𝐯𝐢𝐢𝐢.
𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 (𝐚𝐤𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐤)
──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

Moments like these make me wish that I didn't love clothes as much as I do.

My closet is an absolute mess by the time I'm done tearing it apart in search of something to wear for dinner tonight.

I want something impressionable, but not too much that I look overdressed. It doesn't help that Derek won't tell me anything about where we're going. Only when to be ready, and to dress nice.

But nice can be filed under any category when it comes to restaurants.

Dressing nice for smaller establishments is easy.
Usually, you can pass without wearing a dress. Maybe a cute little sundress number, but I doubt Derek Crimson—correction, Rossi, would take me to a place where a sundress would be necessary. Especially if this is another 'stunt' meant to get back to Ryan and Melody.

A finer, more reclusive, non-chain restaurant needs more preparation. A dress, for sure, or a matching set of some kind that's on the more conservative side. I could get away with pants as long as they weren't blue jeans.

But a luxurious dinner at one of the most expensive restaurants in town? I have no idea where to start.

This leaves me here, now, sitting on the floor inside of my closet as Cady flicks through every one of my dresses—deeming all of them lackluster. Though she occasionally picks one up to analyze it under critical eyes, just to put it back on its designated rack seconds later.

In any sort of fashion crisis I always call my sister. But when she's even having issues with the clothes in my closet there's a definite problem.

Cady hums, clearly deep in thought while glaring at the plethora of dresses she thinks little of.

To be fair, most of my dresses are clubbing dresses. Which are either too short, show way too much skin, or are a mixture of both. "Right. We still have a few hours so there's no rush." She turns on one heel to look down at me, one hand propped on her hip as the other flicks through her straightened hair. Brows knit together, she asks, "What about Julia? Does she have anything?"

"She might." I groan and lay flat on my back. The unexpected coolness of the wooden floor makes goosebumps erupt down both of my arms.

Cady plucks her phone from her back pocket with swiftness, looking as if she's about to make an important work call rather than pestering our mutual friend about a wardrobe crisis.

Just as she puts her phone to her ear I muster all of the ab-strength I have and pull myself into a sitting position. "What, you don't like all of my family-friendly dresses?"

She scoffs, eyes narrow. "Nothing in your closet is family-friendly."

True in the literal sense. I do have less revealing clothes I use for "family" gatherings. They're just hidden away in bins underneath my bed since I don't use them often. But nothing befitting of a fancy, 'nice' night out with a pretend love interest.

"I'm sure if we pin the front of that one black dress together at the top it'll be fine. You know how to sew right?"

A laugh escapes her. She shakes her head. "No amount of sewing will make that dress passable in any kind of formal setting. I told you, I have a hunch he's taking you somewhere extravagant. My instincts are never wrong, Ela."

"I know, I know."

A pass of silence drifts over us until Cady speaks into the phone, presumably reaching her voicemail.

"Yeah, I'll leave you a message alright. Ela and I have a major dilemma on our hands, and we need your help, Julia Alvarez. Pick up your damn phone!" She hangs up with a pointed, aggressive finger that jabs at her phone screen so hard that I can hear the tap from my position on the floor. "Why have a phone at all if you don't even answer?" Cady whines.

Jules has always been a terrible texter. Same with calls, or just getting ahold of her in general. So it didn't surprise me when she didn't pick up. Especially at this time (during her usual late-afternoon nap).

Grab your purse. Let's go."

"Go where?" I have a hunch, but I'm in no mood to disturb Jules while she's getting her beloved beauty sleep.

"Shopping. We're getting you a new dress."

"New? Cady, you know I don't buy new stuff. I haven't for years."

"You bought that water kettle three months ago." She points in the direction of my kitchen.

"Used off of some sketchy-ass website. Which turned out to be legit by the way, hence," I motion to the glass kettle upon a heat pad, which, depending on the temperature you want for the tea you need to steep, heats the water within. A miracle worker, especially in the mornings. There's just something about making your tea instead of dropping seven dollars at a coffee shop (not naming names, but I'm sure you know which one). "I meant new stuff as in new clothes," I add.

"Right, right. Then I'll buy you a new dress."

"Just for me to wear once?" The look she flashes me immediately makes my mouth clamp shut.

"I want to. Besides, we haven't gone shopping together in a long time. You also owe me drinks," She points an accusatory finger my way, a jab for turning down drinks to meet Derek at the club. Which was her plan to begin with. Why she's got a grudge against me for not getting drinks? No idea. But boy was she smug about it when she found out what I did that night. That I'd listened to her "for once" and went through with it.

"Which we'll have to raincheck on. I promise we'll get drinks soon."

"Pinky?" She lowers her hand and extends her pinky. I wrap my own around hers and she nods. "Now get your ass up off this floor Elara. We've got a dress to hunt down."

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

My heart seems to race a hundred miles per hour in my chest as run my hands over my new-ish dress, smoothing the material in the back seat of the car that Derek sent to fetch me.

Cady compromised for me on our shopping trip. We ended up going to a thrift store, so it wasn't exactly new, but new to me. A good find, too.

My sister was the one who found it, and when I tried it on she was ecstatic, to say the least. Practically dragged me to the register before I had the chance to take it off.

Julia met us at my place last minute, and when she saw it? Let's just say I have two of the best hype-women in my life.

We finally slow to a stop outside of a semi-large building, six or seven floors high, fairly long, with a sumptuous exterior. Intricate designs are carved along the stone trim, lacing around the front. Large marble pillars extend skyward, framing the shockingly grand entrance.

Looking around, I take in the other lavish hotels, restaurants, and shops in the area, confirming what I theorized in the car. I note other civilians dressed up in beautiful chiffon gowns and men in classic suits, complimenting one another, and fitting into the rich atmosphere this downtown block exudes.

Meeting the eyes of the driver, he nods toward the side door. I give him a pathetic excuse of a smile in return and open the door.

I've got to get ahold of my nerves. Cady's words ring in my ear; "You're Elara mother-fuckin' Stewart. A bad-ass Darling Devil bitch." She'd be giving me a similar pep-talk right about now.

The line she says after has my skin bristling. The line that altered my life entirely. For better, or for worse? I'm yet to find out. Though I'm hoping for the latter.

As I step out and into the brisk, balmy Los Angeles night, several sounds greet me all at once. Booming bass from a passing car, delicate classical music emanating from overhead speakers of the restaurant, and a velvety smooth familiar voice.

"Right on time."

At first, I think it's my imagination. My eyes dart around until they settle on a pair of calamitous, dark eyes.

My breath instantly hitches.

This man is fucking heaven-sent.

Being as attractive as he is should be a sin. I mean, I've always known how handsome the man was, even before I'd met him. But seeing him in person is different than staring at him from behind a screen. Something I don't think I'll ever get used to.

Dressed to the nines in a devastating all-black suit Derek exudes power and sophistication, making him an even more of a commanding presence. His hair is slicked and faded at the sides, making him a dangerous force.  Especially with those tattoos of his that spiral up the entirety of his neck, with a few I'd analyzed at the club sprinkled visibly across his hands—one of which he extends outward in my direction.

A calamity in motion, he walks forward and away from his car, which his driver pulls from the curb and into the flow of traffic.

I have to stop thinking of what other tattoos lay hidden underneath that dark suit, tailored to absolute perfection.

He may look utterly edible—I remind myself that this man is a living, breathing question mark, who leaves me entirely confused after spending any amount of time with him.

One minute he's confident and flirting. The next, he's cut off completely. The personification of whiplash.

With a grace so much unlike my usual self, I take his hand. "As are you." He only takes a moment to absorb my outfit, as if careful not to let himself look for too long, before his eyes snap back to mine.

He inhales a breath. "I'm usually early, but I had a meeting before this that ran a little long."

"Meeting?" I ask.

Derek nods. "With my producer."

He ushers me away from the car and leads us toward the restaurant titled Château Blanche.

Pulling from my very vague memory of French I'd taken back in high school, this restaurant does look like a castle. Modernized, with the intricacy most castles have. It's even large enough to pass for one.

"I know you said we were going on a date," I raise my brows, to which he gives me a bemused expression, "But I wasn't expecting this. I mean, you've outdone yourself."

He takes his hand from mine and lifts his arm, snaking it underneath my own, locking us together by the elbow. "Wait until you see our table."

The outside doesn't compare to the interior.

A warm, amber ambiance expands across the restaurant, emanating from numerous golden chandeliers suspended within domed ceilings. Inside each dome is an intricate, vintage-looking painting, color palette varying between each one. All of said pieces of work have warm tones, matching with gold accents strewn throughout the space.

As we're led to our table, I soak in every minute detail I can. From the candle-lit tables to freshly cut flowers in golden vases upon sleek pedestals at each doorway.

We don't stay on the main level. Our server takes us up to the third floor, the deep red of the carpet below us serving as a guide through the restaurant to our table. Which isn't inside like I initially thought. We sit at a candle-lit table next to the railing, giving us an impressive view of the heart of L.A.

"Wow... this is incredible," I say, still awestruck, eyes wandering and observing every detail.

"Best view in all of Los Angeles," He says from behind me. I turn to look at him, suddenly thankful for the foundation covering my cheeks as he pulls a chair from the table, waiting for me to sit. I smile politely and flatten the bottom of my dress before I lower onto the seat.

Within seconds I'm situated, fully pushed into the table, with Derek sitting directly across from me. "This place is primarily known for its wine selections, imported from their winery in France."

This place feels almost too luxurious. Cady was right all those hours ago. She always is.

"Impressive," I mutter, too intrigued by the wine menu to fully comprehend his words. "I don't know what to choose. There's so many options."

Derek surveys his menu, holding it in one hand while running the other hand over his chin.

Our server who seated us stops at our table with paper in hand. She introduces the specials that sound much too expensive for my taste, along with a slew of recommended wines to start with.

"I'm thinking something vintage... do you like Bordeaux?" His eyes flick to mine.

I shrug, eyes level with his. "As long as it's red, I don't care what it is. Vintage or not."

"Perfect," He points at the menu, tilting it forward so the waitress can see, and orders the oldest bottle of cabernet sauvignon they have in-house. I almost ask the price but decide I don't want to know.

After our gracious server leaves us once more a temporary quiet envelops us, contemporary classic music drifting in through the open doors along with soft chatter, preventing the tranquility from descending into complete silence.

"Why this place?" My question feels almost too loud.

"Why not this place?"

"I mean, you could've taken me anywhere. I'm not high maintenance or anything like that. These types of fine-dining restaurants aren't exactly my thing if you know what I mean." As in: you've got the bill.

"It's not my thing either."

"Then why take us here?"

"I've never been before. Thought it would be nice." He straightens his knife on the table. "And it'd piss off Mel the most." Added as a subtle comment, with no sort of animosity or hint of betrayal. I lean forward in my chair and let curiosity get the better of me.

"What's the history there? If you don't mind me asking. You both dated for a long time, but..." He scoffs, that signature mischievous smirk making its first appearance of the night.

"Mel and I are complicated, to say the least." He says with a sigh, sounding almost exasperated.

There's a brief pause. He taps on the handle of the cutlery, eyes fixed on me, waiting for him to elaborate. Derek purses his lips for a brief moment and continues when he catches the hint within my silence.

"We never officially dated. We hooked up a lot. Neither of us wanted a label, and let the public think what they wanted to think." He speaks as if it's entirely normal for him. My brows furrow.

"You both fake dated for how many years? It all looked so real..."

Derek shrugs cooly. "I'm good at that kind of thing. Faking."

I can't stop the frown that pulls at my lips. "So if you're not doing this to spite her or exact revenge, why agree to do any of this?"

He pauses. A strange expression takes over his features. Pain, anger, mixed with unsureness, and contemplation, mentally disputing with himself. "Mel does shady shit. She always has, ever since I met her. It's who she is." He pauses. Though I don't speak. My eye contact seems to get the better of him, as he says, "She started bringing Ryan around my house, into our inner circle like some sort of show-and-tell," A hole burns its way through my heart at the mention of his name.

He was seeing her while we were still together. The fucking prick has balls.

"I should've messaged you, but you'd broken up the next day." I break my gaze away, focusing on the skyline before us.

I had a feeling. One of those deep, absolutely gut-wrenching feelings. Because I knew something was wrong, knew that I was losing him, but didn't want to accept it. To listen to my gut when it told me that he'd been sneaking around behind my back to see her.

After I asked on more than one occasion if he was seeing someone. After asking if it was Melody Wright by name, questioned the legitimacy of spreading rumors. He denied and denied, adamantly.

Both of them are fucking snakes.

My eyes snap back to his. "How long?"

"Two weeks. That I know of," His eyes dart across my face as if trying to decode a redacted document. "Did you not know?"

A sigh leaves me. "I had a feeling. But no, I didn't."

Quiet settles once more. His lips part, but he doesn't speak. I've seen that look before. Sympathy. No pity, thankfully, but it still doesn't feel the best.

"I'm—sorry." Sincerity laces itself through his tone. I shake my head.

"Don't apologize." It comes out as a crackling whisper, but he hears it.

"I should've told you. Reached out to you."

I offer a melancholy smile, "It wasn't your responsibility to tell me. It was Ryan's. You shouldn't be the one apologizing." In the end, he nods, reluctantly accepting what I have to say. With a small tick of his jaw, the singer continues.

"Ultimately, I thought that Ryan was a pussy. Still is, since he didn't feel bothered enough to tell you the truth himself. So when your manager got in touch with mine about a little P.R. stunt... I didn't need much convincing."

"So you're doing this for shits and giggles?"

"Pretty much." He says it so easily. As if it's a simple concept. Which, I guess it is, but it's still a bit hard to wrap my head around.

A laugh escapes me at this though, just as our server returns with our wine.

It's by far the best wine I've ever tasted. Not only is the wine literally to die for, but so are the appetizers. Derek ordered three plates of absolute heaven. Though the names of each of them were off-putting and I can't remember them for the life of me, we cleaned each plate shamelessly.

With our appetizers devoured, now waiting for our entrees, we stare at one another over our wine glasses. This is my second glass. Derek is still working on his first, about a mouthful left.

"You know what every news outlet says about you?"

His brow perks in response.

"That you're some drug-crazed, sex-addicted rockstar," After our latest encounter on set the other day, I'd gone home and looked him up online. I read the first few articles before pulling up deep-dive videos about him, finding the articles too repetitive. "That you're heartless, and only care about yourself. But you're nothing like how they paint you. I mean, the most I've seen you do is smoke a joint for fucks sake. Doesn't that bother you?"

Something flickers behind his once playful gaze, darkness twists, ebbing and flowing through a current of his brown irises until it settles. "I used to be all of those things, Elara."

I swallow thickly. Each breath I take feels strangely prominent and difficult under the intensity of his gaze.

"They still say that about you. Even in the article about us, they brought up your past. But others mention it like you're still that way," I'm the one searching his face now, which is surprisingly unreadable.

"Do you think I'm like that?"

My head turns from side to side. "No. I don't."

"For a while... I wasn't myself. Especially during my latest tour," His face seems to pail, and his brows pull together as if whatever he just remembered causes him actual pain. "I did some things I'm not proud of. I'll carry that with me for the rest of my life. It bothers me. But it's manageable."

Is it because he blames himself for how the media portrays him? What happened on his last tour to make him look as if he's going to be physically ill?

By the look on his face, I decide not to voice either question. I doubt I'll get a straightforward answer anyway.

"I think they're all full of shit. Too consumed with the old you to even begin to understand who you are now."

Derek averts his eyes, turns his head to the side, and rolls his tongue over his lips; unable to take any of what I had to say as truth. He doesn't have to believe me. As long as he's able to hear it. To be aware of my perspective.

Taking one last sip of wine, I place the glass down and clear my throat, unsure if I'll regret what I'm about to say.

"So, I took a look at the script last night." My change of topic regains his attention, thankfully bringing a reprieve from dark topics along with it. "The first scene is a bit risqué, don't you think?" There's that smirk again. My heart seems to have grown wings inside of my chest as it starts to flutter around carelessly in my ribcage.

"Mark is an excellent producer. If you find his vision lacking, you can take it up with him. I doubt you'll get very far though. He can be very stubborn."

Giving the smallest of shrugs, I grab ahold of the bottle of Bordeaux and top off my glass. "I'm not complaining."

"Did you put that shoot date in your calendar?"

"Don't be dense, I marked down both dates," I say, referring to two scenes in the music video where we'll have to kiss.

"That makes two of us." The smooth, effortless wink that follows has my heart clawing at the bones of its enclosure.

If there's any sort of almighty god out there, they definitely have their favorites.

"Speaking of the two of us. We should probably start discussing what we're here for." At yet another subject change, Derek takes it with grace and nods.

For the next forty-eight minutes, we piece together our story, as well as key information about one another. Even when our food arrives, we don't stop talking in between bites.

With little of our delectable dinners left, I conclude our 'meeting' with a final test.

"Right. Okay, quiz me." I say with assertiveness.

Derek hums, finishing a bite of mouth-watering lobster thermidor. "Where did we meet?"

"At a club. Two nights after the split."

"Which club?"

"Hillside. We like it there so much that we go at least once a week."

He nods in approval, then moves on.

"Favorite color?"

"You have more than just one. Red, black, and orange. What about mine?" A smirk tugs at the right corner of his lips.

"Easy. Blue," I raise an expectant eyebrow and wait for him to elaborate. "Gulf of Mexico blue. Why so specific?" He asks, curious.

"Because I can be. Next question." I quip. Derek purses his lips but doesn't push.

"What does my hair smell like?" My face scrunches at his question. "Come on, you know someone's going to ask it. Might as well be prepared."

"We didn't go over that though." I pout, silently asking him to move on but he stares back, holding firm. I click my tongue. "I don't know, green apples or something?"

"Wrong. Cedarwood."

I roll my eyes. Cedarwood shampoo wouldn't be my first choice. I bet he can pull it off. He smiles and gives a closed-mouth chuckle, shoveling more food onto his fork.

"How many siblings do I have?" Says Derek, giving me a quizzical look.

"None. You're an only child. What's my sister's name?" He stops his loaded fork midway to his mouth, holding it in the air as he thinks. Though a few seconds turns into half a minute. He knows he's taking too long by the impatience on my features.

"Wait—don't tell me. I got it. I think," He sets his cutlery down. "Carry? Cathy? No... Candy!" His middle finger and thumb press together, and he sends a snap through the air as he answers with confidence. A laugh bursts from me at his brazen certainty.

"Cady." I correct through flitting laughter. The smile on his face fades a tad.

"Only one letter off." He shrugs.

"I'm so changing her name in my contacts to Candy when I get home. Holy shit," She'll either be mortified when I tell her this, or laugh. If I ever tell her.

"I'm sure she'll get a kick out of that."

"Oh, she'll only know if she asks me about it. She'd probably kill me." Especially since she loves you and your music.

"She seems fun from what you've told me."

"She is. You should meet her sometime, she'd love to meet you." Typically Cady insists on meeting anyone I date. But with Derek, it's different. Not to mention the whole 'Derek and I' thing was her idea. She already knows the guy, along with most of the world.

"Sure. Bring her to set sometime."

"Alright," I say, smiling softly.

It was at the end of our time together when his final words caught me off guard. "I haven't enjoyed a night like this in a while, Elara. Thank you."

A compliment to some, but to me? It's more than that.

Sitting in the back of the car Derek sent to take me back to my apartment, I realized that this was what we needed to get to know one another better. To understand each other on a separate scale.

──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────

a/n
hey babesss!!
did my medium size dog lay across my chest like a cat while writing this? yes. did i move him? no. he's too cute to move.

hope you've all had a wonderful day, or night, depending on whenever you're reading this.

another long chapter to make up for the long wait! 4.4K wordss woop woop!

i'm going to try and make collages of elara's daily fits to show more of her personality at the start of each chapter & get a feel of her style. // yall should see the state of my camera roll rn :,) lmaoo

also, did wattpad update? bc im having hella issues using it on my phone. had to hop onto my computer to finish this chapter & edit. i usually edit on my computer anyway, but still it annoyed tf out of me. if i changed the text to be centered or to be to the left or right, it would do it to the whole entire chapter EVERY TIME 😭. idk if im just stupid or whatttt

anyway, enough rambling.
bye my lovessss see you soon!!