Page 103 of A Certain Appeal
Walking in, I place my steps to the side of the rug, letting my heels click on the floorboards to announce my arrival. He looks my way and I stop short, momentarily breathless at the intensity in his gaze. It’s that wonder again. There’s no getting used to it.
“Wow,” he says.
I continue toward him, executing a turn to reveal how little there is to the back of my costume.
“I repeat: wow.”
“Thank you.” I reach into his open jacket to place my hands on hiswaist. The contact is more grounding than the green egg could ever hope to be. “Ming yelled at me because she had to let out the bodice twice. Seems our climbing has made me Hulk out.”
“Your trapeziiarelooking prominent these days.” He runs his hands over the sloping muscle on either side of my neck. I clench my fingers at the shiver that follows. “It looks good on you.” He cocks his head, eyes at my neckline. “Fashion tape?”
“Always.”
“A careful removal then?”
The allusion sends a warm tingle over me. “You really haven’t forgiven yourself for the nurpling, have you?”
“It is my greatest shame,” he says, deadpan, then gives me a squeeze. “How was the interview?”
I grit my teeth, revisited by a hint of the nerves I had earlier. The last round of permits filed with the city caught the eye of a clerk with a particular fondness for Pemberley and a friend at an architecture magazine. A few days later I was offered an interview about the remodel. As luck would have it, there was a design conference going on in Newark this week, where a contributing writer and onetime mentor to me would be presenting. I’d been in touch with my old professor during renovations but hadn’t seen her since before I went to LA. Touring Pemberley with her this afternoon was an absolution I didn’t know I still needed.
“Exciting. Unreal. It helped that it was conducted by a friendly face.”
“I look forward to reading it. Yourparents”—he grins around the word—“areveryexcited.”
I snort out a laugh. “Myparentsare well on their way to adopting the errant adult children of oligarchs.” I release him to look down atthe frontmost island, where Esteban is distributing vodka shots to my parents’ table. One island over, a table of Russians raise their glasses, several making a gesturing motion to their new friends. At the neighboring island on the opposite side of the catwalk, members of the construction crew sit at one table, Chloe’s friends at another. Both groups raise their glasses as well. My parents hesitate, but Gales’s folks go for it, and my mom’s sister laughs, she and my uncle joining in. To my surprise, it’s suddenly bottoms up all around.
Jane’s parents and brother join my family’s island, Charles in tow, which inspires further enthusiasm from the Russians. Esteban retreats, presumably for more vodka. Chloe and Gales step aside on the catwalk to let him pass, then are rushed by the crew in from California, exchanging hugs.
That feeling from downstairs washes over me again. The people I care most about are in this building, a space that’s the actualization of three years of work and a dream I’d all but given up on. It’s where so many of those people have the opportunity to see their own dreams play out, onstage and off, or simply find the stability to continue pursuing their passion.
This isn’t Meryton. And it never will be. It’s so much more than that.
I blink back the tears, throat going tight. “Thank you for believing in me.”
“Thank you for trusting me with your vision.” His smile is soft. “I have something for you.” He takes my hand and leads me to the desk. On the much-celebrated surface is a box about the size of the one Andrea’s tablet came in, only black velvet instead of white cardboard.
Darcy beckons me toward it. “Go ahead.”
I run my fingers over the soft exterior, unsure what to expect as I lift the lid—
“Oh!” My hand flies to my chest. It’s a gold, bib-style necklace designed like the Pemberley sunburst. Where the original piece is inlaid with mother-of-pearl, the necklace is open, save for the centermost point, which is solid. “It looks like something out of a Klimt painting.”
“Ming helped with the measurements; she suggested I have an extra link put in to accommodate any increase in muscle mass.”
“It’s beautiful, Darcy.” I lift it from the box. It’s light, despite its size.
“May I?” Darcy takes the necklace and I turn my back to him, letting him fit it around my neck. Links connecting the rays of the sunburst shift to conform to my collarbones, the squared end of the center resting just above my cleavage. Even from my upside-down view, it’s stunning.
“I thought it would coordinate well with what you wear here.” He kisses the back of my neck, brushing his lips along my hairline. “And what you don’t.”
“Thank you.” I turn and bring my arms around his neck. “It’s perfect.”
Darcy’s watching me with that soft smile again. He places his hands at my waist. “Did I ever tell you about the cheeky admin who had me intrigued after a few email exchanges?”
“Cheeky admin...” I mean to sound thoughtful, but Darcy leans closer and the proximity leaves me legitimately muddled. “Wasn’t she more of a ‘glorified receptionist’?”
“Hardly.” He nuzzles the side of my neck, tweaking my earlobewith his teeth. “I was devastated when she had to cancel a meeting we’d scheduled. I even showed up at the party she coordinated,” he murmurs. “Hoping I’d get to meet her.”
