I had Vivienne, and Friday couldn't come soon enough.
5
Vivienne
I settled at my kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee and a stack of essays that seemed to mock me from their neat piles. Industrial Revolution and Its Impact on Society. Sixty papers on a topic I could discuss in my sleep, yet I found myself reading the same opening paragraph three times without absorbing a single word.
I think I'd be perfectly fine smelling like you throughout the day.
Julian's words from earlier kept echoing in my mind, along with the way he'd looked at me—like I was something precious he didn't want to let go of. The memory sent warmth spiraling through my chest, and I caught myself touching my lips where he'd kissed me goodbye.
Focus, Vivienne.I picked up my red pen and tried again.
The Industrial Revolution began in the late 18th century and changed everything about how people lived and worked...
But instead of analyzing the student's thesis, my mind wandered to the way Julian's hands had felt on my skin, still gloved even in the most intimate moments. There was something about those gloves, something I couldn't shake. Why didn’t he ever take them off?
I shook my head and forced myself to concentrate. Twenty minutes later, I'd managed to grade exactly two papers and written "Good insight" on one that I was pretty sure made no sense.
This was ridiculous. I was a high school teacher, not some teenager mooning over some boy.
But that was just it, wasn’t it? Julian Thorne wasn't just some boy.
Before I could stop myself, I opened my laptop and searched for gallery openings that Friday. Nothing came up—no public listings, no event announcements. Whatever Julian was taking me to was clearly more exclusive than I'd thought.
That led me to search for Julian Thorne himself, telling myself I was just researching the kind of events he usually attended so I'd know what to expect.
The first images that populated made my breath catch. Julian in a perfectly tailored tuxedo at the Met Gala, his arm around a stunning blonde in a shimmering gold gown. Julian at a fashion week after-party with a brunette model whose legs seemed to go on for miles. Julian at charity galas, art auctions, premieres—always impeccably dressed, always with a different beautiful woman.
And every single one of those women was wearing something unmistakably his—a signature silhouette, the kind of construction details I'd learned to recognize from studying his collections. He dressed them all.
My stomach sank as I scrolled through image after image. Supermodels, actresses, socialites—women who belonged in his world, who looked like they'd stepped off magazine covers. Women who were everything I wasn't.
What am I doing?I thought, staring at a photo of Julian at some exclusive rooftop event, his hand resting on the small of a redhead's back as cameras flashed around them.I'm a high school history teacher from Kentucky. I grade papers on Sunday mornings and buy my clothes at Target.
I was about to close the laptop when my phone buzzed with a text.
Julian:Hope your grading is going well. I’m looking forward to Friday.
My heart did a small flip, but the images on my screen seemed to taunt me. I typed back before I could overthink it.
Vivienne:Me too! Quick question - where is the gallery opening? I want to make sure I dress appropriately.
His response came within minutes.
Julian:The Meridian Gallery downtown. They've closed the gallery to the public for the evening as it'll be a private event.
Before I could respond, he sent another one.
Actually, I have a proposition - would you let me dress you for the evening? I'd love to create something specifically for you.
I stared at the message. Of course he wanted to dress me. That's what he did with all his dates, wasn't it? I'd just seen the evidence splashed across dozens of photos. Still, the thought of wearing something he'd designed sent a thrill through me.
Vivienne:That's incredibly generous, but I couldn't ask thatof you.
Julian:I insist. Could you come by my studio Monday evening? I'll need to take some measurements. I've never looked forward to designing something more.
Never looked forward to it more? I glanced back at my laptop screen, at all those other women in his creations. He probably said that to all of them.
