Rachel doesn't know what to think, how to feel. She's really done it. She's finally managed to escape the insanity that is the Young family. Or as Peik Lin so eloquently put it, "Walking away from Nick and his family's fat-ass property portfolio."
She glances out the window of the plane absently. There's nothing to look at other than a wide expanse of white, but she continues staring at it anyways. The adrenaline rush that had hit her after the mahjong game is wearing off, and right now she feels like she's been hit by a pile of bricks, both physically and emotionally.
If only things had happened differently. If only Nick's family wasn't a bunch of rich snobs, if only her birth father hadn't been an asshole, if only Eleanor wasn't such a bit-. She sighs. They aren't worth her anger. Cussing them out won't do anything, won't even make her feel any better.
Rachel knows that she should feel relieved, instead of this horrible, irrational sense of dread. She should feel a sense of closure, or something sappy like that that only exists in old rom-coms and Mandarin soap operas. Unfortunately, tragically, her life isn't a movie. This is real, and things didn't just end so cleanly like that. Not in the real world.
Rachel resumes her teaching position at the university instantly. She needs the distraction, she needs to make herself so tired that she couldn't think or process the disaster of Singapore. So that's what she does, flinging herself into her work. It works. Almost.
She doesn't realise that Nick would be coming back too. He should be back in Singapore, managing his father's business, and hosting parties with porcelain cucumber water dishes just for washing your hands. That's his life now, the plan that Eleanor had set for him, so she's pretty shocked when she passes by him in the hall. She does a double-take, unsure if that's actually him. Is this a dream? Is this a nightmare? What the fuck?
They lock eyes, and that adorable crease appears between his eyebrows, like it always does when he's upset. He's very much real. Nick opens his mouth to say something, but Rachel dashes away as quickly as she can, her heart beating furiously in her chest. Once she's safe in the bathroom, she gives in, and bawls like a baby, weeks of pent-up emotion finally bursting.
Of course, it doesn't make her feel any better. With shaking fingers, she calls her mom, and meekly asks her if she can pick her up. Like she's a little middle schooler that has just been teased by the popular girls for her almond-shaped eyes, and now breaking down in the nurse's office. Like she's not an adult with a perfectly functioning car parked outside, but just terrified of having to face Nick again.
Thankfully, her mother doesn't press her for the details, and promises to arrive as soon as possible. Rachel thanks her, then hangs up. She passes the time by staring at the engravings scrawled into the door, wondering who did them, and what the A+M surrounded by a heart stands for. Are they still A+M, or are they just A and M now? Are they happy?
Her phone chimes with a text from Kerry Chu. Here.
Rachel grabs a wad of toilet paper, hastily drying her face. She doesn't care if her makeup looks like shit right now (which it definitely does), but she doesn't want people to think she'd dunked her face in the sink. She assesses herself in the mirror. Not too bad, considering the ten minute crying session. Rachel's hand fumbles to open the door, and she steps out, keeping her head ducked.
In hindsight, she realises this was a bad idea, as she collides into someone. There's a disgusted hiss as their bodies bounce off each other, and Rachel glances up to meet the imperious eyes of Eleanor Young. Holy. Fucking. Shit.
She can't control the small gasp that escapes her, and the older woman's lips part in shock before her face becomes impassive once more. Her dark eyes are cold, and the arrogant sneer she wears sends a shiver through Rachel. She has no power over me, Rachel tries to remind herself. Not anymore. But she shakes a little, nonetheless.
With a tense jaw, Eleanor brushes past Rachel without a word, their shoulders caressing.
When Rachel is finally safe in her mother's car, watching the rolling streets of New York pass by, she's seriously questioning whether or not her life is a bad soap opera.
What a mess, Rachel thinks. Her mother sets down a mug of warm tea before her, and she offers a small smile in thanks.
"So, what happened?" Kerry asks measuredly as she picks at her nails, a nervous habit. Rachel can tell that she's struggling to keep herself from barraging her with questions.
Rachel bites her lip, staring at white wisps flowing off her tea. "I saw Nick." It's just three words, but they heavily hang in the air. There's a stunned silence, and she looks up into her mother's widened eyes. "What?! At work? Why was he there?"
"I don't know." Rachel knows she sounds helpless.
"Well, what else? What did he say?" Kerry is leaning in her direction, itching to hear the details, no doubt.
"Nothing." Rachel pauses for a moment, bracing herself for the explosion that's sure to come. "Eleanor was there too."
Kerry swears in rapid-fire Mandarin, so quickly that Rachel doesn't catch what she says. She grimaces nonetheless in response. "I agree."
The next couple of weeks are uneventful. For once, Rachel doesn't mind the monotony of it all. She gets up in the morning, goes to work, comes home, eats dinner, showers, then falls asleep. Repeat, repeat, repeat. No thinking, just doing.
Today though, she's having coffee with Astrid. She and Astrid continue to talk and exchange emails, and after that night on the beach, they became inseparable. They share and understand each other's pain, but seldom discuss that. Instead, they talk about sandwiches, the weather, and ask each other how their days are going. It's really nice, and one of the few things Rachel looks forward to every week.
They're at the same bistro where Nick had asked her to go to Singapore. Rachel eyes the seats at the counter warily, though it's on the other side of the room. Astrid follows her gaze, because she's attentive like that, and she gives Rachel a sad kind of smile, setting down her cup.
"Let's get out of here," she says, already rising from her seat. The relief Rachel feels is immeasurable, and they leave a couple bills on their table before leaving.
They're walking around Central Park in silence, the green maples swaying slightly in the autumn air. Rachel breaks the quiet with a soft, "Thank you."
Astrid turns her head towards her slowly. The poor lighting of the setting sun should by no means, be flattering for anyone, but she still looks as perfect and pretty as ever. "I know you'd do the same for me. It's what friends are for, right?" There's that bittersweet smile again, and Rachel smiles back.
It goes quiet again, as they sit on the oak bench on opposite sides, but Rachel doesn't mind. She doesn't think Astrid minds either. Sometimes it's just enough to have someone near you, and anyways, conversation isn't comfortable if it's forced.
"There's a party I'm going to this Saturday night," Astrid says suddenly. "Would you like to go with me?" Her hair has been let out of its stylish bun, umber locks falling in messy waves across her shoulders. Astrid's face is pensive, hopeful.
"Yes, I'd love to." Rachel means it. She wants to be there for Astrid, because she's always been there for her. She doesn't stop to consider the fact that Young family might be attending, or that this party will be her way back into the world of wealth and war.
She and Astrid go out to buy a dress. Rachel wants to rent one instead, but Astrid is adamantly against it. It's Elie Saab, and composed of black velvet folds that feel like heaven on her skin. It also drags on the ground, which worries her, but Astrid reassures her that it'll be okay if she walks carefully.
Astrid is wearing a gown of pastel pink organza that's sleek and cool. She manages to look effortlessly chic in the simple outfits she wears to their coffee meetings, but in a dress as gorgeous as that, she glows like a goddess.
It's not super ornate, because it doesn't need it to be. The dress is merely accentuating her lithe legs, the slim waist, and ample cleavage. It takes Rachel's breath away, and all she can say when Astrid steps out of her room is, "Wow."
Her laugh is a warm, tinkling sound. The oblong sapphires adorning her ears move as she tosses her head back slightly, catching the light. "Thank you, darling. You look fantastic as well."
Astrid calls her "darling" all the time, but Rachel doesn't notice until now. She manages a weak "Thank you," and then they're off.
Rachel tries not to yell when she realises that the "little party" that Astrid was referring to was actually at the Met. Not the Met Ball of course, though she knows that Astrid has been before. She doesn't yell when Astrid's arm goes around her waist when the cameras snap pictures of them, but she does make a small squeaking noise, and her heart beats wildly. Astrid seems to sense this, and she smiles, though there's no trace of sadness now.
She leads Rachel inside, who immediately experiences sensory overload. Golden champagne glasses everywhere, the orchestra is in full swing, shiny people in shiny dresses laughing and talking. Rachel catches bits of Malay, Mandarin, and Cantonese, but doesn't catch the faces that are attached to them.
Astrid takes her to the dance floor, and they dance. It's a waltz, and Astrid is remarkably patient with Rachel as she steps all over her toes and nearly trips. They both laugh over their champagne when it's over.
The crowd suddenly goes quiet, and Rachel stops laughing to see who has the ability to silence hundreds of people without uttering a word. She knows she shouldn't be surprised when she sees it's Eleanor Young, but she is anyways.
Her ebony hair is perfectly coiffed, her intricately patterned, emerald-green dress rippling behind her like water.
She doesn't deign to wave to the crowd, nor acknowledge anyone. Then her gaze falls on Rachel. To her surprise, the older woman nods at her curtly, graceful head tipping forwards then back up. She doesn't do it again for anyone else.
This gives Rachel a weird kind of joy, but she doesn't know why. Instead of pondering this, her eyes greedily drink in the sight of Eleanor, her breath hitching when a well-toned leg escapes the long slit in her gown. She doesn't know why she's looking at her like this, the woman that ruined Rachel's life. But she keeps doing it.
Eleanor takes what seems like eternity to pass through the sea of people, and Rachel's heart accelerates when she realises that she's heading towards her. Astrid is still standing by her side, looking equally stunned.
Rachel thinks she might be on the verge of cardiac arrest when Eleanor is right in front of her. The older woman carries herself with her customary hauteur, standing imposingly in front of them. But there's a anticipatory twinkle in her eye, which is both incredibly worrying and appealing. Someone might actually die tonight, probably Rachel.
"Hello, Astrid." Eleanor greets her with a tight smile and a wave of her hand. Astrid says something in response, but Rachel can't hear her. She doesn't hear what Eleanor says either, because she's distracted by how delightfully smooth the older woman's shoulders look. Rachel can't believe that she's ogling her ex-boyfriend's mom like this. Her very attractive ex-boyfriend's mom, but still. As Astrid talks, Eleanor looks like she's paying close attention, but her head jerks in Rachel's direction.
Rachel feels her heart stop, and prepares herself for some kind of caustic remark. It doesn't come through, and Eleanor's face is unreadable. Then her eyes trail down, studying Rachel in a similar fashion. It feels like a combination of scrutiny and... something else.
"Astrid, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to talk to Rachel for a moment." Eleanor says cooly. Astrid's brow puckers, and she looks like she's about to say no, when Rachel answers, "All right. I'll be right back, Astrid." She lays a comforting hand on her arm before departing. Astrid relaxes.
Eleanor leads Rachel through the crowd, up the stairs, and into an empty room. "Let's talk business," she says simply, then proceeds to push Rachel up against the wall.
Eleanor starts kissing her neck, softly and slowly at first, but with each lipstick mark to Rachel's skin, she gets hungrier. Rachel doesn't know what to do because oh, it feels so good, so she just clings onto the fabric of Eleanor's dress. She's slipping out of her dress now, the black velvet pooling around her waist, and then it's on the ground. Eleanor aids her, fingers delicate and well-practiced as she unzips the back of the dress. Rachel wonders, for a fraction of a second, what the hell they're doing.
But then Eleanor's touching her through her bra, and all she can think about is her surprisingly gentle hands and how heavy the older woman's breathing is now. Her hair is slightly mussed and there's an uncharacteristically wild look in her eyes. It's turning her on like crazy.
Rachel can already feel herself getting obscenely wet and whimpers a little. She needs more, she needs all of it. "Please."
Eleanor arches an eyebrow. That's the first thing any of them has said so far since they started. For a second, Rachel's afraid that she's ruined it, that Eleanor is going to return to her senses and leave her unsatisfied.
That doesn't happen, thank God. "What do you need? Tell me." Eleanor demands sharply. Her hands have stopped moving, spare for one finger which continues tracing feather-light patterns over her breast. Rachel wants to cry.
"Fuck me," she manages to say without stammering. The older woman's lips quirk into the subtlest of smiles. "Very well." There's a flutter of fabric again, as Eleanor undresses her completely. Agent Provocateur satin bra and briefs fall to the floor, and the older woman delivers a quick but tender kiss to Rachel's naked breast.
Eleanor is slowly falling to her knees, with as much poise as someone about to go down on her son's ex-girlfriend could manage. She's still fully clothed of course, but her makeup is horribly smeared and her hair's going in all directions. Rachel feels oddly proud of herself, even though most of the dishevelment is Eleanor's own doing.
With only a little bit of hesitance, Eleanor tests her tongue on Rachel, who gasps. Seemingly encouraged by her reaction, the older woman licks again, harder. Her knees buckle, threatening to collapse, but Eleanor murmurs, "No, no" and pulls her back up, pinning her legs against the wall.
She continues, growing bolder with her ministrations. Her whole tongue slips in, and then a small nip of her teeth, all while holding Rachel up against the wall. She moans, but Eleanor tells her, "Shhh." So she covers her mouth with her hands when she comes with a muffled wail. Eleanor doesn't get back up until Rachel catches her breath.
The older woman is licking her lips, head tilted to one side as if she's actually assessing the taste. She seems to find it satisfactory though, and nods. "Good." Then she moves to the mirror on the other side of the room, patting her hair into place and fixing her makeup with ease. Rachel's incredulous. Is this just a one-and-done situation? Seriously?
Once Eleanor is restored to her former perfection, Rachel blurts, "Wait, will I see you again?"
She stops in the doorway, not moving, not saying a word. "Yes," Eleanor says. "Don't be stupid." Then she smirks at Rachel and walks out, the train of her dress leaving the room shortly after.