[13:35, House of Dior, Madison Avenue, Upper East Side]
Xavier sat on the plush sofa outside the fitting room of the House of Dior flagship store, hands crossed over his knee, watching as Serena emerged for the third time in twenty minutes—this time wearing a charcoal wool blazer with matching trousers and a silk blouse underneath.
"Well?" she asked, doing a slow turn. "Business meeting or funeral?"
"Business meeting," Xavier said without hesitation. "But what do I know, my expertise ends with you look good or bad, and the occasional that's not for. But you can never go wrong with black."
"Really, I have taught you nothing over the years?" Serena said, studying herself in the three-way mirror. "Everyone else just tells me I look great no matter what I wear."
"Well, you need new friends then," Xavier said. "If I've learned anything from advanced philosophical studies with Professor Herman, bad friends are worse than strong enemies, just ask King Charles, he got his head chopped off getting bad advice."
"How am I supposed to ask him if he doesn't have a head anymore?" She retorted, stepping back into the changing room. "Just focus on giving me advice, I need to pick out a dress for my mother's Brunch."
"As if his missing a head was the only problem." He mumbeled, realising she did not care about his concerns to her circle.
"What?"
"Nothing, try the white dress, it's more mature than the blue and pink ones." He said, receiving an energetic hum as he picked out the dress from the rack she had laid out for herself. "Excuse me, can we try those pearl pumps, the transparent ones and those Heeled Ankle Boots in both colours, size 8?"
The attendant, a polished woman in her forties with immaculate posture, nodded immediately. "Of course, sir. I'll have them brought right away." Within moments, another staff member appeared with the requested shoes arranged on a velvet tray like crown jewels.
They set everything down on the low table in front of Xavier with practised efficiency before retreating to a discreet distance. With a store like this, customer service was emphasised to justify the prices, which often meant that customers usually had at least two staff members ready to attend to their needs.
"So how's your mother these days?" Xavier asked, trying to make conversation as he waited. "Must be busy with the fashion show days away? My sister loved her last summer collection."
"She's drowning," Serena called from behind the curtain. "Between New York Fashion Week prep, the Paris showroom opening, and trying to convince me to join the business full-time, she's basically living off espresso and spite."
"Sounds like a typical Tuesday for Eleanor Lively."
"Don't let her hear you call her that," Serena said. "She's been going by 'Eléanor' with the accent for the past six months. Very French. Very dramatic."
Xavier smiled despite himself. Eleanor Lively—Eléanor—was a force of nature in the Newyork fashion world. She'd built her brand, Lively Atelier, from a small boutique in SoHo into a legitimate competitor to the European houses. She was also one of the most terrifying and easygoing women Xavier had ever met, which was saying something, given that his grandmother, Amara, existed.
The curtain swept open, and Serena stepped out in the white dress. It was elegant without being stuffy—a midi-length A-line with subtle bodice structure and a flowing skirt that moved when she walked. The neckline was high but not conservative, and the fabric had a faint sheen that caught the boutique's soft lighting.
Xavier sat up straighter. "That one."
Serena turned to the mirror, tilting her head as she studied her reflection. "You sure? It feels a bit..."
"Try these," Xavier said with a smile, motioning to the shoes. "Your mother will approve, which I assume is the point of this brunch. Formally introduce you to her colleagues and industry connections."
"God, you know me too well." She said, doing another turn, watching the skirt move before focusing on the small mound of shoes placed before her. "Oh wow, these are actually cute."
"Well, try them on, you can buy the rest, and maybe donate them to your posy," Xavier commented, shooing her to try on the shoes quickly. "See perfect fit, what do you think?"
She slipped into the pearl pumps first, standing to test the height. "Too formal," she decided immediately, kicking them off. Next came the transparent heels, which she studied for a moment before shaking her head. "Too... Cinderella."
Finally, she tried the heeled ankle boots—a light pink coloured leather that somehow made the dress look both more modern and more sophisticated. She walked a few steps, turned, and walked back, doing a light twirl, spinning on the front of the sole, causing her dress to flutter.
"Mmm, I guess you're useful after all, see what you can do when you put your mind to it." She commented, her smile ever bright before disappearing back into the fitting room, and Xavier leaned back against the sofa, checking his watch.
"So," Serena's voice drifted from behind the curtain, "are we going to talk about the fact that you've been dodging me for six months?"
Xavier sighed. "I haven't been dodging you; I have been busy."
"Xavier, you missed my graduation."
"I was in Europe."
"You were conveniently in Europe," she corrected. "And you didn't even send flowers. Or a card. Or a congratulatory text that was longer than three words."
"I sent you a gift," Xavier protested.
"You sent me a check."
"A large check, plus what do you get a girl who can buy anything she wants?" he questioned. "But yeah, I should have been there, sorry I couldn't make it. I was being stood up in the Netherlands."
"Xavier," Serena said. The curtain opened, and she stepped out in her regular clothes—the cream blazer and tailored pants she'd worn into the store. "Aww, did our little pretty boy get stood up?"
"Sigh, let's just go," He said, standing up and grabbing her hand, moving to the counter. "Well, take everything except that black dress, and that leather number 7." The already packed bags were quickly sorted out, and Xavier paid with his Black card, receiving a sizable receipt.
~~~
[14:45 PM – Cartier, Fifth Avenue]
The Cartier flagship store was a temple of refined luxury—all marble floors, glass display cases, and hushed conversations, matching the gravity placed on a single bracelet that could cost more than a car. Xavier followed Serena inside, having smartly placed all the Dior shopping bags that a store attendant had insisted on giving him despite his protests. Serena moved through the store with confidence, as if it were her second home, which it might as well be, having visited it since she was old enough to understand what jewellery was.
"I need something for the brunch," she said, scanning the displays. "Something that says 'yes, I graduated from Parsons, and no, I'm not joining your pyramid scheme investment opportunity.'"
"I'd be more worried about the pyramid schemes you sell than whatever someone is trying to sell you," he sighed. "And the jewellery helps how?"
"You haven't met my mother's friends," Serena replied. "Half of them think I'm a project to be managed. The other half want to set me up with their sons."
"And you're not?" he asked, but upon the glare, he quickly rephrased his words. "Do you even want to work under your mother or start something of your own? I remember you forcing us to dress up in one of the fashion shows that you called high FASHION"
"Hmph, I'll let you know my everlasting summer No 75 was well received," She retorted as she glanced through one of the glass with a display of bracelets. "
"Didn't your mom ground you for a month for tearing up her fabric and making 'a mess of her dress'?" He muttered to himself more than to her, remembering how scary Elenor could get when it came to someone ruining her work. "So what are you looking for here, bracelet, earrings, Tieara?"
Before she could respond, a sales associate, an elegant woman in her thirties with a French accent, approached. "Mademoiselle, Monsieur, welcome to Cartier. How may I assist you today?"
"I'm looking for a necklace," Serena said. "Something mature and elegant to go for a business brunch."
"Of course. May I suggest the Juste un Clou collection? Or perhaps something from our Love line?" Serena considered this, then shook her head.
The associate's expression shifted slightly—probably realising they were dealing with a serious buyer rather than a browser. "One moment, please."
She disappeared into the back, returning moments later with a black velvet tray bearing three exquisite necklaces. Serena picked up the first one—a delicate platinum chain with a single diamond pendant. She held it up to her neck, checking the mirror on the counter.
Xavier coughed before she could ask, and she placed it back. She tried the second, a thin gold chain with small diamonds interspersed along the length. A glance was all she needed before returning it to the tray for someone who was interested in fashion. She valued his opinion blindly.
The third was a white gold piece with a cluster of small diamonds arranged to catch light without being ostentatious. "That one," Xavier finally said. Serena studied it for a moment longer, then nodded. "He's right. I'll take it."
The associate smiled. "Excellent choice. And for Monsieur? Perhaps something for yourself?"
"I'm good," Xavier said, but Serena was already scanning another display case.
"Actually," she said, pointing, "those cufflinks. The platinum ones with the sapphires."
Xavier followed her gaze. The cufflinks were simple but striking—geometric designs with small blue stones set into polished metal.
"Serena, I don't need—"
"Consider it your graduation gift to me," she said, cutting him off. "Since you missed mine, you're getting cufflinks. Deal with it."
The associate was already retrieving them, sensing that resistance was futile. "That's not how gifts work," Xavier protested weakly.
"It is when I say so,"
.
.
.
.
To Be Continued...