Aiden felt like he could puke.
The upbeat music playing through the rendezvous didn’t help. Or the obvious presences of different celebrities shifting into various poses for the paparazzi’s viewing pleasure. If somebody told him back when he was still in university he’d meet Alessandro Michele in a grand Italian venue in a couple of years, he would definitely laugh at them and call them crazy.
He was surprised with himself when he wasn’t even too starstrucked shaking hands with the Anna Wintour—since he just wanted to distract himself with something because he badly needs air to maintain his nerves.
Aiden wasn’t afraid of losing; he simply doesn’t allow himself to lose, without being horribly compulsive about it. Like back in high school he didn’t pressure his team mates to play better in that match they played against another local school, he just had to force himself to make six service aces to make up for the points they’ve lost due to their lack of practice.
A pair of interviewers has approached him at least a few times before proceeding with another soul by the carpet. The pair’s continuous bombardment of questions were almost focused on the same topic about his perspective towards his career—until the duo was also interested in his early university life, if he had been with anyone before.
Aiden was just glad Elsa wasn’t there to notice the blush plastered on the female reporter’s face as she momentously fanned herself throughout the questionnaire.
“Hey.”
His eyes left his feet. Aiden shot the blond in front of him a weak smile tiredly. Even from a short distance, he could inhale her heady scent which smelled like vanilla. “Hi,” he did all he could to subdue his incoming yawn.
“The awarding’s in an hour,” Exactly the reason why bile was threatening to rise from his throat, “Are you okay?”
His smile grew into a full one. He loved it whenever she asks out of concern. Aiden nodded, “I’m a bit nervous, but hey, still breathing,” he joked. Elsa chuckled at his little consolation and linked his arm around hers, “You’re not doubting yourself again, are you?”
Aiden shook his head vigorously, gaze turning firm. “I promised, elskede.”
Elsa’s breath hitched.
The second the nickname dribbled off his mouth, Elsa repeated the oh so sweet sound again and again in her mind. Her grip around his biceped arm tightened, her teeth digging into the soft flesh of her bottom lip. Her heart hammered against her chest wildly.
“W-what did you just c-call me?” she blushed.
“Oh. Am I using it wrong? I’m sure I translated it right, right? Oh, damn it Google, way to go,” Aiden murmured anxiously.
“No! I mean, n-no, you’re perfect–I mean, your pronunciation is great! I didn’t know you’d be interested to learn it,” Elsa giggled softly, “You wanted to learn because of me?”
Aiden shyly nods, “Yes.”
Elsa’s blush grew shades darker. Claiming victory was minutes away and his presence already tempts her to kiss him. They’ve once talked about her Scandinavian roots, while it is no secret she is wholly Norwegian. Jævla det, bare kyss meg, she grunted quietly.
“Please return to your seats as the official announcement of awardees will now commence.”
Thank heavens the Creative Director was swift to lead the couple back into their designated seats. Aiden was shuddering as he was basked in sweat, the layers of clothes he’s wearing were no explanation, but his apprehension is.
There were only two awards which can be claimed by either the same brand or two different brands, that was what the two trophies screamed at every hopeful candidate in attendance. Best Season Collection; Elsa told an anticipating Aiden, was the most honorable award a brand could ever receive, just with its significance.
In terms of financial gain, it can boost a brand’s reputation which can cause the flow of profit to escalate high, and other benefits Elsa was quite aware of.
The International Award can only be surrendered to a sole Creative Director representing their particular brand—a decision also up to some of the authorized fashion critics up by the front—the people with a sharp eye.
“Love.”
Coruscating emeralds met icy sapphires. Upon her affectionate call, Aiden could never get tired of the nickname slipping off her tongue. Those may be merely four letters, but it only symbolized how close he had gotten to that heart of hers, which used to be so hesitant to love someone else than family.
He was more than honored.
“... Whatever happens—a loss shouldn’t dictate what you should feel about yourself.”
Elsa gasped softly once warmth abruptly engulfed her smaller frame. She could feel his tears cascade down the fabric of her sleeve, but she couldn’t care. Her nose buried in the citrus scent of his hair, she felt every ounce of gratitude surging past his now stabilizing heartbeat.
Ring.
“I-i have to take this,” Elsa whispered, raising the buzzing phone up to her ear, “I’ll be back in a bit.”
The designer gave the blond’s hand one last squeeze before her hand lost contact with his and she walked away to a spot promising privacy. Aiden returned his concentration back to the host’s ongoing speech, his hands clasped together and pressed against his lips in silent plea.
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
“Feeling better little darling?”
The little boy offered his mother a coerced smile that made his dimples numb. At the early age of seven, he always thought it was more worth it to put an effort to raise his mother’s lowly spirits than his own; and it did feel better, and when he saw the same expression tugging on his mother’s lips, his smile reached his eyes.
Helena ruffled her son’s head and dropped a lofty kiss on his scalp, “Knew chocolate chip would make it better. Always works like a charm,” Except that the dessert cone in her son’s grasp wasn’t the one that made him happy.
“I’m so sorry mama,” she heard him faintly mumble.
“I can’t have you apologizing for none. You did your best, the judges were just playing foul eenie-meenie picking a winner,” Helena couldn’t help but scoff with an unceasing grin.
“But Nathan’s painting looked prettier.”
“To them it does,” She bent down to the child’s height, “To me yours looked gorgeous. I knew you wanted to win hun, but not everything in life is free candy. You’ll just have to work harder next time.”
“I don’t know...” he murmured.
“You’ll know when you try, sweetheart.”
“But after I try and I still lose, why do you still stay mama?”
Why does she, really?
Because she knew she’ll see him win this time? No, no, that was too far of a common answer but Helena did believe in her son. Because it was her obligation as a mother to be there and support her son? Most definitely not.
She doesn’t entirely know. Helena just liked being around him whenever he wins, he’ll be happy then and she liked seeing her son happy. He loses, then she’ll be around to hold him tight and encourage him to keep going until he finally makes it.
She doesn’t know.
Not yet.
“Someday, when you’re older, I’ll tell you.”
“Someday is a long time!” Aiden whined.
“But it also means mama will always be here for you, up until someday,” Helena stuck out her tongue, “Mama will grow old with you no matter what you say, I won’t be so easy to get rid of. Stick that into your stubborn little head.”
“My head’s not stubborn!”
“If only you know how much it is,” Helena smirked.
“Well then, I got it from you!” the six year old snickered.
“Smart boy,” Helena laughed, “Finish up that cone, hun, so we can go home.”
“M’kay!”
That was exactly what she meant. A few minutes ago her little boy was down in the dumps and now he had that cheeky grin plastered on his face as she watched him skip towards the parlor’s exit in a giddy dash whilst finishing the cold treat.
I won’t need to tell you why, Helena chuckled. I’ll stay anyway. That is every reason why.
To be continued
on the next chapter...