Unchasable

Chapter 9

YVONNE

I'm in my room, getting ready for the fashion show, knowing I'm already running late. The lady upstairs has lost her cat, and we've been searching her for thirty minutes. Turns out the cat was casually hiding in the lady's storage room, where she was munching on some fish from some tins. The woman felt so bad for making me be late, and offered me a whole tart she baked earlier, although I told her she shouldn't.

I know I'm gonna be late, since I'm halfway through my makeup, still have to get to the Louvre and the show starts in thirty minutes, but at least I found a cat and got some tart.

My phone lights up with a text, one from Aria. We exchanged phone numbers earlier, before we parted ways. I've been on the phone with Livie for a few hours afterwards, when she gave me an overview of her family tree. It's all very Wattpad-like, with true love and stuff like that.

ARIA: Hey, I know this might be weird, but are you still looking for someone to bring home to your parents?

ARIA: I know someone who could do it.

Fucking plot twist.

My fingers are shaking as I grab my phone and start typing.

ME: Hi. Yes, I am. It doesn't have to be real dating. He'd just have to meet my parents.

I don't say that he'd have to marry me and act engaged. That might scare Aria off, and that might scare him off, so that's something for later.

ARIA: Great. He's also looking for someone to fake date. But I'll let him explain it to you later.

ARIA: I'm taking him with me to the fashion show today, I can introduce you after that.

I let out a cheer, for I wasn't expecting this to go by so easily.

Now, you only have to convince him to marry you. Or at least be engaged with you.

Piece of cake.

ME: Perfect. Thank you so much. I'm looking forward to meeting him.

She reacts with a heart, then no one adds anything else. However, I have a good feeling about this.

~

The people are already inside as I arrive at the show. Only the doors won't open. I try banging in the door, yet then realise they need silence. I try opening the door, but it really is locked. I'm so close to take out a pin from my hair and pickpocket the lock, yet I stop myself. And someone clearing their throat stops me.

"Should I call the police?"

I turn around and am facing a blonde guy, probably my age yet taller, a pair of icy blue eyes staring into mine. He's wearing a pair of black pants, white shirt and sneakers, and a Balenciaga vintage jacket.

"Or you could come here and be helpful", I suggest.

He chuckles, making no move in wanting to do that.

Fuck him.

"Why are you late anyway?", he continues my interrogation. If this guy ain't Mr. Christian Dior himself, he has no right to question me.