Jacqueline takes the podium, nearly hipping the newscaster-slash-.auctioneer out of the way. She makes quick comments that don’t need translation to tell her that they are a thank you for everyone for coming, and makesure you pay up if you won. Afterward, Tobias escorts their group out of the ballroom to the garden area to mingle, telling them, “I would be honored to introduce you around if you would like, or if you would prefer, you’re free to do so on your own.” They look at each other, and slowly, everyone else wanders off, leaving only her and Tobias. “Shall we?” he asks, offering her his elbow. Monica slips her arm through his, glad for the company.“Monica, meet Herr Schlieter,” Tobias says as she shakes hands with an older German man, and then his date, who Tobias doesn’t introduce, making her curious. “He’s the Chief Legal Officer for one of Germany’s biggest department store chains.” “Ah, ah, Herr Tobias,” Schlieter says good-naturedly, but at the same time correcting him,
“Father,” Tobias says, taking a big breath that feels like he’s fortifying himself. “Glad to see you made it.” He sounds quite the opposite, actually. The man reaches out a hand to her and Monica takes it. “I’m Monica, nice tomeet you.” Instead of answering her, the man speaks to Tobias as he clearly looks her up and down, undressing her with his eyes. “Isn’t she quite fit? Good for you, my boy. And a fire crotch at that!” “Excuse me?” Monica exclaims, ripping her hand from his. Tobias, she was about to kick his dad in the balls if he doesn't do something! Monica shoots the message, loud and clear, with her eyes to Tobias. Judging by his expression, he hears her and isn’t the least bit surprised by his father’soutburst. Monica remembers hearing Tobias on the phone with his dad but had hoped that was some version of ‘guy locker room talk’. She can’t believe his dad is actually saying these things out loud to her. Well, not to her, but about her to Tobias right in front of her as tho
Monica gets to the washroom, where she really doesn't have to do much, but it does give her a chance to calm herself and think. About Tobias, about Jackson, and even about the fashion tonight. Monica knows she might be a bit hypocritical, criticizing Dead Cat Lady for her fashion while at the same time saying she doesn'tgive a damn about her judging her . . . but she feels deep down that it’s different. If Dead Cat Lady wants to dress like that, that’s her business.NAt the same time, she will defend Tobias against his father’s hate. Because that hate hurts. Dead Cat Lady’s fashion sense is just . . . clothing. But her commentary of Jeanette still rings in Monica's ear, and she won’t support that type of degradation. That’s the key, she realises. Not to be Pollyanna about it, but she truly want people to feel good and to be empowered to be themselves. In life, and in her clothing, if they desire. That’s why Dead Cat Lady and Tobias’s father irritate her so much—they want a societal no
He smooths the wrinkles of his shirt harshly with his palms and then spits out something in French that she thinks roughly means ‘fake’ before turning and storming off. Jackson grabs her hand, pulling her down the hallway the opposite way from where Jamaica went. He tries a door, growling when he finds it’s locked. "Jackson?” Monica asks, not sure what’s going on. He was so angry. She really thought he might hit Jamaica. Not that Jamaica didn’t deserve it, but still . . .On the third try, Jackson finds an unlocked door and pushes her inside, slamming the door shut behind them. He was panting hard, and when he flicks on the light, she can see that his eyes are bright and wild, and they were in some sort of small linen closet. "Jackson?”Jackson's pulse pounds in his temples, his rage barely held back by more pressing matters such as Monica’s safety. When he came around that corner with plans to surprise Monica and heard her plea of ‘no’, he saw red.His vision actually blurred, and whi
Monica tilts her head, smiling gently. “No, you were an orphan, but you weren’t like Jamaica. Where were you at eighteen? Walking a runway? In a fancy home with plenty of food in the pantry? Looking at a future with near limitless possibilities?” The truth hits him sharply. He wants to help these boys and feel like he can empathize with them because fuck knows, he have got plenty of hang-ups from his start in life, and even when his life was significantly more golden with his aunt, it still wasn’t perfect by any stretch. But Monica was right, he wasn’teighteen and facing the streets like Jamaica was. “That doesn’t excuse what he did,” Jackson says flatly. Monica shakes her head. “Of course it doesn’t. But it puts someperspective on it.” He gives her a dubious look and she says more fiercely, “I wasn’t hurt. Jamaica needs help. He’s not a bad kid, not a bad man. He’s terrified.” “You are too kind-hearted.” It’s one of her best traits, but it’s not a compliment right now. “Fair enoug
Jaqueline holds up a staying hand before he can protest. “And no, the most recent auction funds will not be used for anything other than the orphanage. I gave my public word on that.” He notes that his aunt doesn’t shut Venerable down because his switcheroo idea is fucking evil. She only shut him down because it would cause her public image to take a hit if it was found out. It makes him realize something. There is something inherently wrong with the fashion industry in general, and House Corbin isn’t exempt. It takes advantage of the poor, paying as little as possible and sending work to sweatshops if it can, while turning around and selling those items for maximum amounts. He wonders, would the workers who assembled those gowns his aunt donated for auction have been able to buy one of them with a year’s worth of pay? Five years? Ten years? Ever? Never mind what they auctioned for. It makes him think about Monica’s words, about how fashion needs to change. For her, fashion hurts wom
“We will see if he was available, but I have the check for the director. I thought you would like to see the good work that the gala is going to do.” Jackson pulls the envelope from his jacket’s inner pocket and hand it to Monica. Slowly, she takes it with a question in her eyes. “I don’t need to see it. I’m sure the House is doing right by the orphanage.” “You would be surprised what they can come up with, but I want you to see.” Jackson doesn't explains, but she opens the flap of the envelope and peeks at the check. “Sweet Baby Yoda . . . that’s a lot of zeroes.” “It’s a start,” Jackson agrees as he parks. Inside, they were ushered to Madame Brittanie’s office. She was an excellent director—good-hearted, cares about the children, and often works miracles with a paltry budget, so he trusts that she will be a good steward of these funds. “Monsieur Corbin, what a pleasant surprise!” she exclaims, standing to shaking his hand. “Lovely to see you as well. May I introduce Mademoiselle M
After sometimes he says “Wish I could have seen that. She’s a fireball when she’s mad.” Jackson grits his teeth, not liking the familiarity he was expressing about Monica.He notices and grins. “She handed both of us our asses when we got out of hand after the basketball game?” The reminder settles him a bit. He’s not talking about Monica in that hallway. Jackson nods slowly and chuckle. “Yeah. She’s amazing.” Jamaica is quiet for a long time, so long that he tries to find something else to say. “You are about to age-out here, and I know you are scared about what’s out there for you. But I’m here to help you navigate that. A job, a place to live, school? Whatever you want, I will help you research, find resources, fill out applications. That’s what friends do for each other.” “You would still do that for me?” he asks quietly. There’s a hitch in his voice, and it hits Jackson full in the chest that Monica was so right. Jamaica is still, in some ways, a boy . . . a scared one who onc