Chapter 15: High Heels | Fall 2016

Holly

Over the latter part of that torrid summer, we both realized the importance of holding each other for a long time after sex, or else a feeling of emptiness would get the better of me. But now that we're separated again by an ocean and seven hours of time, there's a new emptiness—one that cannot be sated, since he's so far away. After that night in the late summer, we'd been champing at the bit every night after to continue nurturing our newfound physicality—but now, the frustration is an extreme issue for us both, being separated. I try to masturbate, at first, but it's just not the same, and I always feel slightly nauseous after doing it—something about it just seems wrong; nothing can compare to Ben, so I end up waiting, and not touching myself. At all.

I've told Alex about the fact that Ben and I have started having sex, and she's doing her best not to get too overexcited about it. She's started—finally—to see Ben and I as a regular, functioning relationship, and has become much less of a fangirl over the past months, much to my relief. It seems that she's becoming more mature in general, as well, since she's involved in a relationship of her own, and starting to break away from the environment of instability that living on-campus had imbued her with. I've been staying with my aunt in her apartment, now, not in the dorm anymore, and Alex, likewise, is in an apartment, splitting rent between herself and five other people.

The new level of independence from the University campus is both thrilling and frightening for us both—and for me, it makes me much more exposed than I had been before, with the University security keeping the press out of my space. At the end of September, I get spotted walking from Columbia to central park, where Alex and I still run every afternoon on days when we're both free. It's not until later that evening when Ben calls to tell me, that I become aware of some pictures that had been taken during my on-foot commute, and posted online, sparking many comment threads all over the place, people immediately recognizing me as the young woman Ben had been spotted with in London over the summer, and earlier, in December of last year.

It's not too upsetting to me though, as I know being with him will include many instances like this, and so we agree, as usual, not to waste our time looking through the comments and gossip articles, instead focusing on when we will be able to see each other again. Ben has been traveling around the world in recent weeks, promoting Doctor Strange, and I've been in the middle of my studies, so he hasn't dared ask me to join him on the road. But when, at a miniature event in early October, a reporter asks him to comment on me, and why I'm not with him, our resolve starts to splinter; and I don't even care that we're using the press as an excuse.

We decide, at last, to meet up with each other, on a phone call the day before my birthday, when I'm trying to get in a bit of relaxation on my aunt's couch, and Ben is somewhere—sprawled out on a king-sized bed, I imagine—in a foreign hotel. Neither of us can handle being apart any longer, and he informs me that he will be 'settled down,' in a sense, in Los Angeles when mid-October rolls around, doing some last-minute promotions and interviews before the film's premiere. I immediately yield, though he makes no move to pressure me, and tell him that I will take a week away from school and meet him there. After all, I am in an easy spot with my studies, and wouldn't be under any added pressure to make up too many exams in the week after my return, if I did so.

I almost get away with purchasing my own ticket, before, when I think the call is about to come to an end, Ben insists on buying it for me, and I can hear the clattering of keyboard keys through the speaker as he starts in on the job as we speak.

"Ben," I groan, pushing my head back into the sofa cushion, "at LEAST book a red-eye. I can't stand these pricey seats."

"Duly noted..." he muses, tapping some more on his computer keys, and then sealing the deal with a final, punctuatory click. "The six o-clock flight, it is."

I feel my cheeks suffuse with a combative blush, and my legs kick up into the air of their own will, as they often do when my fiery side takes over. "You know," I say, "I'll be turning twenty tomorrow. You can't boss me around, anymore."

"Twenty?!" he exclaims dramatically. "Positively ancient."

I laugh, and when I hear his answering chuckle vibrate through the speakers, I have to stand up and walk around the apartment to ease the aching: I can't wait to have his arms around me.

I pack just a small bag, knowing that I'll just be in the hotel, or going around the city with Ben if he manages to pick up any precious free time, not packing anything fancy. Alex wishes me luck, and tells me to get lots of pictures of the city if I can. I know how badly she wants to live in Los Angeles at some point in her life, as she frequently talks about how interesting she finds the environment to be, from a psychological standpoint. Jokingly, I promise, "I'll type up a comprehensive report for you, doctor," and a part of me hopes that I might be able to do something of the sort for her, not liking the fact that to see Ben, I have to leave Alex behind in this way. But she really seems fine with it, and I know that she'll have many friends—not to mention her new boyfriend—to keep her company while I'm gone, so by the time she's waving me farewell through the back window of the cab taking me to the airport, my mind is at ease, and set solely on Los Angeles, and Benedict.

The flight goes smoothly as usual, though I do make a point of sending Ben a text before I put my phone on airplane mode, making sure he knows I'm not about to forgive him for the expensive ticket. The flight time is a welcome change after the usual seven hours. Though six hours is not much of an actual difference, an hour starts seeming a whole lot longer towards the end of the flight, when my excitement is starting to get too hot to handle.

I want him so badly, that by the time I get off the plane and claim my baggage, I'm already aroused; my whole body straining to get to the hotel as fast as possible. I feel a bit embarrassed about my body's extreme reaction to the anticipation, but eventually I just come to ignore that part of my mind. I can't WAIT to be with Ben—to kiss him, to look into those eyes, those elegant features of his face, to hug him, to touch him and to feel him touching me, in return...

There's a well-dressed man who Benedict had told me to expect, who holds up a sign with my name on it just past the baggage claim area, and he introduces himself very kindly as Daniel, insisting upon taking my bags for me, and then escorting me to the private car waiting at the curb, holding the door open for me and everything. He is the one to drive me to the hotel, keeping me company over the half-hour drive from LAX into the city—I've never been before, and there are some interesting sights to see. He lets me roll down the window and take in the smell of the new city; it's interesting to know that I'm on the west coast of the United States for the first time in my life. I hope that at some point during this visit Ben and I will have the chance to visit the beach...

My embarrassment takes the wheel again when my longing starts to get worse, and I'm plagued by an irrational feeling that Daniel—though he continues to help me hold an easygoing conversation about my studies and the books I like—can somehow sense my mounting arousal for Ben. I'm growing more and more anxious by the moment, and it's getting so intense that I almost want to whine every time we go over a rougher spot in the road. I feel a bit naughty, actually, in a really liberating way. I'm so sensitive that it's as though two months of refraining from touching myself are all putting themself into one place at one time, overwhelming me with desire—which is only strengthened by the knowledge of how soon I will get to fulfill it.

Two thirds into the drive, I can't stand it any longer, and I pull out my phone to text Ben. Not wanting to get too explicit, I only tell him that I can't wait to kiss him, the ache growing in my lower zone even as I type out the word. All my internal organs seem to flip over simultaneously, though, when Ben responds that he can't wait to do much, much more. A shiver rushes through my body and I have to convince Daniel not to roll the window up, since he thinks it's the cold, adjusting myself in the chair and telling myself I'll just have to wait this out, suppressing a whimper when we get stuck in LA traffic approaching from the South.

Finally, after another miserable ten minutes, Daniel drives the car up to the front of the hotel, the night air breezing through the entryway. He leaves the car there and I have to keep from sprinting through the glass doors when I see Ben through them, lingering casually in a pair of sunglasses near the reception desk, just a few strides away from the elevators. My legs start to tremble, already, and I have to keep my head down and not look at him, as Daniel escorts me through the door. I feel like I'm moving as slowly as a snail.

But then, all at once, I'm standing right in front of Ben, Daniel delivering me and my suitcase almost gingerly to him. "Thank you," Ben says to him, but his eyes are already affixed on mine behind the tinted sunglasses, making my stomach do cartwheels.

"Thank you-" I repeat, tearing my eyes away from Ben and smiling at Daniel, who had been so kind. And I think I see him smirk slightly as he nods, just before Ben pulls me away, taking my hand in his large one, which isn't occupied by carrying my suitcase, and practically dragging me at a jog towards the ascending elevator.

I can only hope that It's being called upward by someone on a floor above our own, because I don't want this to have to end, I don't' want to be with anybody but him, tonight; I don't even want to have to cope with a formal hello and goodbye. And I can tell he wants the same as he punches the button for our floor and swiftly catches me again, both his hands on my face. He looks at me almost religiously, causing my body to shudder and melt against his, as I know my blatant longing has reached his attention. "Holly," he breathes, looking into my eyes from his height.

"Benedict..." I sigh in response.

And with that he pulls me in at last, his lips first brushing tenderly against mine, eliciting a light moan from my loosening mouth, and then pressing more firmly in a kiss full of passion and longing, his tongue invading my mouth sweetly—a battle I want to lose. I can feel all the weeks of waiting cast behind me like broken shells, their contents now fueling my body, spurring me forward, weakening and empowering me in the best way possible. His mouth twisting into a beautiful, sly smile, he scrapes his thumbs gently over my raised nipples from the outside of my thin sweater, and I shudder and whimper against his teeth. He groans in satisfied return, the sound radiating through his chest and warming me straight to the bones. After a moment, when his lips leave mine for a sip of air, a thought pierces through my head like a dart and my hand rests on his chest, making him pause.

"Aren't there security cameras in these things?" I say breathlessly, our ten-inch difference in height forcing me to crane my neck to look up at him.

He chuckles at my words, and his eyelids droop slightly as he mumbles, "I had them disabled," and leans in for another kiss. But, boldly, I reach up and set a finger against his lips.

"You did not," I challenge gently, my entire body burning towards his, resisting the urge to pull myself up and wrap my legs around his waist.

"You're right; you caught my bluff," he admits after a moment, challenging my resolve with his voice and the gleam in his eyes when he looks down at me, curling the corner of his mouth upward in a grin.

He kisses me again—this time I don't protest, even playfully—more gently, but with a true, deeper intent, a warm and tender enveloping of my mouth, whose implications makes the place between my legs ache and yearn unbearably. "Oh... Ben, don't..." I manage weakly, in response to his lips, his tongue... He hesitates at my words, not sure whether to listen to them literally or not—he's always very cautious about such things with me—but now I have no time to kindle a moment of gratitude for his consideration in my chest. I take my words back as quickly as I can, by taking hold of his back again, kissing him with a great and tender force that makes him groan and tug at the hem of my sweater.

The elevator dings and we pull our bodies away from each other as soon as we can, waiting earnestly for the doors to open and let us out. When they do, it's a relief to find that there's nobody waiting for the elevator on this floor, and we have the hallway to ourselves as Ben picks up my suitcase and we both go down towards his door, stumbling over each other and trembling. My legs press together in their unsteadiness and I have to remind myself to breathe for the lightness of my head as he swipes his key card and we push and pull one another into the room together in a fit of passion.

He is the one to pull me further into the entryway at last, abandoning my suitcase by the door and shutting it with his foot, cornering me against the wall and kissing me again with ferocity, his hand gently reaching beneath my shirt and then grazing the waistband of my yoga pants. When his fingers slip beneath my underwear and touch the center of my anticipation, I almost yelp, my body arching towards his abdomen, a threatening shudder of relief and lingering need rolling up and down my spine. He, too, shudders and brings his face down to mine, resting his cheek against my own and breathing in my presence, just as I drink in his.

"This..." he begins in that deep tone which he knows makes me feel nothing short of tortured, giving my most sensitive folds a stroke. I whimper tightly, my jaw tightening against his cheek, making him breathe lightly, "...This, is very impressive."

"I couldn't, exactly, help it!" I fire back, with a little gasping laugh. But it's too late for playfulness, and in the next seconds, we've both stripped ourselves completely of our clothes, and I help him to roll on protection from his pocket ("Sly dog," I murmur breathlessly) before we end up sliding in our desperation onto the floor, without any determination left in us to make it to the bedroom before, with a considerate firmness, he presses forward into me, and we both become caught up in each other's bodies, settling so soon back into this rhythm we'd achieved months before.

He makes me feel so safe inside of my body, and I have no qualms at all, even though tonight, we're rougher than we've ever been before. We could always go to the bed, we both know, but there's something extremely erotic about this that I love, and I can tell from the energy pumping beneath his skin that he loves it, too: One of his arms wrapped completely around my waist to lift my hips up for him, his other arm steadying his weight so he doesn't completely crush me. But the balance lets his body stay flush to mine, warm and strong and dominating, and I love the weight of our new physicality, the real effort it takes out of me is exhilarating. Our desire is so great that he's deeper inside of my body than he's ever been before, making contact with my cervix more than once and making me cry out. He hesitates when I do, and he realizes what's happened, but it's a delicious pain, and when I moan, "Oh, my God, do it again..." he does, both of us sighing into each other's mouths as we ride out the waves of our fierce and long-overdue elation to the very end.

Afterwards he wants to wash me in the luxurious shower, and I let him. We make love a second time under the water, and then, absolutely drained and buzzing with endorphins, we settle on the sofa and sit quietly in each other's arms, admiring the view from the giant hotel windows, exhausted after the day and from our bodies' exertion. We barely make it to the bed before finally collapsing just shy of midnight there, in a tangle, looking out over the lights of the City of Angels.

When I wake, I'm the only one in the bed, and my initial instinct is to be concerned when I listen closely to the sound of the building around me and discern that Ben is not in the hotel room, at all. Quickly, though, when I'm pressing my face into my pillow and putting my hand out to where he would have been otherwise, I discover that he's left me a handwritten note in an elegant hand. I sit up with my legs crossed on the bed, and bend over it with a smile plastered on my face, my body aching from last night, but my mind and heart as happy as ever.

"So sorry," it reads, "some unexpected interviews came up. Room service will bring you anything your beautiful heart desires; I left the breakfast menu is on the bedside table. I'll be back by four—I'm taking you out to dinner, no arguments. Call me around eleven... I have a surprise for you. I wish I could have stayed to see you wake. I love you with my entire being. - Ben."

I get a wonderful, warm, melting sensation in my body and heart when I read it, and I sigh, reading it over again and smiling wider when I envision Ben sneaking around the hotel getting ready to avoid waking me. A spike of adrenaline hits my body and I'm suddenly very energetic and excited, feeling extremely alive and happier than I've felt in a while.

I do end up ordering some breakfast food, picking the least expensive items I can find, but still feeling completely full and satisfied by the service by the time I've finished the plate of toast and assorted fruits. After sorting through my suitcase, and poking around the—stunningly luxurious—hotel room for a while, I discover that the entire suite is hooked up with Bluetooth speakers that I can connect to my phone. I do so with a feeling of contentment and ease rising in my chest, playing some of my favorite seventies rock music and singing along, playing some air guitar and feeling completely free and childlike while I take another shower.

I have to be gentle with my body as I wash, and then as I dry and put on a new set of clothes: my back and shoulders ache from our excursion on the floor, my legs remain noodle-like, and the place between my legs is tender and prone to making me wince. But I don't mind the feeling, remembering the thrilling physicality that produced the aches and pains, and reveling in the lingering feeling of his touch, and the knowledge that I will have it again, soon. Waiting until four o'clock is starting to seem like a difficult feat, until I step out of the bathroom and notice the time, ten past eleven, on a clock on the wall, swearing to myself and hurrying to my phone, turning the music off and calling Ben, hoping that he won't be worried by the delay in my calling him, as he'd requested in his morning note.

"I'm so sorry," I apologize nervously before he can speak first. "I'm ten minutes late."

"Holly!" he exclaims gently, but with an edge of sincere authority in his voice that makes my shoulders snap to attention. "Stop apologizing, lovely," he continues, more cautiously than before. "You did nothing wrong. But... I WAS starting to worry that you'd slept in."

"Until eleven?!" I object.

"Don't try to tell me you haven't before."

"Alright..." I yield with a sigh and a simper, throwing myself down on a chair by the window, instantly regretting it as I wince and hiss, standing up again quickly.

"Did something happen?" he asks worriedly.

I smirk to myself and say, honestly, "You really worked me over last night."

His dark chuckle is enough to make excitement prickle in my lower abdomen, and it only worsens when he says, "That's what I'm here for, is it not?"

I whimper a little despite myself and say, weakly, "Stop, you know what that tone does to me. Distract me, quickly!"

He laughs aloud at my tone, and I have to cover my hand with my mouth, happy that I could make him laugh out loud in such a way. We both giggle and chuckle uncontrollably for a minute, so happy at being so near to one another that nothing else in the world matters, and we're totally overcome with carefreeness and glee. At last, though, the laughing dies down and he clear his throat, putting on a more sincere tone. "I think I have the perfect distraction," he says, without a trace of seductive intent. He pauses for dramatic effect and then says, simply, "Do you want to attend the premiere with me?"

For a moment I'm stunned into silence at his words, and then a little sound of confusion escapes my lips, halfway between a stuttering croak and a gasp. My surprise is boundless; I hadn't thought for a moment about being on the red carpet with him, only considering that he wanted me in LA for my company. I thought I would only be staying undercover in the hotel the whole time.

"Only if you're comfortable, of course," he amends quickly. I can tell from his tone that, as usual, he doesn't want to pressure me, and that he knows how huge a step this would be for me, and for us both. But I can also tell that he would love to have me with him—and a part of me really, truly wants to join him, to celebrate his latest huge accomplishment. But my other half is completely horrified at the concept. I try to reason with that part of myself, though, knowing that this was going to have to happen sooner or later, knowing how difficult it would be for us both to move forward if I said no, and, worst of all, envisioning Ben alone on the red carpet in two days, when I could so easily be there, helping him to keep calm in front of the press, keeping him company.

So, with this reasoning, knowing that there have been candid pictures of us caught together before, but ready to take the next step, officially and publicly, to claim my role as his partner in crime, I draw a breath of strength into my lungs and then say, knowing it's the closest thing to the truth, "Ben, I would love to go with you."

I hear his sigh of relief and gladness come over the speaker and, though my stomach is roiling at the thought of being in the public eye in so short a time, I know I've made the right decision. Quickly, though, my mind rushes to become devil's advocate, and I shake my head a little. "But, Ben," I say, suddenly realizing something, "I didn't bring anything suitable for that caliber of social event."

"That's why," he says, as though he's been expecting this, which I'm sure he actually has been. "I left my card for you to go and get something for yourself."

I groan in protest but end up following his directions to locate where he'd put it. "You have to let me pay, myself," I tell him, in a last-ditch effort not to let him spend any money on me. But he doesn't let me leave without taking it with me, saying it's just in case, and that he hopes I end up changing my mind. "What are YOU going to wear?" I ask.

"A black suit. Why?"

"I have to match you, silly," I say with a grin, wishing that, at that moment, I could get up on my tiptoes and kiss him. My stomach sinks a little knowing that he's not right here with me, but quickly the sadness is replaced knowing that he's still in the same city, and that we'll see each other later this evening.

An hour later I gather myself up, bringing my own money and putting on my comfortable walking shoes with my yoga pants and long sleeved shirt, taking a pair of sunglasses just in case—a habit that is slightly odd to me, but is slowly becoming more normal as time goes on. Daniel is waiting outside the hotel just as Ben said he would be, knowing just where to take me to shop. Ben told me to call him if I need anything, but I hope against myself that this won't take too long, and that I'll be able to find a simple black dress and then get out of there quickly.

But I forget about that plan of attack when I get inside the store, a simple-looking facade from without, but within, a very elegant and chic environment that draws me in. And the moment a woman comes to guide me around the various hanging rods and dressing rooms, her mannerisms so considerate and friendly, I am totally lost to the sheer fun of it. I don't even think about money, and all the nervousness from before just drains away as I strike up friendly conversations with the woman helping me, and she talks circles around me with her knowledge of fashion—which, in this environment, and with her amazing passions, seems suddenly not so dull and foreign as I had thought just minutes ago.

"This... is something really, really special," she says to me, quite confidentially, after time has come to a place where I'm not sure whether it's only been minutes or an hour, and I really don't mind either way. She has led me into one of the back rooms of the store, seeking something out that will 'suit me perfectly' as she says, and it seems from the brightening in her eyes, as she pulls an elegant looking black dress from the rod, that she's finally found just the thing.

Most of the other black dresses she'd had me try on made me feel like I wasn't quite tall enough, or didn't have enough curves in the right places for the way the fabric hung, or the hem. But this one, when I put it on, is something perfect for my shorter height, and accentuates my body in a way that I deeply appreciate—it's surprising to me when I look in the mirror and see that I really, truly, do look good in it—I've never worn a dress like this before, one that I can actually feel confident and mildly beautiful in, ever.

"Yep. That's definitely the one," she says to me, after seeing the spark of amazement in my eyes.

But the fairytale spell of the woman and the endless dresses of comfortable fabrics and beautiful designs shatters when I finally proceed to purchase the dress and realize just how much money it actually costs. My jaw actually loosens and I feel my heart stop and start again when I see the numbers, and realize that the credit card in my hand—my own card—is simply not going to possibly suffice.

"Just a moment, please," I say to the person at the desk, the back of my jaw clenching as I shake my head and dial Ben's number in a flurry of annoyance, but also a little bit of amusement and love that always comes with calling him, even in a situation like this.

"Hello," he greets me when he picks up the phone.

But I don't give him a chance for formalities. "Ben." I say, not letting him guess as to my feelings about this outrageous price. "This is ridiculous."

"Please, Holly," he says, and I can tell he's concealing a fair amount of amusement. "Let me pamper you. Just this once?"

I know that I won't be able to pay for this dress by myself in a thousand years, and I also know that this is just the sort of dress I really do need for a red carpet event. Feeling completely cornered I at last yield with a gruff sigh. "I'm going to hold you to that 'just this once' bit," I tell him, feeling genuinely choked up, not knowing how to feel about this ridiculous price. Just before I swipe the credit card I draw a big breath into my lungs, and have to deliberately keep from clenching my eyes shut to avoid looking childish in front of the cashier.

I stay on the phone with Ben throughout the process, and after I've gotten back outside with my sunglasses on, holding the package with the dress inside it tightly to my chest and hurrying into the back of the personal car as though I've just committed a robbery, he chuckles and says "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

As Daniel pulls away from the curb and I settle down into the seat, setting the package with the dress beside me so that I can almost forget about that terrible moment of tension I'd felt holding the card in my hand, I almost have to agree with him. "I guess not," I admit with an edge of contempt that makes him chuckle again. I can tell that there's something he's hiding, and I raise my eyebrows to myself. "What is it?" I ask, not wanting to think of what his almost devilish chuckle might entail.

"Well..." he says mischievously, simultaneously making my nerves jump and my heart sink. "I'm recollecting the contents of your suitcase and... You're going to have to get shoes, too."

"Benedict." I say darkly. "How dare you." Because I know he must have been planning this all along, as Daniel is already starting to drive me in the direction opposite the hotel, and a conspirators look is in his eye in the rearview mirror.

"While I must admit that you wearing your converse under a designer dress sounds fantastic in more ways than one," Ben says gently, "I can't abide it."

"Dammit!" I hiss. I lean forward in the car and say, "I'm hijacking your mental map," to Daniel, knowing that Ben has probably told him ahead of time to take me to some crazy high-end place. "Take me over there, please," I continue, pointing to a mall nearby where I can see there will be a shoe store with much more reasonable prices.

For a moment I see a battle play out on Daniel's face between following the directions already given to him ahead of time and listening to me, now, and in the end I win out over Ben, and he nods his agreement, steering over into the lane to turn into the mall and let me out. I stay on the line with Ben the whole way, picking out a basic pair of four-inch heels. He demands that I use his card to buy these, as well, and I have to admit that I start getting a little upset, feeling extremely conflicted, not wanting to make him feel bad since I can tell he likes making these sorts of purchases for me, but also having a very hard time overcoming my very frugal nature.

"If you have to," he says, just as I'm about to swipe the card, "think of it as a birthday gift, sweetheart."

I huff in exasperation and swipe the card at last, almost violently, before thanking the very confused cashier and hurrying out of the store, making my way back through the mall with my sunglasses on. "Yeah, a twenty grand, first printing of Great Expectations for Christmas and a designer dress and heels for my birthday. You're incorrigible" I hiss into the phone, genuinely upset and not knowing how I should possibly react to all of this, the box of new shoes seeming extremely heavy in my hand. I've heard other young women at college, in Alex's social circle, talk about how easy it is for them to swipe a credit card, and how it gives them a sense of release to shop sometimes. But I've always felt the opposite, even with my own personal card. It usually feels like the most difficult and conflicting thing I've ever had to do when I pay for something that isn't an absolute necessity, and using Ben's money makes the load feel all the worse. I hate the feeling of guilt, even though I know this kind of money is just a drop in the well for him.

"I hope you manage to cool yourself down by the time we go out for dinner tonight," he says to me chidingly, only slightly joking, but I can hear a note of sincerity in my voice. I feel ice fill up my veins as I remember how he had left a message about taking me to dinner (no arguments) in his note this morning, and I almost want to collapse from exhaustion and confliction when I consider just how expensive THAT would be sure to be.

I'm about to argue with him when I hear him say something to somebody on the other end of the line, and another voice responds in a lower key in the background. I hear Ben mutter something again, and then a moment later he's back to me, sighing as though he's just been let down. "It looks like you win this one," he says, "An impromptu meeting has just been scheduled and I won't be able to make it back in time for the reservation I made." I smile a little to myself at the minor victory, but then, before I can feel any bit of the relief at this knowledge, he interjects, slyly, "For now, Holly. I'm going to reschedule, I think, for the night after the premiere."

"Ben." I say, through gritted teeth, really getting upset now walking faster as I hurry through the mall. "No."

"Holly," he retorts, trying to keep his voice light. "Yes. ...Please, can we drop this money issue? You really, really, don't need to worry about it."

Part of me wants to argue but I'm tired of it. "Fine," I say.

But soon the threateningly icy feeling between us fades away again, and we're bantering back and forth comfortably in our usual manner all the way through the mall and out to the car again, Ben baking sure that I'm safe with Daniel before ending the call and heading into another interview. I get off the phone with him and shake my head to myself, giving off an aggravated huff. I see Daniel smiling a little bit by way of the rearview mirror, trying to keep his amusement private, eyes focused on the road.

"What are you laughing at?" I say lightly.

"Nothing, Miss," he says, coyly, and snickers good-naturedly a little before smiling at me with a light smirk, solidifying himself in my mind as an ally.

He gets home around six instead of the previously expected four, and we have food brought up by room service in the hotel, enjoying a very nice meal in front of the windows looking out at the city lights. After we've eaten, we go to the beach together, keeping it undercover as we walk barefoot through the ebbing waves, the water cool and joyous when it hisses at my ankles against the sand. Still, there's a sense of oddness in me, knowing that this will be the last night I ever have without pictures—close-up and very intimate ones, at that, bearing my absolute identity to the public—existing of me on the internet, in a permanent and very exposed manner. Ben can sense my anxieties, and though he doesn't say anything outright to calm me, not wanting to heighten my anxiety, I know from the way he holds my hand, the way he kisses the top of my head, that he understands: that he will be by my side the whole way, and that it's never too late for me to take back my agreement to go with him.

And though there are a few times the next day when I'm sitting alone in the hotel and he's still out doing interviews, that I seriously consider doing just that, I do end up going with him that night. We dress separately and then meet in the main area of the hotel room. Ben has a very kind and very obviously gay man over to do our makeup; he does Ben's and then works with me, being elaborate and joyful in everything he does, but also extremely down to earth and kind, sensible-minded, unlike what I would have expected from somebody working in makeup. He gives me countless compliments on my bone structure, laughing with me and really helping to set me at ease. Then, he leaves and I hear Ben thanking him outside as he leaves, and I stare at his impressive work in the mirror for a few minutes, happy to see that I still look very much like myself, just more drawn-out and heightened for the lights, before I head out of the bathroom to join Ben, working hard not to teeter in the high heels.

He's standing there in the most dapper classic black suit I've seen in my life, and I know that even the makeup has no hope of keeping the extreme blush on my face from showing through as I admire the look of his face, his height, his build. I have to pretend to swoon overdramatically just to lighten the moment, and, gratefully, he chuckles with me as I cross the room to him. He takes my hand and kisses the back of it, bowing to me, unexpectedly. "My Lady," he says in an egregiously posh tone, before drawing himself up again and smiling at me with such a look in his eyes that I know he must be looking at me in the same way I was just looking at him—a thought that makes me feel like I'm on cloud nine, somewhere in a different universe—which might not be such a long shot, given the film we're on our way to see.

I curtsy back, mimicking his comedic high-class gesture, saying, "Monsieur."

"Look at you," he says with a happy grin when we've both drawn ourselves back up to our regular heights. "You'll have them all fooled." And I realize that he's referring to my change in height, due to the heels. I now come up to his ear, rather than to just above his shoulder, which is my height compared to his when we're both in our stocking feet.

"You're the only one who gets to watch me shrink four inches when we return here tonight," I say, wanting to give him a kiss on the cheek, but not daring to risk ruining either of our faces, since the man's work had been so impeccable and considerately done.

"I am looking forward to that very, very much," he says, with a thrilling promise in his eyes, and he gently kisses me on my temple before drawing back. I want to hug him and bury my face in his neck. But for now, we have other business to attend to.

He puts an arm out for me to take and I do, beaming up at him as we leave the hotel room, headed for the elevator and the city beyond, ready to take on the world, together.

Author's note:

The title of this chapter, "High heels," may have seemed a bit random, but I did select it intentionally. Not only for that cute little moment with the heels at the end of the chapter, but also for the symbolism: though Holly Is increasingly comfortable and happy with Benedict, she's simultaneously stepping into some pretty serious shoes. Adapting to his lifestyle will soon shape up to be a lot more difficult than just a few film-premiere photographs and a designer dress. And I'm thinking this issue with the two of them and money is not going to just amount to one or two petty arguments... We shall see where that goes.

I'm sorry that there was no Benedict POV in this chapter—next chapter will probably be all or mostly his POV. I just felt that there was a lot Holly needed to say before we could really move forward safely in the story without any doubts as to her feelings.

I still feel so honored to be writing for you guys, and I sincerely appreciate your patience as I work through some of this personal stuff! This ridiculous delay was due to the fact that I really needed to hunker down and write out a plan for the rest of this story. The good news, is that I now have a tentative layout that gets us from this point, to the present-tense, In July of 2020! Updates will be a little shaky, still, but not quite THIS long in arriving. Please reach out and let me know how you feel! I don't bite, I swear!

Une-papillon-de-nuit

13 August, 2020