Chapter Text
They're the unofficial patrons of the arts in Houston - all the museums and galleries have a Carr Inc. wing built into them, all the theatres have special boxes for them and all the concert venues offer them tickets first. It's just how it is when your family can provide enough funding. And if there's one thing that never lacks in the Carr family - it's funding. People don't even know if they're old money or new money and they don't even care anymore. They're everywhere - in the gas that Houston fuels into the tanks of their trucks, in the parks that pop up everywhere like mushrooms after the rain, in the signs posted above every new wing of a government building, in the local radio station that blasts all over town, in the feasts that feed the hungry every couple of weeks. When you have that much money and a polished-to-a-shine, squeaky-clean image, people stop caring.
And there isn't an image cleaner than the image of Stephanie and her children.
She's a mysterious one, Stephanie - an ethereal appearance, rarely seen out and about with her trio of dazzling offspring. She'd spent her entire life dedicated to finding talent, nurturing it, launching it into the coveted orbits of stardom. Still her biggest achievement after upbringing the talent of Houston lies in the indisputable gifts of her daughters, as she proudly announced when her oldest had graduated summa cum laude from the Houston Conservatory.
She's a fickle one, Rosé, whose aptness paved the way for her younger siblings. Somewhat of a legend in the Houston Conservatory - a performer who never fumbled a step, never missed a note, never bombed a performance -, she still headlines productions once in a blue moon, drawing out casting agents from the likes of Broadway, only to turn them down. That's where Denali first saw her, back when she had no idea who she was.
She's a bewitching one, Lagoona, whose stardom burns brighter than most. She's talented beyond comprehension and disarmingly charming, a singer and a songwriter and a dancer, a multifaceted performer who never fails to entertain. Her songs get more than enough airplay around Houston, her home and haven, across all the radio stations, who praise her for her dedication to artistry. That's where Denali first heard her, back when she had no idea who she was.
She's a lively one, Jan, whose excitement can never be contained. She's one for the people, a smile personified - the kind of wide, beaming grin that invites people in, to get to know her, to become her friend. She's a baby, their baby, the baby of all of Houston, who looks to her to establish herself alongside her sisters. But she's only still a baby, a promising student of the Houston Conservatory. That's where Denali first met her, back when she had no idea who she was.
They're the self-appointed patron saints of the arts in Houston and everyone loves them, but Denali didn't know who they were when she first arrived to town and made herself a home in a small student accommodation apartment, that she has to share with a roommate, who doesn't care about anything but her space and her quiet. Denali didn't even know who they were when she walked into her first dance class freshman year, hearing the faint whispers passing amongst her colleagues, and ignored all of it and plopped down on the wooden floors in the dark corner of the room, focusing her attention on her phone.
She didn't even know who they were when the blonde approached her and slid down the mirrored wall next to her, eternal smile brightening up her already gorgeous features, and greeted her with the most radiant "hi" Denali's ever heard. She couldn't help the smile that spread across her features or the warmth in her heart at the sight of the other girl. Whenever someone asks when they became friends, Denali says it was when they got ice coffee after that first class they had together and Jan showed her around campus, even though she was as fresh to the school as Denali herself. In truth, it was that moment, when that first word was spoken and that first look was shared.
Denali didn't even know who she was for the longest time, which is why the whispers made no sense to her, but they followed her everywhere. Maybe she should have computed quicker, put two and two together, but none of Jan's possessions - the shiny, expensive SUV that she drove, the pristine designer bags that she hauled around, the latest phones - drove Denali to the realisation. She's ashamed to admit that not even the name on the shiny new musical theatre building made it click into place for her.
The paparazzi at the inauguration did the trick, though. Everyone was there that night, for the opening of the new theatre with an alumni production of Grease: faculty, alumni, students and, of course, the Carr family - a quartet of gorgeous blondes, looking dapper and dazzling in their fashionable gowns and one stand-out gorgeous, ginger with a smile that could put a spotlight to shame. Rosé Carr, the name on everyone's lips, the name at the very top of everyone's programs for the night. Denali would never admit to anyone that it was actually Rosé who drew her attention to the family standing at the centre of everything that night. She would also never admit that her gaze lingered on her auburn hair, her pretty face and the low cut of her dress.
Denali blames Rosé for the fact that it took her that long to notice Jan, standing there, right next to her oldest sibling, in a white sparkly ensemble, posing for pictures with the same smile she'd offered Denali on their first day. It made sense then - the shiny car, the designer bags, the phones and the clothes, the never checking to see if she had any money before ordering, the way she wasn’t familiar with any of the college tricks that Denali’s learned from her older brother. She needed to know them all, he’d told her, if she was going to be independent – to be read as not-a-burden-to-her-parents – on her scholarship to Houston. The whispering started to make sense, too: one of the Conservatory’s famed ‘charity cases’ making friends on day one with the Conservatory’s biggest sponsor. How very cliché of them. No matter how much Denali would swear up and down that it isn’t like that, nobody would ever want to listen.
No one ever wants to listen to the fact that Denali is not that poor and that Jan really doesn’t care about finance at all – be it her own or other people’s – and that she’s just a nice person.
They all are , Denali realises when she meets them after the show, when Jan finds her standing alone in the corner with the complimentary plastic champagne flute that she was offered by a caterer, who probably mistook her for someone more important.
“Why are you all alone?” Jan asks, looking around at the people milling through the modern-looking foyer, all of them pointedly ignoring Denali.
Denali shrugs. She’s used to being alone after Jan climbs up into her SUV and drives away to rich-people-land, when she pops her earbuds in and turns her music all the way up and moves around campus like a ghost, unseen and unheard. Jan doesn’t realise it, but she might be the only person among the students who doesn’t mind Denali’s full scholarship situation.
“Couldn’t find anyone interesting,” Denali smiles, showing the blonde her dimples.
“Well, c’mon, lemme introduce you to the most interesting people in the room,” she winks, leading her towards the thick crowd that has gathered around her family. Everyone hopes to meet them, to get close to them, to gain their favour and – probably a tad bit more important than their favour – a share of their cash. Denali spots faculty members that she has classes with – her choreographer, the ballet instructor, the skating teacher whose favour she hopes to gain to earn herself a TA spot –, seniors with dreams of being scouted by Stephanie, fellow freshmen just hoping to catch a glimpse. They all swarm around the Carr family like moths to a flame, but none of them actually catch their attention.
They’re the centre of Houston’s universe, shining like the sun underneath the chandeliers, pulling everyone to orbit their unattainable sphere. Suddenly, Denali is sure that, if she gets any closer to them, she will burst into flames, but Jan is pulling her forward and suddenly, Denali Foxx, full scholarship student at the Houston Conservatory, is standing in the exclusive circle of the Carr family alongside the likes of the dean and the mayor.
“Oh my GOD!” Jan’s sister exclaims, the one whose name Denali doesn’t know yet. “That dress is everything!” her eyes roam over the material clinging to Denali’s body - material that Denali has bought from a scrap bin and handed over to Kahmora to turn into something back in Chicago. “Where did you get it? I need one!” she squeals, hands coming forward to grip at the material, itching to snatch it off Denali’s body.
“A friend of mine made it,” Denali giggles nervously. Two pairs of brown eyes go wide beside her.
“Seriously?” Jan gapes.
“Can she make me one?” the other blonde basically screeches and, when Denali nods timidly, she squeezes her waist and twirls her around. Denali complies to the sudden movement with all of the grace provided by her dance training. “You’re my new favourite person,” the blonde announces as Denali comes face to face with her again, her hands still gripping at the folds of her dress.
“If so, I don’t think you need to resort to stripping the dress off her back,” a new voice quips amused and when Denali searches for its source, she is once again faced with the auburn beauty of Rosé Carr. Her hazel eyes are trained on her with an amused glint. For a very brief, not-at-all-drawn-out moment in time, Denali forgets that they’re in the middle of an event.
“Since when are you opposed to the undressing of pretty girls?” the blonde asks, making Denali’s eyes go wide. Rosé smirks in her direction, but before she can get a word in, Jan interjects.
“Goona!” she squeals, making the other blonde snicker.
“Can I ask who your new favourite person is before I give my verdict on the undressing matter?” Rosé asks, making Jan’s head whip towards her.
“Rosie!”
“Who are you?” Goona quirks an eyebrow.
“She’s my friend from class, you idiots!” Jan wails, gripping Denali’s arm. “Don’t be afraid, they’re just very unfiltered tonight,” Jan throws her head back in an affected gesture, reminding Denali just how much of a drama queen she actually is.
Her sisters roll their eyes in a very lovingly desperate way.
“These two idiots are my sisters, Rosé and Lagoona,” Jan points at each of them in turn and they smile at Denali. “Idiots, this is Denali, who I’ve been telling you about,” she points to Denali.
“Oh, yes, Jan’s very own friend!” Lagoona’s eyes light up mischievously. “The one she didn’t need to steal from us. It’s such a shame that I might have to steal you away!”
Denali laughs. “I think the one you might want to steal is my friend, Kahmora,” she extends her hand and Lagoona grasps it in her own.
“I’ll take the both of you,” Lagoona smirks. “You can be part of the Pop Mermaid Princess Entourage,” she winks and Denali’s eyes widen. She has to start putting the pieces of the puzzle together quicker.
“Oh! I really love your songs…”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you’re a fan… Who isn’t?” Rosé cuts in, stepping in front of Lagoona and filling out Denali’s whole vision. “I’m Rosé and I would very much not mind to see you undressed,” she winks, making Denali’s face flame up.
Something in Denali’s brain malfunctions after that. She doesn’t remember much else, only that she’d spent basically her whole night with the Carr family, earning herself dirty looks from both her colleagues and various members of the faculty. The looks get dirtier on Monday morning, when she’s making her way towards her first dance class of the day, and the whispers get more aggressive when Jan plops down next to her on the wooden floor of the dancing studio.
“So, my family absolutely loves you,” Jan gushes, bumping Denali’s shoulder. “And Lagoona was serious about the dress, just so you know for next time you see her,” she winks and Denali giggles.
“Don’t worry, I’ve already told Kahmora and she’s ready to become her full-time stylist,” Denali bumps Jan’s shoulder back. “Everyone was really nice,” she murmurs.
Jan beams at her. They were, truly. Now that Denali knows them, she sees that most people can’t see past their family name and the bottomless pit of money that they think separate them from everyone else; she understands that most people have no idea how nice and inviting and human the Carr family is, because they’ve never bothered to push past the financial.
The whispers follow them everywhere for the first year, as Jan and Denali navigate their classes and their auditions like “the pros that you’re supposed to be” as Rosé instructs them. She’s very proud of her status in the Conservatory and she won’t have her little sister leave a Jan-shaped imprint on her pristine record. Jan scoffs at her every time she gives out advice and instructions from the other side of the kitchen counter, but follows them anyway and she never fails to get cast. She doesn’t have much specific advice for Denali, since she’s more focused on choreo and skating than musical theatre, but Denali doesn’t mind, she will soak up any small bit of attention Rosé gives her. She takes everything Rosé says to her and engraves it into her brain, takes snapshots for her mental scrapbook every time Rosé looks at her and takes it to heart every single time Rosé calls her ‘baby’ – even though Rosé calls every single person on the planet ‘baby’.
She can’t help it and she’s never been able to help it, but that doesn’t mean she can’t try to help herself. She keeps it on the down low, this crush that she’s developing and nurturing, or at least that’s what she thinks she’s doing. It doesn’t surprise her when Jan informs her that she would approve whole-heartedly if Denali was the one to make an honest woman out of her eldest sister – Jan knows her too well to be able to hide anything away. It does surprise her when Lagoona makes a very unsubtle – subtlety has never been a word associated with Lagoona Carr’s person – comment about her crush.
“Am I that obvious?” she asks into the void, letting her head drop onto their marble countertop, her face burning hotter than the Texas sun outside.
“Yup,” Jan hip-bumps her, laughing.
“But don’t worry, she’s that oblivious,” Lagoona cackles from the couch as the sliding door to the pool opens and Rosé breezes into the room.
“Hi, whores,” she beams. “Who’s oblivious?” she goes to the fridge. The sun has started to bake Texans early in the spring, making it feel like the summers Denali knew back in Alaska. Denali longs for the gradual shift in seasons that she had back in Chicago - she’s always been a fan of spring.
“You are,” the blonde answers, making Denali want to scream. She bites her lip, face hidden by her arms and the cold marble. Hopefully, when she inevitably has to raise her head and face Rosé, the cold will have counteracted her furious blush.
“To what?” Rosé frowns, but Lagoona just laughs. Denali’s phone beeps in her pocket with a my point exactly text from the blonde on the couch. She groans aloud in response.
“What’s with her?” Rosé asks Jan.
“She has a kind of an audition tomorrow and she’s stressed.”
“Aw, Denali, baby,” Rosé’s hand smooths over Denali’s ponytail as her heart stumbles over its own beat. “Stress and nerves are for the underprepared and unprofessional, and you are neither of those things,” she winks, tugging at the ponytail. Denali lifts her head from the counter. “Just remember to be assertive,” Rosé winks and breezes out of the room before Denali can even open her mouth to respond.
Denali’s grateful for the scraps of advice Rosé offers her, even though she doesn’t need them. She likes to be acknowledged by the ginger, but assertiveness and confidence are things that she’s honed and perfected since her early years: she’s not here on a full scholarship because she’s poor – even though her family has spent quite a good chunk of their savings to relocate from Alaska to Chicago –, she has a full scholarship to the Houston Conservatory for excellence in her field.
The whispers reach their peak around the choreographer audition for the final showcase of the year, when Denali’s the only freshman who’s selected to even participate. She’s met with scoffs from upper class-men everywhere she goes and dirty looks follow her around, when her music is turned all the way up and her ears can’t pick up the sounds of the outer world.
“Of course, she’ll get it, she’s in with the Carrs.”
But that’s not why she gets it; she gets to be the one who choreographs the entire show because she’s herself and the first word that pops into the minds of the people who know her is talent .
Stephanie validates that when she picks her out of the line-up with a tight-lipped smile and a carefully worded acclaim of her work.
“You’re gonna do great, sweetie,” Jan squeals, giving Denali’s shoulders a fairly strong squeeze. She’s insisted on walking her to the first rehearsal, even though she won’t be allowed in and there won’t be much to see anyways. Denali’s worked some productions in Chicago before, so she knows that there won’t be much work involved: it’s introduction day, exchanging of names and titles and awkward smiles, and a tentative discussion about the production of the show.
Denali smiles at Jan, wide and bright, dimple showing – nothing and no one can dim the happiness she feels for getting this opportunity in her first year. “Oh, yes, that is the killer,” Jan winks. “See you later?” she asks.
“Yup,” Denali responds, before she’s basically shoved through the door. “See ya,” she giggles, making her way through the very same grand entrance hall where she’s met the Carr family.
She’s the absolute youngest person in the room, among both production and cast, and many people have decided that she’s not worth it. Denali doesn’t take it personally, there’s no reason to. It’s all about numbers – her age, her family’s income, how much of her tuition is covered by the state – and it’s all about those other people and their feelings. It’s not about her. She knows she’s so much more than what they think of her. When no one bothers to return her greeting, she shrugs it off and plops down to go through her phone. As she always does.
She’s already engrossed in her Instagram feed when Rosé Carr walks in, looking like the actual million bucks that she’s worth. She’s so engrossed in her phone, that she doesn’t notice her or the way in which everyone straightens at the sight of her. Her green eyes dart around from face to face until they land on Denali’s small figure, sitting a-ways away from the others. Rosé smirks.
“Hello, everyone,” she says, smooth voice filling the theatre, reverberating off the walls. “Wow, this place has some great acoustics,” she chuckles.
Everyone joins in. Because she’s Rosé Carr. Denali rolls her eyes.
“And I see we’ve managed to assemble a great team for this year…”
“All thanks to Mrs Carr, God bless her soul and eye for the talented,” one of the many vocal coaches employed by the school cuts Rosé off and a few eyes narrow Denali’s way, but she stands to join them anyway. It’s where she belongs.
“Yes, yes, all thanks to Mrs Carr,” Rosé parrots. “As I was saying, a great team this year! And this Miss Carr is looking forward to working with each and every single one of you,” her eyes shift from face to face and if they linger a beat too long on Denali, that must just be Denali’s imagination. “Let’s get this show on the way, shall we?”
💸
There’s only so much that Denali can assert herself and be ignored without cursing people out in Spanish and she’s passed that point. So very far past that point. Actors have decided to take choreography in their own hands – because they’re seniors and they definitely have more experience than Denali. The ballet has decided to tweak details because they definitely know what looks better in the background of the performance.
And they’re only two numbers in.
It’s either pulling her hair out at this point or letting out a very elaborate string of Mexican profanity. She doesn’t think any of the above will earn her any respect from her peers, but, in choosing the second one, she gets to keep her very pretty hair.
“That can’t be nice,” a voice startles her as she stops them, again and again, pointing out all of the changes they’ve made so that they can ignore her. Again and again.
“ No lo es ,” she huffs, turning to face Rosé. She tries for a smile, but the look in her director’s green eyes tells her it definitely reads as a grimace. She makes it a point not to show her frustration during rehearsals, but there’s a breaking point for everything. “Sorry, I guess,” she pouts, catching her hands before they come up to tug at her braid.
Rosé narrows her eyes at her. “You’re definitely not the one who should be sorry,” she flashes a look to the lit-up stage, where the seniors are taking a water break huddled together, probably patting each other on their perfectly postured backs for how they’re putting Denali in her place.
“If you know a way to turn this around, please, enlighten me,” Denali sighs. She really has reached her wit’s end.
It surprises her when Rosé closes the distance between them, her face mere inches from Denali’s own, her breath on her ear. She can feel the heat radiating off of her body and she forgets about impulse control for a brief moment. It’s not a long enough moment for movement to ensue, but it’s a long enough moment for Denali’s imagination to flare up.
“Why don’t you show them what you can really do?” Rosé whispers against her ear, her voice smooth and low – a secret between the two of them. “We both know you’re going easy,” she winks, pulling away.
Denali takes Rosé’s words as professional advice and, also, as a personal invitation to put on a show. So, when the ginger plays the next song and asks to see what she’s come up with, she hauls herself up onstage, pushes everyone else away and asserts herself. She shows everyone why their three or thirty extra years of experience did not matter in the selection process.
A smirk plays on Rosé’s lips, a restrained version of the smile she wants to give Denali, as the latter hits her final pose up on stage, panting slightly. All eyes on her, but her impossibly dark ones are on Rosé. When the ginger mouths atta girl , no one but her can see it. No one can see how her pupils blow up.
The afterglow of her performance is a stunned silence, followed, of course, by the rising murmur of revolt. They want to prove to her that she hasn’t impressed them. Denali pops her butt up onto the table that Rosé uses to keep the programs straight, taking a swig of water. She can’t be bothered to be bothered. When the valedictorian falls on her butt trying to execute Denali’s signature pirouette, she knows she’s won.
They respect her more after that, even though they may like her even less – a fresher from God only knows where, directing their every move with scary precision. She’d go easier on them, only they didn’t seem to want to go easy on her. Denali’s not in the business of returning kindness that she hasn’t been shown.
Rosé is never overtly on her side, but she feels her presence in her corner on every single decision she makes. Suddenly, she’s not Denali, who’s in with the Carrs , she’s Denali, the badass dancer who has whooped the seniors’ asses, who’s also in with the Carrs. It doesn’t improve her likeability, but it does wonders for the whispering that follows her around.
💸
“So, what are you guys wearing tomorrow?” Jan plops herself on Denali’s lap, making her groan.
“Chanel,” Lagoona answers, bored, from the next pool chair over. “Even though I’m still waiting for my very own, custom-made, one-of-a-kind Kahmora Hall,” she eyes Denali over her sunglasses.
“I have no idea what to wear,” Jan butts in, leaning back. “Nali?”
“Freshmen don’t go to the showcase,” Denali shrugs, sipping the cocktail that Jan had brought from the kitchen.
“Unless they’re named Carr,” Lagoona contradicts.
“Or part of production,” Rosé supplies, pushing Lagoona off her lounge chair. “So, I’d suggest raiding Jan’s closet. I won’t have you on my arm looking busted,” she smirks, crossing her legs.
“Huh,” Denali’s a bit too startled for words and when they do come out, they’re in the wrong language. “ ¿Tu que?”
“I’ll be making my directorial debut with a bombshell who has proved invaluable for this production on my arm,” Rosé explains. “Plus, we’ll be much cuter than me and one of the good ol’ boys,” she winks her way.
Denali swears she’s doing much better at not reading into everything that Rosé does since they’ve started working together, but this is not easy to not dissect. It is definitely not easy to not let her mind wander to the implications of this. If she was to allow herself to think about implications, they’d be all made up. They would be all in her mind, right?
“Nali!” Jan waves two dresses in front of her face, almost whipping her across the head with a belt that’s attached to one of them.
“Yes!” she shakes her head, shakes the thoughts away.
“Which one?!” Jan bellows, exasperated.
“In what world is a purple dress not your first option?” Denali narrows her eyes at the two choices – a purple chiffon gown and a teal bandage dress, both probably designer – though Denali couldn’t tell without checking the labels – and both absolutely gorgeous.
Jan rolls her eyes. “This is your option, Nali… For the showcase tomorrow?” she reminds her best friend, but Denali’s out enough of it that she’s already thinking about something else again. “De-nali!” she splits her name up in indignation.
“I don’t know, Janny,” Denali pouts, trying to focus on the blonde’s fashion crisis. She’d been brusquely dragged up the marble staircase once it had downed on Jan that she actually wouldn’t have anything special to wear to the showcase.
“You know what we have to do?” Jan’s eyes widen, glinting. “We have to find out what Rosé is going to wear!” she squeals, grabbing Denali’s arm. “C’mon!”
In her stupor, Denali doesn’t have much will or force to oppose Jan, so she ends up hauled halfway across the upper floor of the Carr mansion, across plush carpets and shiny hardwood, and through one of the many nondescript white doors of the house.
“Sit,” Jan instructs, breezing through the room, pushing her way through another door, leaving Denali to her spiralling thoughts. She plops onto the first plushy surface she can find, allowing her mind to wrap around the information that it still hasn’t processed: she’s going to the showcase. Sure, she didn’t expect it, but she would have made ends meet without Jan and her over-eagerness to provide apparel, anyway. It’s the ‘on Rosé’s arm’ part that throws her.
She would be walking with Rosé and sitting next to her and she’d just get to look at her up close for the entirety of the show? She’s not sure her heart can take it.
“Baby,” Rosé’s voice rings from the doorway. “Not that I’m complaining, but this isn’t the way I pictured you in my bed,” she chuckles, making Denali’s head whip in her direction.
Denali doesn’t exactly know what’s throwing her more – the words that have just left her mouth or the fact that Rosé has just returned from the pool and the satin robe she’s wearing is falling a bit more open than usual, revealing parts of Rosé’s cleavage that are better than any picture Denali could have conjured up in her mind. All Denali knows for sure is that she’s absolutely speechless, rooted to her spot… on Rosé’s bed.
“Now, please, excuse this next bit,” she winks, eyes narrowing to the open door on the other side of her room. “Janice!” she bellows and the blonde’s head pops out of the walk-in closet, eyes innocently wide. “What the fuck are you doing in there?”
“Trying to find out what you’re wearing so that the two of you can be all cutesy and match-y,” Jan beams, her megawatt smile doing wonders to soften the expression on her sister’s face. Rosé would never admit how much of a softie she actually is with her sisters.
“I’m not telling you,” the ginger laughs, “but I am open to advising on this crucial decision.”
Jan claps, sauntering back towards her room, leaving Denali behind to still flash in and out of reality. Does Rosé even know? Can she see the reaction Denali physically has to her words? How can she not see?
“You coming, baby?” she wiggles her fingers in front of Denali’s face, startling her back to reality.
“Yeah,” she literally chokes on her own saliva when Rosé’s hand wraps around her own, guiding her gently out of the room. The feeling is all that Denali can focus on. There’s nothing else in the world around her, except for the warmth of Rosé’s fingers. Her heart stutters in her chest with every step they take together. Her whole body tingles – if memory serves, there's some electricity going on in the heart, but you’re probably not supposed to feel it in your whole entire body.
She doesn’t let go.
Once they’re in Jan’s walk-in closet again, Rosé doesn’t let go. As Jan pulls out more and more dresses, ruffles and sparkles and lace flying around the room, Rosé does not let go of Denali’s hand. She holds on to it lightly, absent-mindedly running her thumb across the soft skin on the back of her palm. Her eyes are trained on whatever chaos Jan is producing, but Denali’s can’t look at anything but her.
Does she know? She has to.
“That one,” Rosé suddenly points to a floor-length off-the-shoulder mermaid gown with a slit that looks as if it will reach Denali’s ribcage. She tilts her head to examine it – the shades of white and yellow, patterned to resemble snake-skin. It’s definitely a gorgeous dress, but Denali’s fairly sure that it costs about as much as her house back in Chicago. She can’t wear it. What if something happens and it rips? Or she spills something on it? She cannot pay for something like that.
“Oh!” Jan’s mouth and eyes round comically. “You’re right! This is so GORGE! And Lagoona has the absolute perfect pair of shoes to go with this!” she says, popping out of the room before either of them can react.
“That one,” Rosé sighs, the faintest trace of a chuckle on her lips. “She’ll take this world by storm, I’ll tell you that.”
“And by that, you mean, she is the storm, right?” Denali laughs faintly. Her words are still a little choked up, but she will maintain at least the barest semblance of composure. It, of course, helps that Rosé has finally ended their skin-to-skin contact.
“I have no idea what just happened,” she confesses as Rosé steps in front of the mirror to check her hair. It’s perfect, as usual, ginger curls tumbling down her back in a hypnotizing pattern.
“We’ve stopped trying to figure it out,” Rosé announces, her eyes meeting Denali’s in the mirror. She smirks.
“You do know I can’t wear that dress, right?”
Rosé furrows her brow. “Nonsense,” she waves her hand in a dismissive gesture.
“It probably costs more money than my parents make in a year,” Denali admits, tilting her chin down to hide the flush of her cheeks.
“Nonsense,” Rosé repeats, punctuating every syllable. “It’s just a piece of fabric,” again with that gesture.
“An expensive one,” Denali counters, crossing her arms across her chest. If she was looking at Rosé, maybe she would have seen the way her eyes struggled to stay on her face.
“It’s a rag that no one cares about. Come here,” she instructs and Denali begrudgingly obeys. “It’s a rag that will make you look great tomorrow,” she places her hands on Denali’s arm. Something inside her sparks up, warming her. “And it will look great next to the rags that I’ll be wearing tomorrow,” she winks. “Even though, I’d say we’d make quite the impression even like this…”
Denali looks at their image in the mirror – Rosé with her flaming hair and her hazel eyes and her body covered by a crimson, satin robe and her, with her dark ponytail and her white one-piece bathing suit and the wrap tied around her hips. She takes a mental picture. This is a moment she’ll want to remember.
“We look pretty good together, huh, baby?”
Every part of Denali flames up at that – her face, her chest, the pit of her stomach, her thoughts are all incandescent, burning her brain to a crisp.
💸
“Ready?” Rosé questions, straightening her jacket.
Denali nods, even though her heart hammers in her chest. She’s spent every moment since yesterday thinking about this moment – in which she will be walking out onto a carpet, colour still to be determined, on Rosé’s arm. She can almost feel the whispers reaching a new fever pitch.
“Was one Carr sister not enough? Is she planning on becoming one of them? Is she planning their ruin?”
The whispers may resemble shouting, more than anything, else after tonight. But still, Denali’s mind is not as preoccupied with her reputation as she is with the woman standing in front of her – the one with the shiniest hair she’s ever seen, looking statuesque in the most perfectly tailored yellow three-piece-suit Denali has ever seen.
Denali can’t help but notice that the dress she’s picked does actually match her own outfit. They’re going to be quite the spectacle.
“Remember, deep breaths and wide smiles,” Rosé winks, grabbing her hand.
It’s a picture that will follow them around. It will air on every local news station based in and around Houston and on one particular small town newsreel in Alaska. It will be printed in various newspapers and gossip magazines that question the nature of their relationship – two young, good-looking women, whose creative visions align, claiming they work great together, their relationship surely can’t be strictly professional. It’s a picture that will be uploaded to various blogs and forums, where people will be free to debate, to claim they’re the most gorgeous pair in the whole world and that they need to actually be together, to claim that Denali is just a disgusting gold-digger who needs to go back to the Alaskan hole she’s crawled out of. It’s a picture that Denali’s mother will stick on the fridge in their house in Chicago (because it matches its buttery yellow hue, she swears up and down). It’s a picture that Rosé will pin to her board, the one hung above her desk, the one she stares at as she brainstorms. It’s a picture that Denali will set and keep as a lock screen for a long while.
It’s a cute picture: the two of them pressed close to each other, Rosé’s arm wrapped around Denali’s waist, helping to keep her nerves from causing any shaking. They’re smiling towards the camera and, yet, they’re also turned towards each other, Denali’s head tilted up to look at Rosé’s face and Rosé’s soft smile pointed at Denali’s semi profile.
People say it’s the look in their eyes that sparks up the rumours. Kahmora swears the moment she lost it is the interview.
“My mother saw the great talent in miss Foxx and my sister saw the amazing human in Denali, so, I can’t take any credit, even though I would like to claim her for myself,” Rosé laughs when she’s asked about Denali and her involvement in the show and with her family.
That’s about the same time Denali started to lose it, as well. She’s not reading into it, she focuses on anything and everything not to read into it. It’s just how Rosé phrases things. That’s just how Rosé phrases things.
Inhale. Exhale.
That’s just how Rosé phrases things.
They’re surrounded by people the entire night – people in production, who have come around to Denali, some of the ballet, who have come to acknowledge her, the important people in Houston, who gravitate towards Rosé, her family, Jan and Lagoona, who praise both of them, who are excited about the magnificent outcome of the show. They’re always surrounded, but Rosé hasn’t left her side all night, her hand always somewhere on Denali’s body – holding onto her hand, resting on her waist, on the small of her back.
“Are you going to be there for the afterparty? Is Mrs Carr going to be there for the afterparty?” the same vocal coach from the first day of rehearsal questions as soon as he’s made an appearance. Not that his appearance is anything to be delighted in - red face, greasy hair, a suit that’s tight in all the wrong places. He’s obviously far too eager to get the chance to mooch up to the Carrs over cocktails.
Rosé beams at him. “Of course! We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she winks and the man squawks out some gibberish. Denali didn’t think she’d ever relate to him, but here she is. She barely catches the ‘feel you’ that almost slips out. That’s the effect Rosé can have on others.
“Just picture me walking down that carpet with Professor Atkins,” Rosé whispers low, near Denali’s ear, eliciting a shudder from her. She wouldn’t have been able to feel it if she wasn’t rubbing circles on the small of her back. “I know, what a dreadful picture,” she smirks into Denali’s hair, a response to the brunette’s reaction.
It’s a bit much not to read into. There’s parts of Rosé’s body pressed against hers, there’s the hand on her lower back, there’s her voice so close and so low that Denali’s sure she’s the only one who can hear it, there’s the heat of Rosé’s breath against her neck, there’s the scent of her - floral and powerful and overwhelming. Everything about Rosé overwhelms Denali.
Denali blows the air out of her lungs in a long, controlled breath.
“You OK, baby?” Rosé asks, concern replacing the mischief in her eyes.
“Yeah,” Denali nods. “It’s just so much,” she confesses, not fully knowing what she’s confessing to - her feelings for the ginger, her feelings about the showcase, her feelings about her first year at the conservatory, her feelings about having been swept up into this extravagant life that she never thought she would know. “It’s just so much…” she repeats.
Rosé nods thoughtfully. “C’mon,” she beckons, the hand on Denali’s back moving to her fingers, squeezing lightly, dragging her away from the hall and the crowd that swarms around them.
“Where are we going?” Denali asks when she’s safely seated in the passenger seat of Rosé’s pastel pink vintage Corvette - it’s her ‘make an impression car’, she’s explained to Denali, that she only takes out for special occasions; on normal days, she drives an SUV like normal people.
“To get you some fresh air,” the ginger responds, igniting the engine and pulling out of the parking lot.
By fresh air, she means driving towards the edge of Houston with the top down, Denali realises. It’s a warm night - as they all are in June in Texas -, the wind ruffling Denali’s hair, lights flashing past them as they speed down the freeway. It’s an odd feeling - Denali’s never been in a convertible before. She’s confined to her chair, seatbelt securely in place, and yet she feels like she’s flying.
“Enough fresh air to clear your mind?” Rosé asks, from the driver’s seat, her left hand holding steadily to the wheel, her lips stretched into a blinding smile. Denali doesn’t say anything, but the excited giggles coming from the passenger seat tell her everything she needs to know.
It’s like a scene from a movie, the vintage kind that Denali’s mother likes to watch on Sunday afternoons, while her father insists on his ‘siesta’ - even though he’s not even the Mexican one. Denali is busy pondering when her life went from a coming-of-age in a different city movie to a cliche novela, when she feels it: Rosé’s hand on her knee, warm and gentle and the only thing Denali can think about anymore.
She gulps.
“Where are we going?”
“The lake,” Rosé responds nonchalantly, pulling the car onto a narrow side road. Houses are sparse and the overhead lights become occasional as they zip along the way.
“But you’ll miss the afterparty,” the brunette mumbles from the passenger seat, eyes searching the other’s face. She doesn’t exactly know what she’s looking for, but her heart is starting to pound in a way that tells her that something has changed.
“Don’t be dumb,” Rosé laughs as the dark waters of the lake appear before them, illuminated by porch lights and the moon. “If I wanted to go, I’d be there already,” she explains.
“But it’s an event in your honour,” Denali counters. If asked what she was thinking about in those moments, when she was trying to find any excuse not to be alone with Rosé, she couldn’t say she was thinking straight. She wouldn’t even be able to tell if she was thinking at all.
“Ain’t the first one,” Rosé waves her hand dismissively, parking the car on the edge of the water. “And it surely won't be the last,” she winks, turning to Denali.
The brunette is just… on auto-pilot. For the first time all night, she’s alone with Rosé. For the first time since she’s met the Carr family, she’s alone with Rosé with no possibility of any interruption. Her heartbeat thumps so loudly that it is probably visible on her chest through her dress.
“Why are we here?” She asks, dumbly.
“A sudden bout of nostalgia,” Rosé murmurs, running her hand through her perfectly styled curls. “This was my special make-out spot in high-school,” she whispers conspiratorially.
Denali’s mouth drops open. Her eyes flash to Rosé’s - that pair of hazel eyes is glinting in the dark. “What are you going to do with that information?” She questions, cocking an eyebrow.
Denali loses it. That’s the only way she can explain it. She completely lost it in that moment.
Unbuckling her seatbelt, she flings herself over the console - quite gracefully, despite her floor length gown - to straddle Rosé, their eyes level. The ginger’s eyes wide, her pupils growing larger and larger, mirroring Denali’s own, but her lips stretch into a smirk. Denali pauses for a moment, taking in the face that has haunted her since the beginning of the year. She has never seen her this closely before. She’s close enough to count the freckles scattered across her cheeks.
She could take her time and do that. Instead, she chooses to close the distance completely.
Her lips crash against Rosé’s, soft and warm and real. These are Denali’s wildest dreams come true.
A sigh escapes Rosé’s lips, parting them just enough for Denali to deepen the kiss. Rosé’s hands grasp at her sides, squeezing, pulling her closer, sliding up and down against the flimsy material of the dress.
There’s so much electricity in the air around them and between them. Streetlights must be exploding, showering the asphalt with a burning rain of glass. Electricity wires must be crackling, startling the people going for a late night walk around the lake. The Corvette’s headlights must be flashing, misleading the families who notice them into thinking they’re distress signals. They’re anything but.
The world is normal, Denali realises as she comes up for air, detaching her swollen lips from Rosé’s. The ginger slumps back in her seat, panting slightly, her lips pulled up into her eternal smirk.
“Fucking finally.”