Persuade Me. By Ena

The modern Persuasion.

Author's Note: Chapter NINE! This one is a little bit shorter than others, purely because I wanted to post this one so I could continue on the story. I'm almost 100% certain this whole caboodle has taken 5 years to even get this far (in that time I've grown up into adulthood, loved and lost, being diagnosed with things, and am gearing up to be an aunty in the next 3 weeks). We're almost there folks.

almost there.


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My day with dad went better than I could have ever imagined. Normally their incessant celebrity talk bores me to tears, but both of them have been uncharacteristically affectionate, and I decide I'm going to revel in it as much as I can, for as long as it lasts.

My new dress hangs up in Liz's wardrobe, and my small spare room only has drawers. We're dining out again, so I go and change. As I pull out some of my options from my bag, I hear the door open and close, announcing that Liz and Penelope have arrived home from their day of modelling. Their voices carry up the stairs and I can clearly hear them talking about how there's a club they want to go to tonight. I let my outgoing breath puff up my cheeks, the chances are high that they will expect me to join them out on the town after dinner, but my clothing options are limited, and there's nothing I brought with me that doesn't scream "twenty-something with a long dry spell and is more frigid than the north of Russia". I pull out a black pencil skirt, and then try to arrange an outfit on the covers of my bed.

I spend about five minutes discarding various blouses and tops as they don't match the skirt, but they do match another skirt I brought with me, so my frustration grows as the clock beside me ticks away the seconds. I scowl at my options, wishing that jeans would be suitable for the evening.

They're not, and my skirt and a blue blouse will have to suffice.

I feel severely underdressed when Liz and Penelope descend from their rooms, dressed to the nines (or dressed to kill, depending on your view of high-end fashion) and dad alongside Penelope in an impeccable black suit. In comparison I must look like the one who just knocked off work and put on a pair of heels instead of work flats.

I don't get the opportunity to think about it; I end up being dragged into Liz's room the moment she lays eyes on me and tells me to strip off that "God-awful skirt". Willingly, I comply and she hands me a tight wad of black material that looks suspiciously like the tummy wraps Doc Berry asks the pregnant ladies in the clinic to purchase if they're pregnant in the winter. Officially it's a skirt, but its tightness and length suggests it should probably just be a butt warmer.

Liz then stands back to evaluate the change, I stand there silently, thanking the stars that my figure is not altogether different from that of my older sister, otherwise the skirt that is clinging to my body would be a whole lot tighter. Eventually she puts me in a completely different ensemble, leaving only my heels the same. My hair is pulled from its low-lying pony tail and she clips a few pieces back, leaving the rest of it down.

'We don't have time for make-up, but you've got the Elliot genes, so you're pretty anyways.' Liz remarks. I smile at her as she drags me out of the room and down to where the rest of our family awaits us.

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Dinner was interesting, a blur of famous faces pointed out to me in between mouthfuls of food. The real fun begins when dad bids us good night and demands that we don't come home until we've had "too much fun".

To begin with we go to some high-profile place and we lose Penelope to the crowd. Liz knows of my aversion to crowds, so she makes sure that I stay close as we make our way to the VIP area upstairs. A remix with a heady bass plays all around and a DJ up on his deck is bopping along, watching the crowd as they pulsate to the song.

Then once we're inside the VIP area, I lose sight of my sister. Normally it wouldn't faze me, but my Italian is basic at best, and this isn't the kind of gathering in which I'm comfortable.

So what's a girl to do in a situation like this? Buy herself a drink and dance.

It's after midnight, and countless drinks later when I finally see my sister again, moving around slowly with a group of what can only be a mob of fellow models. My body is warm with the copious amounts of alcohol I've consumed and I've danced with more guys tonight than any I have ever dance with collectively in my life – including dance lessons and cotillion. As the night continues the crowd gets significantly busier and even the alcohol in me cannot stop the rising level of anxiousness that I feel. Crowds are not my strong point, and neither is alcohol. I feel off, much like I did my first evening in Milan.

I eventually get to where my sister is socialising and inform her that I'm leaving, and she points me to the easiest way to escape the noisy nightclub. She asks me if I've seen Penelope at all, but I shake my head, I hadn't seen her since we entered the joint.

The air outside has cooled considerably and I get goose bumps when a gust of wind hurries past. Since the night is still young for everyone in the country except me, taxis are abundant, and I wait mere seconds until one pulls up to the curb. As my taxi drives me back to my family's Milan apartment, I look out the window, and see the tall tower that my father's driver pointed out as he drove me from the airport, the Pirellone. A few lights are still on, illuminating the offices that are within. I find my thoughts wandering to England, to home and to Fred.

I wish now that I had said something when he came to my hotel room to say goodbye, I did say something... but I now wish I had said it a little louder. I had finally gotten used to his presence in my life again, and in hindsight, I wish I could have kept it.

The apartment is silent when I arrive, a note left on the bench top written in dad's hand, letting us know he's gone out to have an evening of gambling with a few pals. As always, I'm exhausted and it's barely 2am. I change in my pyjamas and have a glass of water. By now I've sobered up and my need for sleep has dissipated just a little. I sit on one of the wide window ledges in the sitting room that overlook the city. The Pirellone can just be seen if I press my cheek against the glass and I find my eye is drawn to it again and again. Saturday's Design Party will lead me to the building and for some reason I'm really glad that I'm going.

0-0-0-0

When Saturday arrives I have the apartment to myself virtually all day. Penelope and Liz are at the dress rehearsals, dad is off with his influential Italian pals and as a result the house is dead quiet from the time I wake up. Today I get to prepare my own breakfast, so pancakes are a go. Normally I wouldn't make pancakes unless it was Christmas or a special occasion, but today feels like a pancake sort of day.

After breakfast I'm at a loss for what to do next, it's only 8 in the morning, but I've eaten, cleaned up and showered and dressed. I scour the house for something to read, but only come up with Friday's newspaper, which I've attempted to read already.

In the end, I decide to go and be a tourist and explore the city, get well and truly lost in Milan and hopefully distract myself before tonight's festivities have to start. The doorman of the apartment block is helpful, giving me a map of the greater city area and pointing out some of the key attractions.

My first stop is the Santa Maria Delle Grazie, where the original Last Supper by da Vinci is located, tour guides are hawking out facts to their flock of American and Asian tourists, their voices echoing through the chapel. I listen to their speech with only a speck of interest. When the crowd thins, I move to see the frescoes by Bernado Zenale. Another busload of tourists arrives, and I decide to leave before I have to hear the speech of the Last Supper delivered again.

A quick taxi ride later and I'm back to the Galleria shopping mall, back on familiar ground somewhat. From there I head out to the Arch of Peace and the Parco Sempione, I get a take away sandwich from a nearby cafe and set myself down under a tree with a view of the lake in the vast park. From my bag I pull my small sketchbook and a pencil. Art has never been something I had much talent for, but ever since the Croft's moved in next door, I found making sketches of things cathartic and relaxing. Often they're ridiculous outlines of things, with lines going wrong places and the end result is not even marginally lifelike. I keep at it though, improvement and progress only comes with practice.

I remember that once, another lifetime ago, I used to watch Fred sketch for his architecture assignments. Floor plans and facades of buildings came to life on paper as he drew them. His single piece of advice when it came to art was "draw what you see". When I draw, a part of me pretends that my Fred, the one I almost married, is watching over my shoulder, stifling laughter and tells me that the duck I'm drawing looks nothing like what I see.

I end up with a page full of varying shades of grey, and a rough outline of the park, the pond and the ducks and the Sforza Castle in the background. By now morning has given way to the afternoon and the air is hot and I feel drowsy. I plug my earphones into my phone and start playing some of my favourite tunes. I close my eyes, sketchbook still on my lap. I turn to a fresh page and let my pencil doodle some scribbles as I listen. I feel as though I am being watched, so my eyes flicker open again, but there's no one. I scribble some more, drawing a face and a dress outline.

After checking my watch, I decide it's time to head back to the apartment in order to get ready for the party. At the bottom of the note that was left for me that morning, dad mentioned he would be back around 6 to get ready and my watch tells me it's nearing 5 already.

I pack my things up and start to leave the park, taking a few moments more to appreciate the beauty of the place.