‘But, Demyan—’
‘Go.’
‘It’s midday.’
‘I’m not that much of a bastard, Alina. I assume you have to do your hair and sort out what to wear...’ He leant back in his chair and put his feet on the desk and made up his mind. ‘I will pick you up at six.’
‘I...’ She didn’t get to finish.
‘Be ready or don’t bother coming back tomorrow.’
He said the sweetest things at times!
As she went to get her bag Demyan halted her.
‘Alina.’ He looked as she turned. ‘I send you home to get ready, not cry over some loser who blocked you.’
Yes, he said the sweetest things sometimes and this time she meant that thought.
‘I’ll try.’
‘Fifteen minutes,’ Demyan said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Set a timer and give yourself fifteen minutes to cry over him then get on with your life.’
‘Is that what you do?’
‘I don’t have to get over people,’ Demyan said. ‘I don’t care for anyone enough.’
‘You say the sweetest things.’ This time she voiced it.
This time he smiled.
Fifteen minutes!
It would take more than that to get over her father’s rejection. Alina fell through the door and onto her bed and let her pillow have it, but actually, thanks to Demyan’s surprise invitation, she didn’t have time to bemoan her father.
What to wear to an A-list function?
I don’t have anything suitable...
Alina started the text and then halted. Was she asking him for money, making excuses?
Demyan would see it as both.
Alina deleted the text and lay on her bed. The problem, though, was a real one, there would be serious money there tonight. Her work wardrobe consisted of suits and a rather large little black dress that she used for any work functions, and even if she hit the shops the type of dress she could afford simply wasn’t going to make the grade and she couldn’t afford designer...
Alina swallowed as a thought came to mind but though she pushed it away it kept building, so much so that she climbed out of her bed, went to her wardrobe and pulled out a box, telling herself that she was being ridiculous to even consider it. As she pulled back the tissue paper and pulled out the dress, it was even more beautiful than Alina remembered. Reds, purples and yellows pulsed beneath her fingers.
Her scattered mind had once flitted to, instead of paintings, designing and making dresses. She loved working on silk, loved the halo effect around the flowers, and she was lost in them now as she eyed her masterpiece.
It had taken many goes and she’d spent a fortune but, rather than doing anything with it, Alina had simply been unable to part with it and had spent another small fortune having it made into a dress.