“Thanks.” Her voice cracked with that single word and she knew the tears were coming. Quickly she retreated back to the makeshift dressing room. Eve unzipped the gown and Elle slid it from her body, placing it back on the hanger. “I’ll take this one, Eve.”
“Very good, Ms. Riley.” Eve placed Elle’s dress choice on a rack marked with index cards, labeling who would be dressed in which designer’s gown. Whitney pursed her lips before retrieving the red gown and slipping behind the curtain.
“Maybe he just needs to cool off. I’m sure when he sees you on the red carpet, he’ll flip. He’ll remember why he’s crazy about you.”
“I don’t know about that.” Elle stood outside the curtain, dragging her fingers mindlessly down the polyester fabric of the curtain.
Whitney emerged from the dressing room and stood before the mirror. Eve zipped her up and placed her hand over her mouth. Elle stood behind her and managed a genuine smile as she took in the sight of Whitney in that dress. “Wow.”
“Yeah?” Whitney asked, smoothing down the fabric and gazing in the mirror. “First one I tried. What are the chances of that?”
Eve glanced at Elle, then back at Whitney. “Slim to none.”
“So tell me what happened. Why did he give up?” Whitney and Elle locked eyes while gazing into the full-length mirror. “Something had to happen . . . right?”
“He walked in on Troy and me . . . in my office.”
Whitney turned, her eyes wide. “You weren’t . . .”
“No, God no! We were just having dinner.”
“You two certainly like to eat a lot,” Whitney said with a sardonic laugh. “Pizza, Indian, and now . . .”
“Chinese.” Elle closed her eyes, shaking her head. She and Troy did eat on their dates. First they flirted over food, then they argued, and they usually followed that up with a makeup session and vows to do better. History was repeating itself in a major way—that pattern was the story of their relationship, their dynamic. Add in some cherished Beatles songs, and you had Elle and Troy in a nutshell. She shook off that thought as she waited for Whitney to respond. But the outspoken beauty was gritting her teeth as she stared at Elle with conflicted eyes.
“Whit? What’s wrong?”
“I’m afraid to say anything after last time. I don’t want to fight with you.”
“I won’t get mad, I swear.”
“Just be careful. You two have a history, an undeniably rocky history. Don’t lose Luke over this.”
Elle threw her arms up in defeat. “I don’t have a choice, Whit. He’s done. Done. You have no idea how much that word killed me. I have to move on, and Troy wants to give us a real shot. I’d be stupid to walk away from that . . . wouldn’t I?”
“I suppose you’re right.” She shrugged. “I guess it’s time to hang up my Team Luke shirt, huh?”
A weak laugh left Elle’s lips as her eyes welled with tears. “Yeah, I think so. I’m sure he’ll miss having you as president of the fan club.”
As if on cue, Elle’s phone pinged, and she raised her eyebrows for permission to leave the conversation. Whitney nodded and retreated to the dressing room as Elle checked her phone.
It was a text from Troy.
Can’t stop thinking about you.
She smiled. Knowing she was on his mind was a comforting thought. One she cherished and appreciated. She pressed the phone to her chest just as Whitney emerged from the dressing room and handed the gown to Eve.
“Vegas?”
Elle nodded. “We’ve seen each other a couple of times since everything went down with Luke. It’s been nice.”
“Have you slept with him yet?” Whitney pressed.
Elle cringed at the question and shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Eve scurried across the room, busying herself with the hanging dresses. Obviously Whitney’s frank nature was making her uncomfortable and Elle couldn’t blame her. Elle was part of the conversation and her discomfort was through the roof.
“Not yet.”
“How come?”
“We’re taking things slow—figuring out what we want.”
Whitney narrowed her eyes.
“What?”
“Well, I mean . . . what are you waiting for? Ten years of tension—you two must be going out of your minds.”
Elle was shocked to realize she didn’t feel that way at all. “It was like that in the beginning,” she said, remembering the evening he pressed her against the brick of the Indian restaurant. “But not anymore. We’re just being patient with each other.”