“So. Much. Chanel,” I rasp out.
It must be Ryder’s grandmother’s closet. An entire room dedicated to clothes.
I walk through it, touching beautiful pieces I recognize from the sixties, seventies, eighties, and beyond. All the decades are represented with dresses and bags and shoes. There are also racks of shawls and coats.
I whimper when I spy a pale-pink Valentino that’s infamous in fashion and vintage circles. It’s fashion’s white whale. And it’s here. In this dressing room.
Ryder’s grandmother is the GOAT. No wonder Ryder exudes effortless cool. Maybe it’s an old-money thing, besides being a rock-star thing. He just wears clothes so well, even his jeans and black T-shirt uniform. And when he gets dressed up like he did last year at the Music Awards, well, he blows everyone away.
And that’s how Ryder finds me thirty minutes later, balancing on one crutch and trying to reach a shelf that contains what looks like one of the first Blake bags, designed for the actress and fashionista, Sandra Blake, Sebastian’s grandmother.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I turn too quickly and topple. Ryder catches me and sets me in a chair at a dressing table.
The table contains a collection of cut-crystal perfume bottles. I’m dying to check them out.Focus, Daisy.
“You’re supposed to be sitting on the couch,” Ryder scolds, crossing muscled arms over a muscled chest.
There’s his hot, grumpy expression. I swoon a little. Because, weirdo that I am, I love it.
“My ankle was feeling a teensy bit better.” I wave an arm, clad in his grandmother’s bracelets. Oops. I take them off and set them on the table. “But, Ryder… This room. It’s heaven! How can I ever be anywhere but in this room from now on? I mean, this collection is next level.”
Ryder looks around, running a hand over his stubble. “Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Grandmother liked to shop.”
“Liked to shop? This isn’t liked to shop. She had an amazing sense of fashion and history.”
“I guess?” He shrugs. “I don’t know. She was just Grandmother Piper to me.”
And then it hits me. Over the head. Like a stack of Tiffany silver.
“Piper. Piper’s Peak. Vanders. Oh my God, Ryder. Your grandmother was Piper Vanders! The Piper Vanders!” I’m fangirling. Hard. More than I ever fangirled for Ryder, and that’s saying a lot. “How did I not put that together? It makes so much sense. And this is her closet.” I feel weak. “Piper Vanders’s closet.”
She’s fashion’s equivalent of… I try to think of a name that would mean something to him.
“She’s to fashion what Jimi Hendrix is to the guitar.”
A mixture of sadness and amusement fills his eyes. “She always had her own style.”
“I can’t believe I didn’t realize.” And then it strikes me: it hasn’t been long since he lost her. And I’m being insensitive in my enthusiasm. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come in. Is it hard to be in here?” I ask softly.
He touches a gold-striped caftan dress. “No. It’s…nice. I haven’t been in this room in years. I used to play in here. I’d spend hours in that window seat, building Lego or practicing guitar, while she’d sit at that table and get ready for a night out. She called it ‘putting on her face.’” He gives me a small smile.
“It sounds like she was an amazing woman, besides having an amazing closet,” I say.
“She was.”
“You said you spent summers with her. Even when you were emancipated. You must have been close.”
He nods. “After my mom died, my grandmother helped raise me and my brother. She’s the one who convinced me to try out for the band. My dad wanted me to fall in line and eventually work for his company, like my brother does. But my grandmother always supported my dreams.”
I’m thankful that Ryder is sharing this with me. Even that first summer, when we talked about everything, his family had been pretty off-limits as a topic. I was okay with that back then because I didn’t want to talk about my family either. We lived almost purely in the bubble of our own making, as if past and future didn’t exist.
“Your dad’s company is Blackmoor Holdings, right?” I ask, recalling the name of the mammoth company.
He nods. “My grandfather started the company. But my dad built it into the business it is today.” He shakes his head. “He’s a better businessman than father.”
“Have you reached out to him since you were emancipated? Or has he contacted you? Tried to reconcile?” I ask.
