The Belated Bride: Becoming My Own Muse Chapter 31

The Belated Bride: Becoming My Own Muse Chapter 31

I laughed. “Does Mr. Ashford handle everything this formally?”

“With you, I’m afraid I’ll be rejected if I’m not formal enough.”

I speared a slice of pizza and dropped it onto his plate.

“Then call it a trial period.”

He looked at the pizza on his plate, and his smile slowly deepened.

“How long is the trial period?”

“Depends on performance.”

“Does Ms. Claire have high standards?”

“Very high.”

“Then I’ll work hard.”

After we finished eating, he drove me back to the studio.

The car stopped downstairs. He didn’t overstep any boundary, just handed me a small paper bag with some antacids inside.

“You ate a lot of spicy food. Your stomach might bother you later.”

I took the medicine, and something in my chest softened, just a little.

“When did you buy these?”

“When I went to the restroom.”

I didn’t say anything.

He reached across and opened my door for me.

“Go on up. Get some rest.”

I stood by the car and looked at him for a few seconds.

“Grant.”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, let’s skip the half-and-half hot pot.”

He paused.

I said, “I can go lighter on the spice. You don’t have to suffer through it.”

He laughed for a very long time.

Later that night, after I went upstairs, I found a package waiting on my desk.

No return address.

I opened it. It was that three-hundred-dollar white dress.

I had taken it with me when I left the Van Ness house.

But the days leading up to the show were so chaotic, I’d lost track of where it went.

Now, it had been cleaned. Pressed. Enclosed in a clear archival bag.

Inside, there was a card.

Christian’s handwriting.

[ I remember this dress. ]

I stared at those words for a long time.

He finally remembered.

Remembered that I had once worn this cheap white cotton dress and gone to sign my marriage papers, my eyes full of expectation.

Remembered that I had once been someone willing to throw myself wholeheartedly toward him.

But I didn’t cry.

I took the dress out and hung it on an old mannequin stand in the corner of the studio.

The next day, I had Tara photograph it and archive it in the materials folder for a new exhibition.

The exhibition was called She Is No One’s Appendage.

The first piece on display would be that three-hundred-dollar white dress.

Next to it, a placard reads: She once wore the cheapest dress and married a man who deserved her the least. Later, she wore a dress she made with her own hands and married herself.