Fake Fiancée for Dad’s Best Friend by Gena Snow
Chapter 30
Vivian
I gasp when I realize we’re on our way to Carrousel du Louvre, an underground shopping mall near the Louvre Museum where most of the fashion week shows are held. “No way!” I whisper as I stare at Alex. These shows aren’t open to the public.
I’ve been to the fashion shows in New York often since I was a child, but this is my first in Paris. I can hardly stifle my excitement.
“Which show are we going to?”
“Guess,” he says with a smirk. “Who’s your favorite designer?”
My mouth opens. “No way! Chiuri?”
Our seats are in the front row and right next to the camera pit, with a spectacular view at the end of the catwalk.
The Dior show turns out to be unexpectedly innovative. Not a traditional catwalk but combined with dances. My eyes are so busy finding their focus between the beautiful choreography on “ice” and the gorgeously clothed models weaving around.
Dreamlike fogs, mists and pedals scattering on their path. Black and white are the dominant colors of the scenes, giving the show an austere and powerful theme. I’m a fan of bright colors, but I appreciate the undeniable beauty in the muted concept.
Like others, I have my cellphone in hand, but soon I’m so captured by the moment I give up taking photos and just enjoy the spectacular show. I feel the power and the freedom from the blank faces of the models. Not until now, I fully understand what Chiuri means when she says a great designer can make a woman feel powerful from the clothes she wears.
After dinner at a restaurant near my apartment, Alex suggests we walk along the Seine River.
It’s a beautiful autumn evening with many tourists and residents walking around. A man is playing the accordion, and another is painting.
“I wish I had my painting kit with me,” Alex suddenly says.
“We could get you one,” I suggest. I’ve always wished to see him paint.
“Great idea,” he says. “I’ll do that first thing tomorrow. I started it again when I was back in Santa Barbara a month ago. You know? I spent most of the mornings with my dad, and we played golf a bit. And then in the afternoons, I painted.”
“Nice! How’s Mike?”
“He’s doing fine,” Alex says. “He mentioned you a lot. He told me he was glad I found the woman of my life.”
My heart flutters at his soft voice, and I can’t form a good response. “I’m sorry,” I say at last.
Alex stops walking and gazes into my eyes, “Don’t be. I felt really guilty about lying to him at first, but lately I decided I shouldn’t. You know why?”
I shake my head and wait for him to explain.
He holds my shoulders and turns me to face him, and then he says with a sincere expression, “My feelings for you, Vivian, have never been fake. I fell for you the moment I saw you that afternoon at your dad’s house.”
I can’t stop the tears that roll down my cheeks, and I gawk at him like the happiest woman on earth. I felt the attraction since we met again, but I never expected he would be serious about me at all.
“I’m so glad to hear it,” I say. “I felt the same. Remember the crush I had for you back in high school? It never died, and seeing you again that day at my dad’s house, just brought it all back. I think if it weren’t for that, I might not have volunteered to be your fake fiancée at all.”
He smiles. “Thank God!” And then he kneels on one knee. “Would you be my wife, my real wife, Vivian?”
My hands fly to my mouth as I squeal. “Yes, Alex. Yes!” I say and kiss him.
