Page 93 of Wallflower
Cute spots of color spring up in her cheeks. “What kind of surprise?”
I grin and shake my head. “Not a very good one if I give you any sort of hint.”
I move her sketchbook to the table, pluck the pencil from her fingers and set it on top, then hold her headphones up to my ear. A bass-heavy but mellow rock song blasts my eardrum,and I spare Violet a confused smile as I set them on top of her sketchbook.
“Tell me again why you listen to this while you’re designing?”
She shrugs and taps her phone to pause the playlist. “One of my teachers at college encouraged us to try classical music, but that never worked for me. I tried techno and boy bands and country, all different styles, but none of them worked like rock.” She cocks her head to one side. “It’s kind of like the music lures the thinking part of my brain into a loud, thumping mosh, which leaves the creative brain free to do its work.”
I gently pull Violet to her feet and loop her arms around my waist. I can’t resist her upturned mouth, and she smiles against my lips before I can coax her into a kiss.
“That makes no sense,” I tell her, and she laughs, which makes me feel fantastic.
“Is that what you came out here for? To tease me for my taste in music?”
“Nope.” I slip a finger under the hem of her tiny denim cutoffs and trace the crease of her ass cheek. “I’ve got a surprise for you, remember?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Good. You’ve got twenty minutes to get ready, and you can expect to be in the city for the rest of the day.”
She bites back a grin and dashes into the house. “I only need five.”
Less than an hour later, we cross the Golden Gate Bridge, and my heart starts pounding.
“Are you really not going to tell me where we’re going?” she asks for the hundredth time.
I feign an exasperated look when really, I love how excited she is. There’s no evidence of her usual anxiety or nerves, and there’s been less of that in general in the three weeks since the gala. I’m so happy my plan to coax her out of her comfort zone did exactlywhat I hoped it would. It got Violet to believe in herself as much as I do.
It made my pretty little wallflower bloom.
“No,” I reply. “But we’re nearly there.”
“Nearlywhere?”
She huffs at my smirk and stares out the window as we cruise through San Francisco. I’ve memorized the route so I wouldn’t have to plug the address into the GPS, and we eventually reach a busy tree-lined street teeming with people moving in and out of antique shops, upscale cafes, indie boutiques, and high-end designer stores. I slow down a couple hundred or so paces from our final destination and pull to the curb.
Violet gasps. “Oh, my.”
I fight a grin, surprised but pleased that she’s worked it out already. But Violet’s not looking at the street, and I don’t even think she notices that I stopped the car. Her wide eyes are glued to her phone screen, and one hand covers her open mouth. My grin fades, and my stomach drops.
Ever since the gala, that phone of hers has been a blessing and a curse. Her social media exploded, and her follower count keeps climbing, but for every person who sends messages and makes comments about how talented and beautiful and worthy she is, there are others trying to drag her down. I know what that’s like. I know how thick-skinned a person has to be to deal with all the hate and maintain any type of confidence and self-esteem.
My Violet isn’t used to the attention, and I’ve already commissioned my PR firm to filter her messages and comments so she doesn’t have to deal with any of that shit.
I just want her to be happy, the way she deserves, but maybe something slipped through the cracks.
“What is it?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
She turns those big, chestnut irises on me, then raises the screen so I can see it. It’s an article titled “Rising Designers YouNeed to Watch,” and directly underneath is a picture of Violet at the gala, standing on the red carpet in the dress she created, looking beautiful and radiant and a million other types of perfect I don’t have words for.
And it makes the gift I have to give her today even better.
“They’ve pulled my sketches from my social media accounts, and they’re calling my designs original, inspired, and exquisite.” She scrolls through the article, flicking up and down and back again with a shaky finger, then finds the line she’s looking for.“Violet James’s unusual use of bold lace, modern embroidery, textured fabrics and flowing lines is destined to take the world of bridal couture by storm.”
She lifts her gaze again, wonder and disbelief obvious in the way her eyelids flutter behind her glasses.
I slide my hand behind her neck and rub my thumb across her cheekbone. “You’re amazing, Wallflower. And now the whole world knows it.”
