it.
"Ian!" I scolded. "Could you eat any more, I don't know, messier?" I couldn't find the right word to describe how he was eating the pastry.
Ian winked. "I'll do it if you want me to, Kitty."
It took me a second to realize that he was saying a sexual innuendo. I pushed my empty plate towards the center of the table. I wrinkled my nose. "Are you really doing to do this now?"
"What? You want me to do it in public with my father's guests witnessing? It's a little bit kinky, but who am I to say no to a beautiful girl? I didn't know that you were an exhibitionist."
"I meant the dirty jokes!" I exclaimed. "And I'm not kinky or an exhibitionist."
"I think that you just need to find your inner freak. I can help you, if you'd like."
I shook my head hastily. "I wouldn't like that. Thank you very much."
"No problem, babe. I'm just trying to help the world one woman at a time. Seriously, you have to try a cream puff."
"I did."
"You had one. You need at least five to experience the true joy that comes with eating these babies."
"I've had enough food, Ian. I could probably go a month on the fat reserves that I'm going to get from tonight."
"You'll never be fat in my eyes."
I rolled my eyes. "And your compliments will never be taken seriously."
"Why not?" he demanded while licking the cream filling off of his fingers.
I gave him a look. "Because, Ian, you're you."
"What does me being a gorgeous model have anything to do with my generous compliments? The compliments are just a fraction of my admiration for you."
"Because of that!" I cried, standing up and pointing at him. "You're so sarcastic and you're almost never genuine!"
He wiped an imaginary tear away from his eye. "That hurts, Kitten. It really does."
"You'll get over it."
"Will I?"
"You bounce back pretty quickly. I guess that's an all right quality to have."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Just 'all right'? I'm like a boomerang, baby."
When Mr. Jameson finally made his way over to our table, few words were exchanged. He said "hello" to me and that I looked "nice." I saw the look of disapproval in his eyes, one of the worst a parent could give their child. It was as if they were silently having a conversation, or in this case, argument. As always, Mr. Jameson won. Ian grabbed my hand and slowly stalked away from the crowd that was gathering around his father.
"What was that about?" I asked when he had led me outside.
Ian shrugged. "It's just him. He wants me to take over his company and I don't want that! Once I make a name for myself, I want nothing to do with him. I'm just afraid that his name will be the cause of the legacy I'm hoping to leave."
"Ian," I said softly. I didn't know what to say. My father never pressured me into anything. I knew that Dad would support my dreams, even if they were a little impractical.
"It's fine, Charlotte. I've dealt with it my entire life. I can handle him." He let out a chuckle that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Sometimes I just wish..."
I tilted my head to the side and lightly rested my hand on his. "What do you wish for?"
"I want to be free. I know I have no curfew and cars and private planes at my disposal, but I feel like I'm indebted to my parents. They paid for all of it. I don't think I'll be truly happy until it's really mine."
The person who was speaking wasn't the Ian I had met. He was arrogant and superficial and a pain to be around. That Ian was a completely different person from the Ian I had gotten to know. Even if our relationship started as a game and would still continue as one, I had learned to cherish it. Ian was more than meets the eye (which he was very easy on, by the way). I made myself refuse that Ian could be more than just another person who fell under the category of "beauty is only skin deep" that was trying to steal my innocence in a way that was friendlier than rape. Beneath his shell of the things that the media adored were emotions, both good and bad; fears; dreams. His shell was beginning to crack, letting the real him shine through and explore what the real world had to offer him.
He was in a tough spot right now, but wasn't that how all stars started out? As manipulatable gases that under pressure could fuse into beautiful stars or seemingly powerful nebulas that collapsed into pieces until it eventually formed a star? I believed that if Ian gathered enough determination and believed in his abilities, then he would get to the top of the chain.
"That's really deep, Ian," I said. "You've had a lot of time to think about it, haven't you?"
He shrugged, a small smile creeping onto his lips. "Sometimes showers serve a purpose other than cleansing the body."
I didn't realize why showers were where all the deep thinking happened, where the water was shallowest. People shower nude, where you're most vulnerable. When you're vulnerable, you're at your weakest. And when you're at your weakest, you discover the strengths about yourself.
"I'm hungry," Ian suddenly said. "Do you want to go back inside? There are still a lot of cream puffs left and I just got a craving for them."
I laughed, making an unsure face. "You've been loving on the cream puffs for a while now. Why don't you try something new for a change?"
"I don't like change."
"Change is good," I insisted.
"I like things to stay the same."
"If you don't change the world, the world will change you."
He poked me. "Now who's the deep one?"
"Ian." There wasn't a reason for me to speak. Maybe I wanted to fill the awkward void with words or maybe I just wanted to say his name.
"New things can be great, but they can also be the cause of an opportunity missed in the past."
"Is there something you would like to share, Ian?" I asked with my eyebrows crinkling.
He smiled. "Yes. I was hoping that you would ask that."
"What is it?"
He held up a plate with seven cream puffs creatively placed on it. "Have a cream puff."
"I will if you eat a chocolate éclair," I bargained.
He took a small bite and painfully swallowed it, washing it down with more cream puffs.