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Hilary
After spending the Sunday tucked in with Gui at my apartment—but he went back to his own apartment for the night—Gui took me to Los Angeles the next morning. I was a bundle of nerves on the passenger side of his Jeep, alternating between chewing my nails, chewing my bottom lip, or wringing the skirt of my dress.
Gui reached over and rested his right hand over mine, stilling my compulsive movements. “It’ll be all right, Hil. You got this.”
Did I?
I hadn’t touched this project in so long and had to scurry to finish it this past couple of days—and yesterday, when Gui insisted on seeing the project, I didn’t let him. All the time, my laptop had been turned away from him while I put my presentation together.
Now we were here, with three of my design professors, plus the professo
