Page 111 of Ruled By Rivalry

Looking, of course, as beautiful as ever.

The pale-pink base layer she hadn’t found too sheer at all. The three-dimensional body that sat so perfectly on her figure, with pink blossoms, leaves, and branches that appeared embroidered into the dress, and tiny diamonds shining perfectly in a variety of pink shades.

Tears again. I tried my best to blink them away, but they continued shimmering in my eyes at the sight of her. At the fact that I’d made it, a little bit. No matter what happened after the internship was over, no matter how long I’d have to live with my grandparents again, I’d always have the image of my dress on an Annual carpet.

No one could take that away from me. Or Mom.

Ryan was a few beats ahead of Daphne, making sure they’d get their own photos first before posing together. And I’d been so caught up in working, avoiding, and ignoring, seeing his look caught me off guard.

Champagne silk. Blossoms and vines embroidered with the same diamonds that appeared on Daphne’s outer layer. One of the flowers from her dress had been turned into a small brooch on his jacket, too.

Perfect. They looked perfect together.

From afar, when they’d both made it to the media zone, I could hear people complimenting her dress, her hair, her makeup. By their assistant, she was gently nudged toward the first interviewer lined up, camera and mic immediately in her face. She laughed, she talked, she seemed born to do this. Then again, Elliot did too, and he’d hate this.

I didn’t mean to look for him, for my eyes to scan the carpet and the various groups around me, and for something settling in my chest when I didn’t spot him. Disappointment, maybe.

I would eventually have to thank him for the dress.

When my gaze drew back to Daphne, she’d moved on to the next outlet, talking to a woman no older than us, damn near giggling as she bent over. Her blue eyes connected with mine, and she gasped. I could hear it from here, over the noise of hundreds of other people talking and shutters of cameras clicking.

I blinked, and by the time I opened my eyes again, she was already heading my way. Waving as if I didn’t only have eyes for her, as if I might not even recognize her until she was right in front of me.

She screeched, pulled me into a hug, then dragged me back in front of the camera before I’d even managed to say, “Hi.”

“Hi!” the girl beside it smiled brightly. “Daphne was just talking about you.”

All I could hope was that my makeup hadn’t smudged. My eyes must’ve still been wet.

“Was she?” I squinted against the bright lights behind the camera. Tried to ignore the nervous flutter at the prospect of someone talking about me during a red-carpet interview at the Ashwood Annual. The nervous flutter from just being here at all. Although that was more like a nervous fighter jet, wreaking havoc in my stomach.

“Just look at it!” Daphne turned in place to show off her dress before facing the camera again with the brightest smile in the world. The corners of my lips pulled up; there was nothing I could do about it. “How could I talk about anything other than you all evening, Maeve?”

“It is beautiful,” the interviewer agreed, then nodded to my own dress. “And with a focus on sustainable material, I heard.” She glanced at Daphne as if she’d talked about nothing else so far. Eyes back on me, she asked, “Did you design this one as well?”

“Oh.” I think so, I wanted to add. I hadn’t worked on this dress at all, and a few hours ago, all I knew about it was from my sketches. To take credit when I didn’t even know how it got to my room felt wrong.

The dreaded question followed. “Who are you wearing, then?”

The lights were blinding and hot, and I was fanning my face, letting my gaze, just for a second, wander. So that I’d see something other than the lingering afterimage of the lamp, a bright spot in my vision that was only blurring away slowly.

And then, out of nowhere, Elliot.

Any chance of focusing back on the camera, on Daphne nodding grandly, saying “It is stunning,” and the interviewer agreeing again, was gone. Because he was looking back at me, completely ignoring his brother next to him.

They walked over, taking the spot beside us, and I hated that his eyes were still on mine. It meant mine were still on him, too. It meant I was spacing out, ignoring an important question that I had no answer to. And it meant that I didn’t really care about answering at all when I obviously should have.

We hadn’t really looked at each other for a week, so it felt like we were making up for lost time. I was, at least. My rising panic settled more with every second of eye contact. I hated it, loved it, wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the fact that he’d had that effect on me. Still, and after everything.

Something bumped my shoulder, and it snapped me out of my trance. I shook my head, apologized. “It’s just a lot. I’m sorry.”

“Happens to the best of us,” Daphne and the interviewer said in unison, laughed like they’d known each other for years when, I think, that was just the effect Daphne had on people. “I was asking about your dress. Who designed it?”

And because I was aware of everything Elliot was doing, I noticed him perk up. I saw him, in my periphery, switching sides with his brother to get closer. To be right next to me, with only that small space between the media stations separating us—and that wasn’t much.

My skin tickled at his proximity, the urge to look back at him so strong I had to physically restrain myself and focus on the question.

“Oh—” Think fast, Maeve. “It’s a collaboration. Ashwood × Peterson.”