Page 38 of Everything About You

This is maybe the worst I’ve experienced le syndrome du lundi matin .

In America, we’d probably call this the Monday blues or something similar, but since I am me and tend to skew a bit dramatic,

this is far worse.

I’ve been texting with Rhodes like normal since we last saw each other at Roland Garros, but I am just waiting for the moment

I tell him about New York. Everything is going to be different.

Celeste and Noel seem to believe he’ll take it well. Noel’s more cynical view of Rhodes foresees him happy to be rid of competition,

while Celeste’s romantic ideal sees him seizing the opportunity to make a transatlantic romance work despite any potential

challenges.

I don’t know what to expect or what to hope for, even.

There’s also the fact that I need to tell Sophie and Yvette. I’m excited and nervous and not sure how that will work, exactly.

Do I tell Sophie and then Yvette? Or the other way around? Will Yvette be unhappy now that it seems she wants me to stay?

Mon dieu .

Starting the week off with a bang, we’re doing an accessories shoot. I got to the set way too early, with no real sense of what the fuck I am going to be doing today apart from trying to keep my composure.

The studio is minimalistic and simple: two white cyclorama walls, curved in the same way a skate ramp would be, though that’s

a very odd way to interpret what I’m sure is a thoughtful design choice. There are soft box lights and LED panels, thick black

wires run along the floors like snakes, and bright neon-colored tape is strategically placed as markers. Clothing racks are

empty and pushed to the side, since this is all about bags, shoes, hats, and jewelry.

The general chaos of the shoot is overwhelming at best, as the photographer and his assistant are tinkering with the equipment

while the creative team are working on the set and the PR assistant from the accessories department is barking something in

French into her phone with such furor I fear for the person on the other end of the line.

I’m assigned to untangling all the jewelry and laying it out on a table. Once that’s done, I’m to cut out small squares of

paper and write numbers on them, placing one next to each asset before photographing it for our records. Once I’m done with

this, I am to neatly stack all the boxes and baggies, place them under the table, and then move on to the hats, and then the

shoes.

This isn’t a particularly daunting task, but it’s a bit too rote for me at the moment. I am desperate for a stimulating intellectual

distraction to stop me from glancing up at the door every three seconds in case Rhodes has strolled in.

I manage the pieces with the utmost care, lining up the fine metals and jewels as symmetrically as possible.

There’s a silver necklace with curving wreaths of diamond leaves, and there are big, square sapphire earrings.

A topaz heart on a thick gold chain choker is next to delicate gilded dewdrop earrings.

There are vintage rings mixed in with the new, and rectangular watches with diamonds glittering beneath the glass.

“Got started without me?”

Rhodes is here, and he’s not being handsy or doing anything overt, but he is sidling up pretty close, his shoulder brushing

mine, so I glance around and try to take the tiniest step to my right to make it clear he can’t do that here.

“I’m on jewelry duty,” I say, uncapping the marker and working on the numbered squares.

“Oh yeah?” Rhodes rests his knuckles on the table. He’s in trousers today, with trainers and a gray T-shirt that’s a bit snug

so his triceps bulge when he leans forward a bit. “How long do you think this will run? I was thinking maybe we could go for

lunch.”

I shrug. “I’m sure we’ll be done by lunchtime. No models.”

Rhodes catches on to my shortness immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say. Then I shake my head, realizing that my inability to mask emotions is going to be the end of me. “I didn’t

sleep well, and I’m stressed. But I’ll be fine.”

Not convinced, Rhodes pushes off the table and runs his hand through his hair. “All right. What’s going on? Have I done or

said something?”

I shake my head, starting to take the photos of the jewelry.

My heart is thudding in my chest and trying to make its way up to my throat as I’m consumed with thoughts of how all of this could go wrong.

Not only am I still unsure of how to broach the subject of New York, I am now seemingly responsible for the well-being of thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth of precious jewelry.

A boy can only take so much pressure.

It’s amazing, honestly, how anxiety can heighten the most ridiculous of thoughts and turn them into full-fledged fears. Ever

since tennis with Rhodes, I’ve been going back and forth about the metaphor of it all—what other secrets could he be harboring?

This is peak anxiety versus rational thoughts, but honestly, Rhodes could be, like, a werewolf, and I’d have no idea. He could

be a murderer or in the mob or a murderer in the mob. He could be a spy or a body snatcher. Not that I even know what a body

snatcher is, but the point is he could be one.

And then, of course, more realistically, he could be pretending to like me to eliminate the competition.

But that would be nuts, right?

It seems like that would be nuts, and I don’t feel that from him, but I don’t trust my thoughts, and it’s making me have trouble

trusting him.

“You’re acting like I’ve said or done something wrong,” he insists. Then he grins. “You’re not already breaking up with me?”

Disarmed, I laugh, finishing the photos and pocketing my phone. “Rhodes, I—”

“I mean, that’d be a new record.”

“Well, we can’t break up since we’re not together,” I offer.

There’s a bit of an unnecessary harshness in the delivery that is stemming purely from all these stories I’m telling myself about Rhodes.

His smile falters. “I was only joking.”

“So was I.”

Rhodes tilts his head. “I’m really confused here.”

I walk over to the table with the hats, and Rhodes follows.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m being weird. I’m sorry. I have this thing where I can’t not act weird if I feel weird.”

He nods. “I have learned this about you.”

“But it’s a whole thing. And I can’t get into it all right now, because...” I unpack a sky-blue tweed newsboy cap and hold

it up for him. “I have to finish unpacking and labeling and recording everything.”

Rhodes grabs one of the boxes. “I’ll help, then. We’ll be done faster.”

“I appreciate the offer, but this is my task, so I should be the one to do it.”

“Do you not trust me?” he says with a smirk, unveiling a bucket hat wrapped in tissue. He places it on his head.

Do you not trust me?

The question circles around in my mind way too loudly and for way too long.

It’s not like this guy is a villain from a Batman movie or something, after all. But damn it if Noel hasn’t gotten me overthinking

every tiny detail about Rhodes.

Honestly, how well do you even know him?

This summer is giving me whiplash.

“I just don’t want us to get in trouble.” I say it convincingly as I set down another newsboy hat, this time in a bubble-gum pink. “You know how it is, they probably want you doing something specific, too.”

Rhodes stares at me. “I am very interested to hear whatever it is you have to tell me after this shoot.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m so confused with what’s happening,” he says. “I mean, I thought we were... just a few days ago we were...”

“We were what?”

He grimaces. “Don’t do that.”

“Rhodes, I told you I’m stressed, and I can’t talk about this right now, and this is just making it worse, honestly.”

“Okay, fine. I mean, I guess I should have seen this coming, since thus far, this whole summer has been some variation of

this Jekyll and Hyde schtick, but—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I repeat, this time even more annoyed.

He rolls his eyes. “One minute you’re up and the next you’re... I literally don’t even know! But I thought by now we’d moved past it. I thought we were putting all the weird shit behind us since we

were really getting to know and like each other.”

“We were,” I say. He raises his brow at that. “We are . I don’t know. It’s not like I’m trying to do a Jekyll and Hyde schtick on purpose. You just confuse me. I have all these

mixed signals and I don’t know what to believe or trust, because one minute—”

Rhodes throws his hands up. “No, Milo, that’s what I’m saying. Didn’t we move past all that? When we started going out? Or not... You know what I mean. We’ve hung out. We went on a date. We’ve clearly moved into a new territory.”

“We have, but we’re still here.” I gesture around. “I don’t know how to navigate this, if I’m honest. I don’t know how to

let myself just trust you when we’re still competing.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re still competing. I told Yvette this morning I wanted you to work the resort show. That ought to help you trust me, though

I honestly didn’t realize I was that untrustworthy in your eyes. Sure, we’ve been competing, but we agreed to play fair, anyway.”

I blink. “What?”

“I know, it’s not quite a mixed signal, but it’s something to go off, I’d say. I let her know you should have it. And I also...”

He shakes his head. “I can’t believe this.”

“Rhodes.” I’m not sure why, but this is only making me more irritated. His constant chivalry makes me feel worse about myself,

probably. “I was going to give you the resort show.”

“Well, to be fair, it might not have been yours to give.”

“Well, it sort of... was.”

His face hardens. “What are you talking about?”

“Yvette told me it was as good as mine,” I say. “When she took me to the resort shoot last week.”

Rhodes scoffs. “Yvette took you to the resort shoot?” He brings his fingers to his temples. “Milo, let me get this straight,

then. You went to this shoot with Yvette, and she said you’d be working the resort show, and you just didn’t tell me? Didn’t

think I’d want to know?”