Vogue | Tony Stark

THIRTY FIVE - FAKE NICETIES

Estélla gazed absentmindedly out of the tinted windows as the streets of New York City rolled by. Darkness had fallen and the lights glistened, a bright calling to everybody for something greater, something more.

She had a smile on her face that reflected in her eyes. Her cheeks were lifted and her brows too, a peacefulness across her smooth skin and in her quiet mind that relaxed her bones in a way that only home ever could. And that's exactly where she was, home.

"You miss it, don't you?"

"Hm?"

She turned her head with an apologetic smile, not hearing the words that passed from his lips but only the sound of his gentle voice, strong enough to snap her out of the trance that lower Manhattan threaded through her.

"New York," he smiled, "You miss it here, I can tell."

Estélla gazed at Christian then, her lips perfectly still for a long moment while she admired the hollowness of his cheekbones and the sharpness of his clean shaven jaw, cologne on his skin and in the air that touched her, an intoxicating, spicy scent that reminded her of secrets she hadn't yet shared with anybody but him.

He was impossibly handsome in a black suit and white shirt, neck free from the restraints of a tie and the top button chicly undone. He wore silver cufflinks and a white-faced Rolex that she'd picked out for him earlier that day, a silver chain beneath his shirt that was hidden to everybody besides her when he pulled her close enough to see his skin, which was practically whenever he could.

"Sometimes," she nodded, "It's nice to be back, but I'd miss London too."

"And me?"

Esté scoffed and brushed a hand across his cheek, "As if you'd have to ask that."

He grinned and grabbed her hand, pressing her dainty knuckles against his lips and keeping her in his grasp, his thumb grazing over the back of her palm while silence descended again.

They drove through the city for a short while longer before arriving at the steps of a lavish French restaurant in the Financial District. It was late April and the air was mild when Christian opened the door for his girlfriend, watching in breathless delight as she took his hand once again while stepping out of the car, looking up at him with a teasingly sultry smile that she knew he loved.

She looked as flawless as the world expected that night, wearing a red Gucci mini dress with black glossy Louboutins and matching clutch held by manicured French nails, a scattering of simple diamond jewellery shining against her skin. Her hair was blown out and the scent on her body was a deep, amber-infused oud that sent Christian's mind spinning with lust whenever it touched him.

Hand in hand, they walked through the doors and down a purposefully hazy lit corridor, French paintings lining the dark red walls and golden light fixtures guiding them through beautiful glass doors into a divine main room filled with exciting people that Esté was eager to be reunited with.

Spotting the birthday girl in seconds, Esté pulled Christian over to Alicia who immediately ended her conversation with a group of girls they'd modelled with before to run over to her best friend and hit her with a hug tighter than the sky did the sun.

"I am so happy to see you, you have no idea. I've missed you so much, Esté."

Considering Alicia had always been the least emotional out of the trio, the warmth of her words and force of her embrace made Esté smile with delight, kissing her cheek with bright eyes that reassured her that the feeling was absolutely mutual.

"Me too, it's been far too long. Happy birthday, Alicia."

The girls hugged again, laughing to each other with happiness brimming through a light sprinkling of tears that they were quick to wipe away.