we said we'd both love harder
than we knew we could go,
but still the hardest part
is knowing when to let g o . . .

〰️〰️〰️

The annual "DiNardo Designs End-of-Year Holiday Gala" had crept up on me. It was probably the one work-related event that I actually looked forward to – a lavish night in the city full of drinking, eating, dancing, and celebrating all that we had accomplished over the past year.

In layman's terms, it was our work Christmas party, but Donatella was always one to make anything sound fancier than it really was.

If you were in any way involved with Donatella, you were invited. More so, you were obligated to go because if you didn't, you'd face her Italian fury. That wasn't something I'd wish upon even my worst enemy, so unless you had a serious prior engagement or emergency, you were going.

The upcoming party would be my fourth in attendance, so I knew what to expect. Everyone brought a date, dressed their best (if that was in one of Donatella's own designs, even better), and we reveled until dawn. It was like a much more fun, leisurely version of a Saturday morning meeting, but on a Saturday night in a high-class hotel ballroom rented out just for us.

After the chaotic weekend that was Thanksgiving, the gala was only a mere three days away once the middle of the week had arrived. I knew what to expect and yet I felt extremely unprepared for it.

If I wasn't doing some sort of celebrating for my sister's wedding, it was something else ridiculous. My sanity and my bank account were severely suffering anymore, hence the reason why I had nothing to wear to the Christmas party.

At five minutes to four o'clock on Wednesday, that changed.

Nadia and I were packing up for the day, getting ready to leave the studio in our own ways. Myself carelessly throwing things in my tote bag and cursing under my breath, while Nadia was dainty with every motion she made and softly hummed to herself.

"You better figure out what you're going to wear for Saturday night," she suddenly spoke up, teasing me about the demon hanging over my head all week.

"At this rate, a fucking trash bag," I muttered.

After I shut down my computer and picked up the cup of pens I'd knocked over, I noticed she was standing in front of my desk. She was smiling down at me in a sympathetic sort of way, her green eyes assessing me.

"You just make sure that boyfriend of yours is on his best behavior or I might have to take matters into my own hands," she said. "We can't have the two of you going at each other's throats again. I know you're pretty good at acting like everything is okay, but I've been there. I can see right through that bullshit."

I felt myself sighing at the choppy flashbacks of last year's party that arose from her words.

Gus and I were irrationally drunk and fighting over something I couldn't even remember for the life of me. All I knew was that Nadia and her boyfriend were in between us for the second half of the night, trying to simultaneously keep us apart and out of Donatella's sight. If she knew that we were arguing in the middle of one of her largest and classiest events of the year, I'd definitely be out of a job. And if she really wanted, she'd have Gus fired too.

"I know," I breathed, standing up now so I was the one looking down at her. "We've actually been in a really good place recently. Haven't been fighting as much and things seem... okay."

That made her raise her eyebrows in surprise. "Well, that's nice to hear."

"And also slightly terrifying because when things are good with us, I know what comes next. I just don't know when," I said, my voice dipping on the last word as my eyes fell to the floor.

Nadia, having been in a relationship for almost as long as I have with a man ten years her senior, was undoubtedly full of advice no matter what the situation was. They had already been dating for a year when I met Nadia, and four years later it was no different. The two of them were the happiest couple I'd known, maybe besides Sutton and Koa, but they were a different story all together.

She rested a hand on my shoulder to get my attention, so I let my gaze meet hers again.

"Bayla, you can't spend all your days waiting for the good ones. You'll spend your time wishing it all away if you do." Even though what she said sounded like it could've been a scripted quote displayed on the desktop of her computer that she'd download from Pinterest, it still struck me as something I should remind myself of more often. "You have to ask yourself if the good days really justify the bad ones."

"He did tell me he could marry me the other day."

That almost made her choke.

"He did what?" She wheezed.

"Yeah. It was really casual, too. Kind of freaked me out, not gonna lie," I said with a halfhearted shrug. My indifference on this topic was truly alarming, anyone could see that.

"You're too calm to be a girl whose boyfriend told her he'd marry her."

I'd been distant since he told me the marriage thing and I knew it. I couldn't help it. With my crackbrained, ungracious response to it, how could I be anything but distant?

We hadn't mentioned it since and much to my relief, we were both acting like it never happened. If we kept this charade up, it would be forgotten about soon enough. For now, we were somewhat back to normal and that was all that mattered to me.

I started to answer her, but my phone buzzed on my desk. Nadia was still holding onto my shoulder as I twisted around to grab it. My eyes adjusted to the screen and saw numerous notifications to scroll through, the most recent at the top being a text from Gus.

Gus 🖤: got out of work early. let me make you dinner?

A smile crossed my lips at the timing.

"Speak of the devil." I showed Nadia my phone screen, watching her eyes digest the text message.

"Hm. Maybe things are different this time?" She questioned hopefully.

"Don't hold your breath."

She let out a disgruntled sound before letting go of my shoulder. "Just think about what I said. That's an order, not a suggestion," she commanded. Then she snatched her leopard print sunglasses off the top of her head and slid them over her eyes. I laughed to myself, watching her sashay toward the doors of our private cubicle.

It was the last stop before Donatella's office. You had to get past the security straight off the elevators down the hall from us. After that was the initial front desk through the entry glass doors. Nadia and I were situated at the end of a winding hallway, opposite of the showrooms and sewing studios. Finally, you'd reach the mastermind behind the company.

Donatella had quick and easy access to Nadia and I. Her office sat just on the other side of soundproof frosted glass doors between our two desks. Access that was often too quick and easy.

That being said, just before Nadia even reached for the handle to leave, Donatella's doors flung open with about as much dramatization as anyone could hope for.

Nadia's sunglasses flew right off the end of her nose and my head snapped around so quickly I heard a crack in my neck.

Donatella stood there, glimmering in her head-to-toe metallic emerald ensemble that was a sharp belted blazer and matching wide leg trousers. It was almost offensive how well it complemented her jet black tresses.

She was holding the doors open and staring right at me.

"Bayla. May I see you for a moment?"

I gulped. "S-sure," I said with a firm nod.

Her lips pursed, like she was trying not to smile. I had no clue what it meant. Uncalled visits into her office could mean anything, and I wasn't sure if I had the mental stability anymore to handle bad news.

The doors shut and her figure disappeared behind the glass. My body was hunched over in a second, attempting to remember how to breathe again.

I saw Nadia crouch down from the corner of my eye, probably to pick up her fallen sunglasses. She uttered, "Good luck. Let me know what she says." And then she was gone.

"What the fuck?" I whispered to myself as I walked with unsteady feet to Donatella's office doors.

I didn't give myself too much time to dwell on what could happen once I pushed them open. You never kept a woman like Donatella waiting.

My shaky hands were on the bronze swirly handles, I think I blacked out, and then I was standing in front of her desk. She was seated on the other side of it in her faux-leather chair, writing on a sheet of paper that was in a black binder with a fluffy quill pen. I wasn't even sure those still existed until I met her. She was the only person I knew that looked normal holding one and not like a medieval damsel in distress writing a useless love letter.

I folded my hands together to try and keep myself composed. Donatella not speaking or noticing my presence didn't help. So I untwisted the knot I formed with my fingers and put my hands at my sides, drumming an anxious beat on my thighs.

She put her pen down forcefully after what seemed like a year and grinned up at me.

"Are you excited for the party on Saturday?" Was what she asked.

Blinking back at her because that was not how I predicted this conversation starting, I stuttered with a convincing smile, "Y-yes. Of course. It's the best night of the year."

"Good." She nodded slowly, like she was internally studying my answer. "Very good. I have something for you."

I watched, with likely the best posture I'd have in my life, as she swiveled in her chair and strutted towards the mannequins standing in a row by her floor-to-ceiling windows that had a spectacular view of the city. The figures that modeled her pieces before they went on an actual person were of all different shapes and sizes. Donatella refused to market to one type of customer; she swore there were too many people in the world with good taste that deserved clothes in their size. I respected her so much for it.

She cautiously approached one mannequin that had a garment bag covering it and dragged the zipper down agonizingly slow. My heart rate returned to a regular pace after I realized she didn't call me in her to behead me for doing who knows what wrong, but it still thudded against my chest because I had no idea what the hell was going on.

"This was a sample piece," she started to say, pushing aside the bag once she'd unzipped it and taking her sweet old time with the reveal. "I absolutely love the way it came out. It's perfect, really, but it's not going to go with the collection anymore. I went an entirely different route with it and now this is... a solo item."

Once she stepped away and let me see the mystery piece with my own eyes, I had to pick my jaw up off the floor.

Donatella laughed with sheer elegance at my reaction, beckoning me over to her. My feet drug themselves across her carpeted office until I was standing next to her, a delicate arm slung around my shoulders.

"I want you to have it."

I tore my eyes away from ogling the golden fabric that fit the mannequin's form like a glove and stared down at Donatella. "What?" I breathlessly asked.

She simply nodded. "It's your size. It's the only one of its kind that I've made. Hasn't been worn by anyone yet. I want you to be that person."

"Donatella, this is... exquisite," I said. I was pretty sure that was the one and only time I'd ever used that word, but it was all that came to my mind to describe the dress.

"I know."

The self-admiration in her voice was clear, but it was never off-putting. If I could make something that was even half as beautiful as what she was capable of creating, I'd be damn proud of myself too.

The color was a cross between a glass of bubbling champagne and liquid fourteen karat gold. Made entirely out of chain mail, I knew that textile draped over the body like a dream. It was a flattering mid-thigh length with slits up both sides. The low-cut cowl neckline would highlight just the right amount of cleavage. It practically had no back and the only way it'd stay up was with the help of the dainty diamond straps that tied behind the neck.

I couldn't even imagine what it'd be like to wear it and bring it to life. Just seeing it on the mannequin left me speechless.

"Are you sure? You really want me to wear it?" I doubted whether this was actually happening or if it was all just a cruel joke.

"Yes. I'm not letting you leave without it. You're going to take it, and you're going to wear it Saturday," she instructed, "If anyone asks where you got it, you know what to say."

"It's a one of a kind," I mused the phrase she always told me to reiterate to those who asked what I was wearing if it was one of her own creations. She balanced being complacent and humble like no one I knew. "Thank you so much. This is a dream come true."

She squeezed my shoulders as a response.

Donatella helped me get the dress off the mannequin and into the garment bag for safe transportation back to my apartment. I told her I'd protect it with my life because I knew if anything happened to it, not only would I be unable to wear it, but I'd also be free on Saturday night and jobless.

Following a thirty-minute cab ride, half of which I spent on the phone with Collin, I was home. I called him to say I was regrettably skipping our weekly dinner, although we weren't ever too consistent with it. We'd skip a week here and there for whatever reason, this time being that Gus and I were still in our good place. I wanted to take advantage of it and Collin knew. He knew every aspect of my relationship just as much as I did; the good, the bad, and the ugly.

He was baffled at how long things had been this way for us, but urged me to stay home for the night with my boyfriend. We both could agree that those times were few and far between.

Gus was seated at the island in our kitchen when I entered our apartment, work clothes long gone, replaced by a black t-shirt and his faithful gray joggers. His eyes latched onto mine immediately, regarding my appearance and the garment bag in my hand.

"Hi," I spoke first.

"Hey," he crooned, copying the shy smile I had on my face.

Ziggy came galloping over to me and my stomach clenched at the thought of dog hair or slobber getting on my dress. I forced my arm up as high as I could without pulling a muscle, scratching his head with my free hand.

Gus nodded at the long bag I was holding in mid-air. "What's that?"

"Donatella gave me a dress to wear to the Christmas party. It's unbelievable," I sighed dreamily, walking over to him and plopping my tote bag on the empty stool between us. He seemed intrigued by what I was saying, his eyebrows shooting up as he rested his chin in his hands. I leaned in closer, whispering with a smile, "But I think I'll keep it a surprise until then."

"Mmm. And when is that?"

I blinked as if I even had to think about the answer. "Saturday night."

Gus just stared at me, so I turned on my heel and went into our bedroom. It wasn't the safest place, but hanging the dress on the door to our shared closet was the only spot I could think of where it might not get damaged. I had three days to see if that was true or not and with my luck, three days was too long without a crisis.

I kicked off my pointy boots and traded them for a pair of slippers before leaving the room. Sauntering back to Gus, I sniffed the air and asked, "What are you making? It smells so good."

"Uh... spicy chicken tacos," he uttered hesitantly, shooting me a perplexed look. "Like this Saturday night?"

"Yes, this Saturday night." At my testy reply, Gus got up from his seat and went to check whatever he had cooking on the stove. "Why? What's the matter?" I found myself asking his back the question since he didn't turn around or answer me.

After a minute passed by of him poking at something in a pan, he anxiously spun to face me. He took a step forward and gripped the edge of the island on the opposite end where he stood.

"I'm going out of town this weekend."

A chuckle broke free from me. "You're kidding, right?"

His glazed blue eyes told me he wasn't.

"No, I'm not. This is the weekend I go to New York for that work conference. The CEO is going; it's gonna be huge. You said you were coming with me," he said, the urgency and accusation in his tone telling me I should have already known this.

The anger set in quick, like a snake bite. Coursing through my veins until it reached my fingertips and blurred the reason on why I was angry until I could no longer pinpoint it. At myself, or at Gus? At the both of us?

I was so close to the end of my rope that I could see the threads fraying.

"How the fuck am I supposed to go with you? Donatella will literally fire me if I'm not at the Christmas party."

"Well, I leave Friday morning. The hotel room is for two people, but I guess I'm going alone," he remarked spitefully. Like that was the most important thing here. It felt like I'd just been slapped.

I rubbed at my temples a little too hard for it to be considered relaxing. "Why didn't you say something earlier? We've been going to this party for the last three years and it's always the first weekend of December. You should know that by now."

"You didn't say anything to me, either," he snapped back.

"Oh my God, that is so totally not the point," I uttered, my voice going high and panicky.

I had my hands over my mouth, breathing heavily into them as if they were a paper bag. I wasn't sure if that technique even worked, but I was willing to give it a go if it meant I'd keep my composure.

We stayed like that for a few minutes. In silence, on opposite ends of the island in our kitchen and this discussion.

"I don't know what you want me to do," Gus said every word with precision, standing up straight and using his hands to enunciate every syllable. Our eye contact never broke. "I have to go to this. It could be a make-or-break deal on a promotion. Can't I just skip your Christmas party for one year?"

I rolled my lips into my mouth and felt the white flag go up. The anger dissipated.

This was a pretty controlled type of fight for us. It wasn't out of hand, it wasn't noisy, it wasn't too threatening. It could have gone on and gotten a hell of a lot worse if we let it. Instead, I gave up.

It wasn't like me at all, to surrender in a time like this. I couldn't feel myself connecting with the girl I was being. I didn't recognize her. But in my head, I ran through what Nadia had said earlier and it did something. Flicked a switch, pulled a lever.

Do the bad days really justify the good ones? Is all of this worth it? Am I actually happy?

I didn't have any answers to those questions, but I knew I was at the end of my rope. The line had to be drawn somewhere, and I guess this is where it started.

"Yeah, fine. Skip it. It doesn't matter," I mumbled impassively as my gaze dropped from his.

Gus let out a strangled sigh and his hands fell onto the surface of the island with a clean slap. "Why are you pissed off at me? It's not like I can do anything. I didn't plan this."

He knew me too well to ignore that this was weird behavior.