“Wow,” I sigh. “This is exciting then! What’s it for? Personal? Or work?”
He shrugs, so casually the best person ever because—hello—he’s throwing a freakingball. “A little of both. It’s a special day, so everyone’s invited. I’m having some of the people at work help me with it.”
My brows furrow. “A special day?”
“June 14th,” he repeats. “Also known as Flag Day, the most romantic day of the year.”
Oh. My.Gosh. “Oh my gosh!” I cackle. “That’sperfect!”
He doesn’t laugh with me this time, but his self-satisfied smirk is just as heartwarming. “I like to think it’s what Scarlet would want.”
Scarlet is the main character in our most recent book club read,Scarlet Touchby the famous author Rouge, and she wouldabso-flagging-lutelyapprove of this behavior. The entire premise of the dark romance novel is based around Flag Day as the most romantic holiday of the year, and I’ve been looking forward to celebrating it this year in the same way as we often celebrate Valentine’s Day—with a hoard of fancy drinks, a cheesy romcom, and our combined body weight in junk food snacks. A ball, though? I’ll take that over movie nightanytime. I’ll get to play princess! On Flag Day!
“It’ll be just like in the book,” I sigh dreamily. “Minus the wedding, but that’s okay. A ball doesn’t need a wedding to be amazing.”
Iverson does not reply, so I do what any sane woman would do when presented with a freakingball(!!!). I start planning my outfit.
“I think I’ll wear blue,” I say. “A-line. Bell sleeves. Sheer. Silver stars woven into the fabric. Not Scarlet’s dress, but her sister’s.” I grab a napkin, find a clear spot away from the grease, and start sketching using barbecue sauce and the end tine of my plastic fork. “Like this,” I mutter. “Yes, swooping. Elegant. Atwilight sky in a room full of people whose feet have never left the ground. Royalty to their peasant. Princess to their pleb.”
I present my sauce dress to Ivy, and he frowns at it.
I pout. “What?” I ask. “Why are you ruining my life? Can’t I have the dress I want?”
“You can have any dress you desire, always,” he replies. “Except for this time. This time, I would request that you wear white.”
Taken aback, I start. “White?”
He nods, pushing the napkin away from him with one sticky finger. “White.”
I… don’t know what to say. Iverson is often involved in my clothing decisions, as Iverson is often the one paying for such decisions. He hates to see me spend my own money and rarely allows me if he can find a way to prevent it. That said, he has never once requested I wear what he wants. He lets me lead, and he answers my questions regarding fit and color only when I ask. He does not make suggestions. He does not offer unsolicited opinions. He supports whatever I decide completely, occasionally nudging me to ordermore, but not ofwhat.
In other words, this is supremely out of character, and I have no idea what to think of it.
Even so… if Ivy wants me in white, then I’ll wear white. Not only because he’s most likely going to be paying for it, but because this is Ivy’s ball and book love, too. We readScarlet Touchtogether. If Ivy hasonewant of me during the celebration of our beloved book, then I’ll give it to him.
“White,” I agree. “I can do white.” And I will. “Do you still like the stars?”
“Everything else is perfect,” he says softly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that your vision was bad. I just… I’d like you to wear white, if it pleases you also.”
“Pleasing you pleases me,” I answer. “I’ll wear white. Instead of the twilight sky, I can be a shooting star for you. Make a wish, Ivy, and I’ll see that it comes true.”
At that, hemelts, and my concern skyrockets.
“You are my wish, my rosy Maple,” he replies. “Always and forever. You know that.”
“An easy one to grant, then.” Because, as ever, I will be here. With him. Always and forever, Ivy and Maple, a friendship better than any other friendship could ever hope to be. A love for the ages, whatever form it takes.
“An easy one to make, too.”
With that, he takes his gentle, adoring gaze and slides it to his food, the moment passing in favor of adding a stain or two more to the fabric of our memories.
I turn to mine also, but my attention snags on the napkin. On the design that I’ll wear in white, not blue, in order to make a wish come true. I lift the soft paper carefully, then turn and press the dark sauce into the tablecloth, staining my own reminder of this moment there forever—the day when Ivy invited me to a ball and asked me to wear white.
Chapter Two
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Currently, in Vexillum…
