Page 7 of With You

“Grayson’s paying now,” she says, and I glance back to see the others standing outside of the store.

We round the corner to approach the atelier that caught Evie’s attention, and of course, it’s closed. It’s to be expected at almost nine in the evening on a weekday, but it’s still annoying that we’ll have to go back tomorrow.

Although our university is technically classed as being in Paris, it’s on the outskirts on account of its sprawling campus and the security needed to protect its students. The journey into the centre of the city is time that could be better spent practicing.

“It’s closed?” Evie says from behind us, and I’m not even sure when they caught up.

“Unfortunately,” I tell her.

She joins us, crossing her arm through Zena’s so the three of us are linked. The boys reach us, forming a small circle outside the atelier. River, however, doesn’t. Instead, he stands off to the side a few feet away, and lifts his phone to his ear.

“This is all your fault,” Evie says, jabbing a finger into Grayson’s chest.

“I’ll bring you back tomorrow,” he tells her. “I’ll buy whatever dress you want to make it up to you.”

“Let’s not take it too far,” Damien interrupts, his hand coming up to grip Grayson’s shoulder.

I guess it’s only a natural response to another man offering to buy your betrothed a dress, but it’s funny whenever he acts like this. Grayson has no idea that their relationship is something arranged, and that there’s no romantic feelings between the two. It’s not that we don’t trust him, but to everyone but us and their families, Evie and Damien’s relationship is entirely their own.

“The owner will be here in ten minutes,” River says, lifting Damien’s hand off Grayson’s shoulder as he steps between them.

“Really? You know the owner?” Evie asks, a smile returning to her face.

“Turns out they’re an acquaintance of my mother. They owed her a favour,” he replies with a wink that makes me almost throw up my dinner.

“Amazing!” Evie throws her arms around him to hug him.

I try to hide my disgust, but I must do a bad job of it because Zena pokes me in the side with her elbow.

“Come on, you have to admit that was nice of him,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t admit that even if I saw him rescue a cat from a burning building.”

Zena rolls her eyes at me as I hear a sharp huff of laughter coming from the other side of her. I peek my head forward to find Layth has come to stand next to her, filling the empty space that Evie left.

We chat idly about the upcoming dinner, and what kind of dresses we should look at while we wait for the owner to arrive. Once they do, we’re let into the atelier, soft lights flickering on to illuminate the room in a golden glow. Mannequins are artfully placed around the small area, displaying dresses for any occasion.

“Please let me know whatever you’d like to look at or try on,” the owner says.

She’s tall and blonde, with a glowy tan to her skin, and it’s clear she’s had a history of modelling, which explains her connection to River’s mother. We all thank her for taking the time out of her evening to accommodate us, before the three of us start looking at dresses.

“Good god, we’re going to be here forever,” River murmurs, and I seem to be the only one who catches it.

“No one’s forcing you to be here,” I tell him, ignoring the fact that we’re only in the store because of his mother.

“And who’s forcing you? If I were in your position, I’d look a little happier at getting exclusive access to one of the best designers in Paris.”

I fix my scowl into a patronising smile, widening my eyes and bringing my hands together underneath my chin.

“Oh, River, whatever would we do without you!” I say in the most sickly sweet voice I can muster.

His mouth curls into a sneer and he storms past me as my face drops. He throws himself down onto a chair, running his hands through dark brown strands. Every time I catch him doing it, I imagine it’s my hands in his hair as I yank it right out of his arrogant head.

Zena calls me over to where she and Evie have already picked out a few dresses. We decide to wear the same colour so we can match each other, a light shade of pink that will complement all of us well. We go for different styles, though; Evie opts for shorter ones that skim the bottom of her shins, while Zena focuses on longer gowns. I’ve guessed over the past year that there’s certain protocols she has to stick to when dressing for events, and I’ve only seen her in long dresses that brush across the floor as she walks. I simply pick out whatever catches my eye.

We point out the dresses we’d like to try on to the owner, and she asks us to wait for a moment as she makes a call. A few minutes later, another staff member appears through the front door, getting straight to work in pulling dresses for us. Between them, they set the three of us up in different fitting rooms so we can try on our selections.

I undress and pull on the first one, a floor-length silk piece that shimmers in the light. It drapes off my shoulders, the bias cut dipping in the centre of my chest. When I take a look at myself in the mirror, the way the pink dress shines against my deep brown skin, how it clings to my body, I can’t help but admire myself.