Working It

14

Emmy

The following day we had a late flight out, but first Ben had a photo shoot. He urged me to stay at the hotel, sleep in, order breakfast, and take a swim in the deep tub. He’d be back to collect me in a few hours. I didn’t argue. After all the wine last night, a little extra sleep was exactly what I wanted.

When I woke an hour later, I called for room service and let the bathtub fill, adding a generous pour of bubble bath. It was nice to have a morning to myself to relax. Usually Fiona had me running around early, so this was a rare treat to be savored.

After a leisurely bath, I dressed in the fluffy hotel robe and ate my poached egg and toast. Then while I waited for Ben, I crawled back into bed and watched the Italian-only TV stations.

I checked the time, and realizing it’d be late evening back home in Tennessee, I decided to try my mom.

My mom’s accent burst through the phone. “Emmy Jean, I miss you. How’s Paris, honey? Are the French being snooty?”

I laughed. God, I needed this. Needed to hear her voice. It was like a little slice of home and instantly grounded me. “Oh Momma, it’s amazing here. I’ve been to the Yves Saint Laurent offices and Versace castings and got samples from Louis Vuitton. And I’m actually in Milan right now.” I didn’t mention Ben.

She was quiet on the other end, and I wondered if she knew the names of the famous designers I’d name-dropped.

“Don’t get caught up in that world. Those people aren’t like us, Emmy Jean.”

Her words stopped me. She was right. I’d never felt more out of place, yet with Ben I didn’t have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. “Don’t worry, Momma. I’m still me.” I smiled, knowing it was true.

“Good. I can’t wait for you to get home for a visit. With your dad on the road so much, I get lonely.”

My dad was an over-the-road truck driver and was gone much of the week. I listened as she droned on about the church potluck and her prized tomatoes, occasionally asking her questions and probing deeper. It was good just to hear her voice. It reminded me that there was a bigger world beyond the glitz and glamour of Fashion Week, that I was destined for more in life.

This was a temporary adventure and the realization unsettled me. I’d been so caught up in this whirlwind; I wondered what would happen once I was back home. Would Ben still be interested in me once we were in New York? I tried to picture him in my little, dingy apartment, hanging out with me and Ellie. It was like trying to envision Fiona dressed in last year’s couture. Never going to happen.

“I’ll come home soon, Momma. Say hi to Dad for me. I love you.”

She seemed so far away—my childhood home in the country was a distant memory in the bustling fashion world of Paris and Milan. And my affair with Ben consumed everything, every waking thought, and even inspired my dreams. I knew it probably wasn’t healthy, but it was my reality. I’d been sucked into his bubble, and I didn’t want it to end.

After saying our good-byes, I curled up on the bed to await Ben’s arrival.

Was I really so shallow that an attractive—albeit stunningly attractive—man could turn me into a pile of goo? But it was more than that, I reminded myself. As much as I enjoyed his outward appearance, I liked him for all the qualities that had nothing to do with his good looks.

He’d been honest and forthright with me about his goals. The way he talked about his future and his financial savvy was sexy. It demonstrated his ability to plan ahead and provide. He put my needs first when we’d been intimate, which was more than I’d expected based on my prior disappointing experiences. Not to mention, the man had the dirty-talking gene. Which meant over the long haul, he’d be the type to keep things interesting. Just enough of that spontaneity to keep the fire burning. I knew I was getting ahead of myself, though. Damn, I was ready to pick out bridesmaid dresses and he hadn’t even told me we were exclusive. If this was just sex, why did it feel like so much more?