A Broken Kind of Beautiful (35 page)

Ivy fidgeted. What was taking him so long to answer?

He tilted his head to one side, a world of concern etched on his face. “Are you okay?”

“Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be all right?”

“It’s just … I heard what Annie said about Twila.”

Ivy swallowed.

“I’m sure she’ll be okay,” Davis said.

Ivy shooed his words away with her hand. “Of course. I know that.” She grabbed the door handle, suddenly too hot to be outside. This was a silly conversation anyway.

“Ivy?”

She twisted the handle.

“When’s the last time you were really happy?”

The question caught her off guard. So did the quick answer formulating in her memory. “The last time my mom hugged me.” She let go of the
handle, hating the lump lodging itself in her throat. It had before that fateful day—when James brought Mom’s shell back but forgot the rest of her. “Nobody’s held me like that in a really long time.”

Davis stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. Nothing lustful. Nothing desirous. Just a sweet, gentle embrace. Somehow she loved and hated it all at the same time.

Ivy leaned over the counter of Something New, relishing the quiet as she flipped through the Polaroids of the models in their dresses. Davis had taken them yesterday, and somewhere in the middle of all that tulle, he’d shared with Ivy that he was finally finished editing Twila’s pictures. A week and a half after their miniature photo shoot and Davis was ready to share the end result. Ivy couldn’t wait to see them.

She slid the sturdy Polaroids through her fingers and replayed the words Davis spoke before leaving.
“You’ve been invaluable, Ivy. No way we could have done this without your help.”
She nuzzled the praise, bringing it close, recalling last weekend and the runway tutorial she’d given the models. How hard they all laughed when Arabella tripped in her heels. By the end of the evening, her stomach muscles ached from laughing so hard.

Then there was all the time she’d spent with Marilyn, planning Sara’s surprise party—scheduled for tomorrow evening. Not to mention the two days Marilyn got sick and asked Ivy to run the boutique. It felt better than she could have imagined, working alongside Sara, helping future brides find the perfect dress. Ivy cocked her head at a picture of Rachel in a calf-length gown, eggshell white with lots of tulle. Lila, another one of their models, had tried it on first, only it didn’t look right on her curvy frame. Ivy asked Rachel to try it on instead. Not only did it look great, but Rachel ended up buying it for her wedding.

Ivy’s phone buzzed against the countertop. She entered her password and listened to Bruce’s voice message.

“Did you fall off the face of the planet or what? Look, Juliette called yesterday. The photo shoot’s scheduled for the first of October. Nine o’clock. That’s a week and a half away, Ivy. I told her you’d be there. Davis too. He is coming, isn’t he? He better be. Call me, will you?”

The message should have caused panic. Turmoil. Anxiety. Because she wasn’t at all sure Davis would go with her to New York after the show. Sure, Sara would have her art program, but that didn’t mean Davis would be comfortable stepping back into high fashion photography. In all likelihood, she would fail. He wouldn’t take pictures for Vera Wang, and somewhere along the line, that reality no longer terrified her. The closer she grew to Sara, the more she helped at Something New, the more comfortable she became with Marilyn, the more time she spent with Twila …

Ivy pressed End on her cell phone and tossed it in her purse. Maybe NYU was wrong about her. Maybe she was good for something other than modeling after all.

Ivy had stepped inside a lot of men’s apartments through the years, but none made her as nervous as this. She cleared her throat, smoothed out imaginary wrinkles in her blouse, and knocked on the door of apartment number 302. The door swung open before she finished her second knock. Without saying hello, Davis took her hand, pulled her through a sparse living room, and plunked her in front of a kitchen table splattered with an array of black-and-whites.

She picked up an eight by ten of Twila dipping her toes into the marsh. He’d captured the sparkle in her eyes perfectly. Ivy set it down, picked up another, then rested her hand against her collarbone. “Davis, they’re stunning.”

“You think?”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them back. “I know.”

Davis smiled a smile that brought out his dimples. “Hey, you want
some breakfast? I’m a master at chocolate chip pancakes. I’m not too shabby at sausage and grits either.”

“Hmm, none of that sounds too good for a girl’s figure.”

“They’re good for the soul though.”

Her phone buzzed in her purse.

She gritted her teeth. Probably Bruce, and she couldn’t avoid him forever. Eventually, she’d have to tell him that she’d failed her mission and deal with the consequences. Without giving herself time to reconsider, she dug out the vibrating device and held it to her ear. “Calling me before nine on a Wednesday morning? I should be flattered.”

“Ivy? Is that you?”

The female voice did not belong to her uncle. Ivy pulled the phone away from her ear and looked at the screen. “Marilyn? Is everything okay?”

“I’m not sure.”

Ivy hated the way those words made her stomach drop.

“A gentleman from the Betsy Crestledown Theater called. Someone told him about the advertisements we ran in the newspaper.” Marilyn paused. “Ivy, he says nobody ever booked the theater for the fashion show. He’s saying they have a junior theater production scheduled for that day.”

The photograph slipped from her fingers and fluttered to her feet. “That’s impossible.”

“That’s what I said. But he’s adamant that he never received a deposit.”

31

Ivy thumped up the stairs to her apartment, her hand clamping and releasing the wood railing like an angry heartbeat. There had to be a mistake—of course she’d sent in the deposit. She racked her brain, forcing her memory into submission. She and Davis had gone to the theater and decided it would make an excellent venue. She’d told him she’d take care of the deposit, got a check from Marilyn, and then …

Her heart thudded in tune with the pounding stairs. Then she found Marilyn’s box. The one she thought belonged to James.

“I’m sure you sent it in, Ivy.”

She held on to Davis’s words, wanting them to be true. They had to be true. She didn’t forget to send the check. She couldn’t have. She was worrying for nothing. Somebody at the theater messed up. Not her. She and Davis would drive over there and clear everything up.

But what if she never sent it?

Of course you forgot to send the check. It wouldn’t surprise Bruce. It wouldn’t surprise anyone. Who were you kidding, trying to organize something as important as a charity event? Stick with what you’re good at, honey. Men. Modeling. Vera Wang …

Shaking her head, Ivy flung open the door and stepped onto the white carpet. She trekked to her bedside nightstand and opened the drawer. Even if they could get another place on short notice, so many tickets had already been sold. Advertisements in the paper. Industry people invited. All of them would head to the Crestledown Theater, only they’d find a junior theater production instead of a fashion show. She rummaged through the drawer, pulling out a book of stamps, a receipt spotted with dried tea, a crinkled envelope, and.

Sailing Alone Around the Room
by Billy Collins.

Her stomach puckered with dread. She hadn’t read it in a long time. Instead, she’d taken to choosing from the large bookshelf in Marilyn’s living room.

Davis stood over her, staring as she sat on the edge of her bed. “Ivy?”

She held the book out from her body, opened it up, and turned it over.

A folded check floated to the floor.

Davis bent over and picked up the check, unfolded it, and blinked at the blue-penned words—
Pay to the order of the Betsy Crestledown Theater
.

It was official. They’d lost the venue. Was it possible to find another place with less than a week to go?

Ivy tossed her head back and laughed. “Oh, this is too good.”

He scrunched his forehead, unsure why she was laughing.

“Why do you look so surprised, Dave? I’m sure not.” She took the check from his hand and flung it aside. It swept the air—back and forth, back and forth—then landed on the carpet. “Of course I didn’t send it in. Did you expect anything different?”

Davis ignored the odd behavior and scrambled for a solution. Maybe if they put their heads together and worked really fast, all their hard work might not be lost. Surely they could find a way to fix this.

Ivy crossed one leg over the other and fanned her face with a white envelope. When she looked at him, something about her expression had changed. The softness he’d been seeing more and more of over the past few weeks was replaced by the same smile she gave men like Duncan and Stefan, her eyes smoldering.

“We should go.” He stepped toward the door and scratched the back of his head. “Maybe if we talk to somebody at the community center …”

She set the envelope on her nightstand. “I want you to take pictures of me again.”

“We just lost our venue.”

“No other photographer has made me feel the way you make me feel. And I’ve had lots of photographers.” She stood and sauntered toward her dresser. “You make me feel alive, Davis.”

Her words escaped like velvet—smooth and soft. He pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, blood glugging through his veins.

“I think I make you feel alive too.” She traced figure eights over one of her snow globes and met his gaze in the reflection of her mirror. “Let’s go to New York. We could organize events way bigger than this. Raise enough money for the art program like this.” She snapped her fingers.

He swallowed, hating the way her seductive tones muddled his thoughts. What was she playing at? This wasn’t the Ivy he’d grown to admire. This was the old Ivy. The Ivy who wielded seduction like a sharpened blade. They were supposed to be beyond that. “Why are we talking about New York?”

She lifted her thin shoulder, something brewing deep inside her eyes. But before he could figure out what, she looked away from the mirror and picked up the snow globe—one of Paris and the Eiffel Tower. She passed it from one hand to the other. “It looks beautiful, doesn’t it? Strong and sturdy.”