"No," Santana points to you. Then points to Rachel, "No." Then she points to Brittany, "Yes."
You and Rachel look down at your dresses and wonder what's wrong with them now. And why the hell Brittany still gets a yes even though she's not actually wearing a dress yet.
Santana sips her coffee with a wicked smirk. You put your hands on your hips, "Just because we're not your almost naked fiancée doesn't mean we don't look good too."
"True dat," Santana tilts her head to the side, "But the pockets on your dress make you look way wider than I know you are and Berry needs a bolder color. But not red. Red's my color."
You catch Santana eyes and give her a small nod. Going into this you told her that your dress needed to be understated. Rachel's dress needs to stand out and yours needs to blend in. You want to play the role of the supportive speculative girlfriend. You don't want any attention directed that you, especially if it takes away from Rachel.
Inside the large dressing room of the boutique you're in, salespeople and concierges bustle in and out. There are three screens set up on the room and you've all decided to take turns. Santana brought one of her books so she took the first shift throwing verdicts at the three of you. Rachel's publicist has been walking in and out, mostly out. She invited herself because she wanted to talk to both of you and now was the only time she could apparently.
You look at the rack of dresses that had been pre-selected for you by the staff. You start sorting through them looking for a color that would compliment a strong color as well as make you part of the scenery. At the Tony's you are an accessory.
You finally settle on a champagne colored dress that sparkles. It stops right above your knee. You glance at yourself in the mirror and fix the top of the strapless dress. You think that you like it, but you're not sure. So you step around the screen and put your hands on your hips, your eyes set on Santana who, once again, has her face buried in a textbook.
"Hey, Dr. Pierce," you call with a smirk on your face.
In high school that would have offended her, but now a huge grin crosses her face as she looks up. "That's Dr. Lopez to you."
You're a little confused. You were sure that one of them would take the other one's last name or at least hyphenate or something. You shrug it off. That's a discussion for another day, "How do I look?"
"It's perfect," she nods, "Get you some matching heels and Ms. Berry has herself a date to the Tony's."
"Matching heels or not, she's my date," Rachel steps up next to you in a very elegant muted teal dress. It hugs every mouth-watering inch of her body. A shiver shoots through your body and you swallow which has become difficult because your mouth has gone dry.
"Uh, Q, you're drooling," Santana quips.
You quickly reach up to your lip and find it acceptably dry. Then you roll your eyes at her. When Santana let's out a wolf whistle, you turn to see Brittany standing on the other side of Rachel in a dark blue evening gown.
"Alright," Rachel says looking between the three of you, "We look super hot and I think I need a picture of this as soon as Santana finds her dress."
She huffs and sets down her book. Then she glances at the rack next to her, "Britt-Britt, red or black?"
"Red," Brittany states and walks over to help her.
You finally turn to Rachel and get up a will power over your body to tell her, "You look amazing."
She smiles back, "You're beautiful as usual Quinn." She pads over in her bare feet and kisses you softly. "And I will definitely have a problem keeping my hands to myself."
"Me too," you grin and lower your head again to capture her lips. You know that this will never get old. The tingle that you get when you kiss her and the rush of excitement the second your lips touch hers.
"So," she slides her hands down your arms and she takes yours, "The hairdresser and make up artist are going to be at our apartment at twelve thirty."
"Hairdresser?" you ask. You get a little uncomfortable at the idea. You shift a little and suck your bottom lip between your teeth.
"Is something wrong?" she asks, her eyes bouncing all over your face, searching for what's wrong.
You remember that you promised her that you'd be honest with her. You look down at her bare feet, "How about I do my own hair and make-up?"
She cocks her head to the side and studies you. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed." She pushes up on her tippy toes, your lips crashing together.
You're surprised that she doesn't ask you why. You know that she wants to know why. She's Rachel Berry. She can't not want to know. You sort through your reasons. You're trying to look attractive, but understated and you're sure that a hairdresser would not share your vision. Plus, you're not really comfortable with her paying for it. You know that she makes more money that you and can afford it. It doesn't mean that you want her paying for everything. "I'd just be more comfortable doing it myself."
"I understand," she smiles back at you.
"Yo," Santana calls from the other side of the room. She's in a red evening gown that looks painted on. You have to admit that she looks hot. Especially standing next to Brittany who is wearing blue. "How do we look?" She snakes her arm around Brittany's waist and holds a champagne glass in the air, both of them posing for a picture.
"Where'd you get champagne?" you ask her as Rachel picks up her phone to take a picture of them.
"I asked for it," she smiles back and takes sip of her drink. "For what these dresses cost, they should serve us dinner." She hands the glass to Brittany who takes a sip.
"Oh, speaking of dinner," Rachel turns to you with a hopeful smile, "I know I should have asked earlier, but after you free for dinner tonight?"
You can't help, but smile. "Of course I'm free."
"Great. It's a date," she hugs your waist and rests her head on your shoulder.
You glance over the top of her head at Brittany and Santana who are pouring champagne from a bottle. They smile at each other before looking down at Santana's engagement ring. She both burst into giggles before kissing and sipping their champagne.
Behind them your eyes catch Rachel's publicist striding back in. She seems nice, the two seconds you talked to her. She pushes her short choppy hair out of her face and readjusts her black-rimmed glasses before surveying the four of you.
You give her a polite smile, which she reciprocates. You really wish you would have heard it when Rachel said her name, but at that moment the Broadway diva was taking off her clothes to try on her first gown so the only thing you could hear was blood rushing through your body and the loud drumming of your heart.
"How do we look, Kathy?" Rachel asks her playfully, throwing her arms around your waist and bending one of her legs, her foot hanging in the air behind her.
Kathy. You know her name now and don't feel like a perv for hearing the sound of Rachel undressing over her introduction. Kathy nods, "Nice choice in attire. Now I just want to go over a little red carpet etiquette." She glances over at Brittany and Santana, "You two will be going as well?"
They both nod, curious as to why she wants to know.
"I think that it will be good if you show up one right after the other," she tells the four of your, "Rachel and Quinn first and then…"
"Brittany and Santana," Rachel jumps in. "Brittany's a choreographer for the new show opening in a few weeks."
Kathy looks impressed and produces a business card out of seemingly nowhere. She hands it to the blonde and says, "If you need a publicist in the near future." After Brittany takes the card Kathy turns to Santana, "Do you need a publicist for anything?"
"Nope," Santana shakes her head, "I'm a med student."
She looks from Brittany to Santana, then back to Brittany and tells her, "That will work really well for you."
Brittany looks bewildered and looks to Santana who looks just as lost. Kathy turns back to you and Rachel, "I changed my mind. I think they should arrive first. Let Brittany talk to a few smaller publications before you two arrive." She takes a deep breath and eyes you, "You're going to have to stand behind Rachel a few feet and off to the side. Try not to look too interested in her interviews. Stay with her entourage or Brittany's friend." She waves flippantly at the two brides-to-be.
"Santana," your friend states her name with a bit of an edge. She may have mellowed out since high school, but she's still Santana, "Her fiancée."
"I have an entourage?" Rachel asks, wide-eyed. You know she didn't hear anything after Kathy said she'll have an entourage. She's a star, but is still climbing so she's still going through some of the processes for the first time.
Kathy nods, ignoring Santana and answering Rachel's question. "Just a few well dressed people that will leave you alone as soon as you get to the entrance of the theatre. They walk behind you and stay out of the way when you're taking pictures." Kathy adjusts her glasses and looks down at her phone, "No kissing, no hand holding. You can make goo-goo eyes, but not often. We want to keep this relationship speculative so that goes for all public interaction between now and then. One of my assistants will be at your side during the walk down the red carpet, the whole time. If a reporter starts asking questions about Quinn, then she'll usher you away from the reporter. As she moves you along, you look over your shoulder and tell the reporter your sorry and you wish you had more time or something to that effect."
Rachel nods, like she's in class and the teacher is give her notes. You absorb as much as possible and try to figure out exactly how long it's acceptable to make goo-goo eyes at Rachel. Are you supposed to count in minutes or camera flashes?
Kathy's eyes set on you and you grab Rachel's hand without any effort, lacing your fingers together. If you're honest, this woman telling you how to act sort of reminds you of Coach Sylvester and Rachel's hand firmly holding yours gives you the courage to look her in the eye when she's talking to you, "When a reporter asks to talk to you, you giggle or something and politely decline. You're the shy friend, there to support Rachel."
You nod, "Got it. I'm scenery."
"Exactly," Kathy nods and looks through her phone once more. "If you have any questions you have my number. Brittany I'd love to work with you. You might want some consultation done before your show opens." Kathy tucks her phone into the pocket of her pants suit and nods, "Good luck." Just like that she was gone.
Rachel pivots on her foot closest to your and wraps her arms around your neck. "You're not scenery."
"On Tony's night, I am," you state, folding your arms around her back, "It's not a big deal. It's your night. I'm just happy to be there." You grip her tightly and add, "Besides, I don't think I could handle the reporters and photographers. That's your thing. If any of them want to talk about granite countertops, though…"
She laughs and drops a kiss on your bare shoulder. She takes a step back and takes your hands, holding them out and examining your dress, "Do you like it?"
You nod. It's not flashy, but it's elegant and you think you look good in it.
"I like it too," she lets go of your hand and picks up her phone. "Say cheese."
"Cheese," you grin and fold your hands behind your back, trying to act the part of the shy friend.
"Beautiful," Rachel snaps the picture and smiles as she tosses her phone back into her bag. "The best looking date I've ever had."
You dip your head and blush. You're not really used to such compliments. Especially from someone you think to be the most beautiful person in the galaxy.
"Okay ladies," Rachel turns to Brittany who is sitting in an armchair and Santana who is sitting in her lap, "While we're here shall we look at wedding dresses or is it too soon?"
A guilty look coats Brittany's face, "I'd love to, but…"
"She has to go back to work," Santana stands, moving herself off of Brittany's lap. You know that the engagement lessened the tension between them about Brittany's work, but you don't know how much longer the reprieve will last. Hopefully they'll be okay through the next few weeks because after opening night Brittany has a while before her next project.
Brittany quickly changes out of her dress and hands Santana a credit card. Brittany kisses Santana deeply. Santana's left hand moves up to gently rest just the tips of her fingers on Brittany's cheek, her engagement ring gleaming in the light. You quickly whip out your phone and snap the picture. It was a beautiful moment between your friends and you're glad that you can keep a little bit of it with you.
After Brittany left, Santana used the credit card Brittany gave her for both of their dresses. The card you found out belongs to the production company fronting the funds for Brittany's show. They want her to be there so they're paying for everything. As far as choreographers go, Brittany's apparently the best looking one they have and they want her face out there.
Rachel's show has partially paid for her dress so she covers the difference as well as your dress, much to your protest. She insists, once you're in your apartment and your dresses are hung up, that because she picked the boutique and that you're her date and that most of her dress is already paid for that she should cover yours.
Sit on the floor in the kitchen and tilt your head back on the cabinet behind you. She leans back against the counter across from you. "When you take me as your date to the Real Estate Agent of the year awards, I expect you to buy my dress."
You chuckle and shake your head, "I don't think there's such a thing and even if there were, I wouldn't be invited."
"Why not?" she asks, "You're great at what you do. Your boss even gave you the day of the awards off."
"Because it's good publicity for the firm," you let out a sigh. Because of your budding popularity in the gossip media, your boss has put everyone's picture up on the website, yours being the one on top so everyone knows where you work.
"Okay," she sits down next to you on the floor and looks up at the light fixture hanging over the table, "I'm going to tell you a couple of things I've observed with you and you can stop me or tell me I'm out of line if you want."
You don't say anything knowing that she'll take it as a cue to go on.
"You hate your job," she lulls her head to the side to look at you.
You nod. She's got you there.
"I can see it when you leave in the mornings," she pauses. "You're young Quinn and I know that there's nothing that you can't do if you really want to. You can sit here on the kitchen floor and stare at the wall for the rest of your life."
"I think eventually I'd need to eat."
"I'd feed you." She sighs and rests her head against the cabinets behind her, "If you're not happy, then quit. You're too young to be stuck in a job you hate."
"What am I going to do for money?" You ask and you press your finger to her lips when she opens them to speak, "No I'm not mooching off of you anymore than I already do."
She smiles and thoughtfully looks at you, "Two weeks."
"Hmm?"
"That's how long you were going to test drive New York for and that's now long you're going to take to find something you love. To chase your dream."
"I don't have a dream," you lament, pulling your knees to your chest, "I guess…it could have been to get out of Lima, but I did that thanks to you. Now…I don't know. Am I that sad?"
She smiles softly at you and brushes a few wisps of hair that have managed to escape your ponytail out of your face, "It's not sad. You just haven't discovered what your passion is. You'll figure it out soon."
"Easy for you to say," You lean into her and tilt your head so that it's resting against hers, "You came out of the womb singing show tunes."
She giggles and wraps her arms around you, "You'll find something. You just have to let yourself do what you love to do. What do you love to do?"
You can think of a lot of things you love to do and they all revolve around her. That's not what she's talking about so you just shrug, "I don't know."
"Well," she runs her fingers up and down your side, "You're very artistic."
"Really?" You've never really thought that about yourself. Maybe you are. As far as knowing yourself, you're pretty far down on the list of people who know you the best.
She nod affirmatively, "Yeah."
"How do you know?"
"Just the way you do things. How you lay out dinner, the way you give directions, how you look at things," she pauses and when she sees your rapt attention, she bashfully smiles.
You appreciate her insight and wonder how she could have noticed so much.
You both sit in silence for a few minutes just sitting on the floor breathing. When she speaks, her breath caresses your neck and you try to hold in a shudder, "You're beautiful."
The way she says the words, quietly with a deep gravity behind them, strikes you and you don't know what to make for them for a long time, so you don't reply. She pulls away a bit and stutters, like she's embarrassed, "I mean you could be a model."
"Probably not," you make a weird face because modeling, you've always thought, was for bimbos.
She pulls you back to her again and rests her cheek on the top of your head, "Or a photographer."
"Maybe."
"Or a writer."
"Maybe."
"Or you could produce a Broadway revival of Evita so I could finally play Eva." She adds, trying to lighten the mood.
You laugh with her and take her hand. When the laughter dies down you turn her hand palm up and start tracing the lines on it. "I don't know Rach. I've made a lot of changes in the past few months. What if I don't recognize me anymore?"
"If not recognizing your means that you're happy then I'll not recognize you too," she offers sweetly.
You turn your head and peer up, into her eyes. You know she means what she says. She wants you to be happy. You see caring in her eyes. So much so that you start to choke up. As the tears build in your eyes you close your eyes, wishing them away. You have done a lot of crying in the past few months. A song comes to mind and you sing the one verse in your mind. This is the story of a girl who cried a river and drowned the whole world. Yup. If you could find a job where crying weekly was a requirement you'd be damn good at it.
You shake your head to ride yourself of the thoughts and the song. After a beat you start to giggle. "Why are we sitting on the floor?"
"I was just wondering the same thing," she giggles right long with you.
You stand and help her up. She glances at the clock on the stove, "Well I guess I should get going. Are we still on for dinner tonight?"
"Of course," you smile and meet her in the middle for a chaste kiss.
After she goes, you take a quick shower and start to pick out something to wear. You wait to put on the dress that you picked out. You stay in your gray cotton shorts and a tank top for a while, just laying on the red lounge chair that was moved into the piano room. Rachel wanted to put it living room, but there wasn't any room. You and Ethan got it up the cargo elevator, but it took half an hour to get it through the front door, ten minutes on the phone to convince Rachel that it wouldn't fit in the living room and then another twenty minutes to get it down the hall and into the piano room.
There's a book in your hand, but you're not really reading it. You're staring at the words, but you don't know what they say. You're not really thinking about anything in general. You phone rings next to you and you pick it up off of the floor. "Hello?"
"Hey," Rachel's voice is smiling, "You ready?"
You look down at your clothes and out the window, realizing that it's dark outside and your non-thinking has taken you over two hours. "Uh, almost."
"Okay," Rachel answers, "I'll be there in fifteen minutes to pick you up."
"Great," you stand up, tossing the book onto the chair and run down the hall into your room.
You pull your dress over your head and grab a sweater. It's starting to get cold outside and you don't know how much longer you'll be able to wear your beloved sundresses. You look at your hair in the mirror. You blow-dried it before reading so it looks okay. You grab a headband off of your dresser and look at yourself in the mirror. Then you yank it off and shake your hair out. Much better. After some last minute makeup and picking out the perfect flats, you're ready.
And just in time because as soon as you step out of your room, purse in hand the front door opens.
Rachel tells you that you look beautiful and whisks you off into a waiting taxi downstairs. You stop at a small restaurant a few miles away. She tells them that she has a reservation for Rachel Berry and you're immediately seated at a table for two in the back.
The walls are a deep red, accented with luscious heavy drapes gathered on the walls and dim lighting, completing the romantic feel. By the spicy smell and the entrées on other tables you figure that this is a Spanish restaurant.
Just as you're seated a waiter appears. Rachel ordered a bottle of Sangria and waved off the menus, ordering for both of you. You quirk your eyebrow and she just grins at you, "Trust me."
You do trust her so you nod and go with it. The tapas she ordered were amazing. You don't think your mouth has ever experienced that much flavor at once and the Sangria was delicious. You finished off the whole bottle between the two of you and Rachel bought two bottles to take home. You laughed and talked and you know you've never been that comfortable around anyone apart from Santana in your life.
When you stand you don't remember walking to as much fun as it was when you two lean on each other all the way out to a waiting taxi.
As soon as you get inside and lock the door, you find Rachel's lips on yours. Then they trail down your neck and cheek and lips again. They're everywhere and you can't stop the soft moans that escape your mouth. You both stumble to the living room and tumble onto the couch. She's on top of you, kissing your deeply, your tongues moving together, mirroring the way your bodies are grinding together.
Suddenly she pulls away with a giggle and looks down at you, "I don't know about you, but I'm kinda drunk."
You smirk and nod, continuing to run your hands up and down her sides, "Mhmm. Me too."
She lowers her head to your lips and gives you a light kiss, your lips barely touching, "I like kissing you."
You get out as she's kissing your jaw, "I like kissing you too."
"Since we're both kinda drunk," she adds as she gently bites down on your earlobe, "Let's keep it at kissing for tonight."
You whole-heartedly agree, nodding your head. Of course you would have agreed to anything if she kept doing things like that. "Yeah."
She giggles at your breathy reply and she adds, kissing down your neck as she rids you of your sweater, "Okay, maybe a little second base action too."