Glitter: A Pierre Gasly Story

Chapter 2

Author's Note

Parts 1 and 2 today! Going forward, I'll be posting every Tuesday, but I couldn't resist giving you Pierre's and Ellie's first meeting. Enjoy!

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By Wednesday afternoon I found myself in Milan, tucked into a charming hotel in the center of the city. I had been to Milan once before and it was one of my favorite European cities. 

Although my mom hadn't given me much of a choice, I was glad that I'd given in and gotten out of LA. The change of scenery would be good for me.

So, when my mom showed up at my door on Thursday morning to go shopping, I was excited for the day ahead of me. It had been a long time since we'd spent a day together, just the two of us.

We had started the day at Prada, trying on dozens of dresses and blouses, each more beautiful than the last. I had been dressing in designer clothing before I could walk, but I'd never lost the appreciation of a well-tailored piece.

I had fallen in love with a pair of leather joggers, which the sale associate insisted would be perfect for the Grand Prix when she found out we were attending. My stylist, Ava, had sent me a ton of options for outfits, but I couldn't help but think the associate was right about the pants. They were fire and I was excited to wear them.

From Prada we moved to Armani. My mother was an ambassador for the brand and so the store had made every effort to impress, taking us to a private section of the store where we could peruse some of the newest items.

My mother was trying on a silk dress while I sipped on champagne and mentally built an outfit around a pink blazer dress I'd selected when her voice broke through my thoughts.

"What do you think of the cut on this?" she inquired, while spinning in front of the mirror. "It seems to be accentuating my waist in the wrong ways."

She was insane. My mother was a perfect size zero and there wasn't a piece of clothing that didn't look incredible on her.

"You look amazing mom. It's a great dress," I assured her quickly. Which was all she wanted anyway. She fished for compliments as if it were a sport and she was a gold medalist.

"Are you sure? It kind of reminds me of that Celine dress you have - the one that you wore to your last birthday that everyone hated."

I gritted my teeth, "Nonsense. It's nothing like the Celine dress. Do you want me to take a photo for Rachel?"

Rachel was my mom's stylist and the two were joined at the hip most of the time. I was sure she was the only person my mother considered a friend.

"No, I'm not going to get it," she decided and moved into the dressing room to look for something else.

While she was gone, I took a few moments to collect myself. 

The comment about the Celine dress was hardly the first shot she'd taken today. I'd tried on a blouse at Prada that she told me made me look like a linebacker. And then there'd been a bathing suit that she pointed out I probably needed to lose five pounds before I could wear properly.

I spent a lot of money with a good therapist to understand what she was doing. That she was projecting her own issues onto me and talking to me the same way she talked to herself. But that didn't mean it was easy to hear.

Nothing else at Armani appealed to her, so we made our way to a farm to table restaurant that was a "can't miss" according to all my mother's friends.

If shopping with my mother was hard, then meals were even more exhausting, and I was starting to remember why it had been a while since the last day we'd spent together.