Page 45 of Fake Fiancée for Dad's Best Friend
Vivian
I say goodbye to my dad, Lisa, and the baby and watch them get into the car and head for the fund-raising event at Long Island. I would love to go with them, not much to see the charity fashion show but the famous manor. But knowing it would be awkward running into Alex, I restrain my enthusiasm. Alex did not meet with my dad last night as he had planned because of the new development in our fake relationship. It would be pointless to come clean about it only to deceive my dad again.
I’ve told my dad I’ll spend a weekend at a college friend’s house in Hudson. I pack some clothes and toiletries after I return to my bedroom. My eyes fall on the fabrics I bought the other day at the trade show. Damn. I was planning to turn them into a dress this weekend. Now I have to wait…do I? Maybe I can take my sewing kit and my portable machine to Alex’s house. I’ll be alone there for the afternoon anyway, and I have plenty of time to kill. Otherwise, I’ll probably be watching TV. But the machine still has some twenty pounds. Since Alex told me to call his assistant Mark if I needed a lift, I don’t hesitate to dial his number.
An hour later, I’m inside Alex’s luxury penthouse in midtown Manhattan.
“If you need a ride, let me know,” Mark says to me before leaving me alone.
“Thanks, I will!”
After I close the door, I turn to take in the interior of the condo. It’s spacious and the windows show a fantastic view of Central Park. I was here many years ago when I was little, and I remember vaguely it’s big, but without any vivid details. I’m so stunned when my eyes roam over the classical decor. The oil paintings, vintage rugs, and velvet couches are reminiscent of Karen and Mike’s Montecito house, but the colors are more neutral, with brown and beige dominating.
The view draws me to the balcony right away. My God! I thought Cody’s condo had a nice view, but this one is breathtaking. I can gaze at it all day without food or sleep. Now I see why people would pay millions for a condo. It’s worth it.
I stand there like an idiot, completely forgetting who I am and what I’m doing until my cellphone dings.
I check it. It’s Alex texting to see whether I find everything all right. I text him back right away. “Yes. I’m in your house. It’s soooo beautiful!”
He texts me back a thumbs-up emoji. “Feel free to help yourself with the food in the fridge. But don’t overeat. I’ll be home at around five, and I’ll take you to dinner.”
Does it mean he wouldn’t be dining with Trisha? I smile as my heart raps in my ribcage. What would we do after that? My body tingles just to imagine what might happen between us tonight, despite my effort to push back any naughty thoughts.
I hang my clothes in his closet and put my toiletries in the master bathroom where they’re visible. I don’t have to use my own shampoo and body wash, but I brought them just in case his parents walk in here.
When I step back into the bedroom, my eyes turn to the king-sized bed right away. I wonder whether Alex sleeps here alone, and how often does he have bedmates? I can’t help the pang of jealousy that invades my gut suddenly. There are two pillows, and I don’t know whether he always has two or one of them is put out for this weekend only.
And then, I can’t help my curiosity. I look through his clothes hanging on the racks, imagining how good he looks in those suits and shirts. I touch his Calvin Klein briefs and sniff them. Damn. I’m so naughty. I hope there aren’t cameras around.
I go to his bookcase to see what books he reads. All of them are nonfiction, and most of them are related to the fashion industry or business management. One of them is standing apart from others. I glance at the title curiously and grimace:The Rules of Management. Sounds boring. I put it down and continue to browse.The Birth of Modern Fashion, How Fabric Changed History, The House of Gucci. Interesting. I recall a professor once recommended these books to us in class. I make a mental note to borrow them from Alex later.
It’s not yet two o’clock, and I have plenty of time to work on my project before Alex returns home. I survey the house and decide the dining table makes a perfect workspace. I set up the sewing machine and lay out the tools on the table. I have a pretty good idea about what I want the dress to be, but I have a habit of procrastinating. So, instead of getting to work right away, I google this summer’s fashion on my iPad.
After getting more ideas, I open the Photoshop app and start sketching. It’s my usual way to start a project for my classes back in college. I try different necklines, sleeves, waistlines, and lengths and decide on an A-line midi dress with a halter string neck, puff sleeves, and cinched waistline. I’m going to make a ruffle hem as well because I like the style.
I draw and cut the patterns on dotted paper and then cut the fabric before I start sewing. I love my Singer 2277. I bought it with the money I saved up from a part-time job at a fashion store back in high school. It’s the only sewing machine I own in my life, although I’ve used many of my dad’s old machines.
I’m in the middle of sewing when my phone beeps. I check the message. It’s Alex saying he’ll be late. I reply by telling him not to worry, although I wonder what’s keeping him. Trisha? I brush aside the disappointment and return to work.
Although I enjoy sewing as much as designing, I confess I often become frustrated during this critical stage of making clothes because I’m too eager to see the end product. I might’ve inherited my dad’s designer genes, but I have not gotten his patience. My sewing skill is solid, though, because I’ve practiced it since I was a teenager. My friends were addicted to their Smart Phones, but I was inseparable from my sewing machine, at least during evenings and weekends. It’s an inexpensive hobby despite the frequent visit to the fabric shops, but the satisfaction I get from making unique clothes is immense, not to mention the look on my friends’ faces when I present them the handmade dresses and purses.
Despite the puff sleeves and the ruffle hem that are time-consuming to make, I have a dress in front of me an hour of sewing later. All I need is to run a string over the neckline. I look through my accessory box but can’t find a satisfying match. I decide to sew a string using the same fabric for now.
The seemingly easy task takes forever. While I’m still absorbed in it, I hear Alex’s voice behind me. “You turned my condo into a sweatshop?”
When I turn to look at him, my heart skips a beat.
He’s wearing a navy blue dress shirt tucked into a pair of white jeans, his intense blue eyes twinkle with fire. If they haven’t enough power to melt me, his teasing smile certainly does the job.
I’m lost for words. How could he look so good every time I see him? This is not fair. Normally, no matter how handsome a guy looks, he loses his charm to me after seeing him a few times. The rule applies to everyone I know, including Cody. Not even celebrities are exceptions. Even Brad Pitt looks less appealing if I browse his pictures for more than two minutes. So why am I looking at Alex as if I would never tire of gawking at him? This is crazy. My body reacts like I’ve recalled a delicious meal. The only difference is instead of my stomach, my lady bits are screaming.
Stop it.I scold my body. Don’t get too excited. You might not get another meal like that.
As he comes closer, it’s even harder to calm down. I became conscious of how I look. I’m wearing a casual t-shirt over an old jersey skirt. I regret not putting on some makeup or arrange my hair. My ponytail must be sagging, and I have fallen strands of hair all over my neck. My face is sweaty, and so is my entire body. I probably smell. I swallow and finally mumble, “Hi Alex! I thought you’d be late.” It’s only five-thirty.
“I am late,” he says. “And I’m sorry.”
Not until he comes closer do I realize his right hand is behind him, looking like he’s hiding something from me.
