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“We’ve been what?”
Sonny’s jaw dropped as Ella repeated the words, “We’ve been invited to the Met Gala.”
She stared incredulously at her her wife.
“How are you so calm right now? I know how much you love fashion. This is like… your dream.”
Ella laughed. “Trust me, mi vida, I am anything but calm right now. I think I’m still processing it.”
She threw the invitation onto the couch next to Sonny. “Please verify that I’m not hallucinating right now, Sonny.”
Sonny picked up the invitation and, sure enough, the words Rafaela Barba plus one were printed in cursive. She looked up at the latina hovering above her.
“You’re not hallucinating babe. That really is your name there.” Sonny smiled, and stood up to take tan hands in her own. “We’re going to the Met Gala.”
Ella let out a giddy laugh. “We’re going to the Met Gala!”
•••
It was later on at dinner that Sonny asked, “But, why?”
Ella looked at her, tilting her head, “In an interrogation, Sergeant, shouldn’t the suspect be aware of what they’re being questioned on?”
Sonny rolled her eyes. “Sorry Counselor, I’ll rephrase. Why have you been invited to the Met Gala? Like, isn’t it for A-List celebrities?”
Ella snorted, “I’m wounded.”
“You’ll always be an A-List celebrity to me, love, but I’m pretty sure A-Listers don’t live in Manhattan apartments with their cop wives. Don’t they reside in, I don’t know, like, LA penthouses with a stream of younger lovers?”
Ella poked her fork in Sonny’s direction. “I have a younger lover,” she said through a mouthful of pasta. “And I’ll get started on the penthouse just as soon as the other rent payer in the place starts earning the big bucks.” Her green eyes glinted with amusement as she said this and Sonny couldn’t help but smile.
“Besides,” the lawyer continued, “I’m New York County’s first female DA. And their first latino DA. And their first openly LGBT DA. The public love me. Or have you just been oblivious to the paparazzi when we go out on dates? You know I get multiple emails a week from people wanting me to hire them as a stylist?”
“And here I thought the pictures being taken were of Manhattan’s sexiest sergeant,” Sonny fake-pouted over her glass of wine. “Y’know, Liv would tell you the fame is gettin’ to your head.”
“And you wouldn’t?”
Sonny smiled sweetly, “I would, but I’m looking to get laid tonight so I’m willing to pander.”
Ella laughed and shook her head. “I’ll cheers to that,” she said, raising her glass.
Sonny clinked their glasses, “To sleeping with celebrities!”
•••
“I hate this,” Sonny grumbled as she was poked and prodded from all angles by an over-enthusiastic tailor.
“So you’ve said.” Ella glanced up from her newspaper. “Five times in the last ten minutes, by my count.”
“Yeah, well, I do. I don’t see why I can’t just wear my white tux I have at home.”
Rafaela folded the paper up and crossed her arms. “Because, no wife of mine is showing up to the Met Gala of all things in a five-year-old wedding tux. It’s not even designer.”
“It’s not even designer,” Sonny mimicked, and winced when a clothes pin pricked her. “Ow! Watch what your doing! Hey, Ella, Rafa, this is torture. Please make it end.” She focused her baby blue eyes on the other woman’s green ones, hoping for some sympathy. She found none. Huffing, Sonny took it as a sign to shut up and let the tailor get on with it.
•••
[Suits arrived! Can't wait to see you in this, babe. It's ethereal.]
[it better be after all i had to go through]
[Drama queen.]
[says u]
[Hah. Funny.]
[Me and the suits anxiously await your return. X]
[ :/ ]
[xxx]
Sonny snorted and tucked her phone into her pocket, returning her attention to the deli they were parked outside. It was a routine stakeout but Sonny had a feeling it was going to amount to being a fruitless endeavour
Amanda raised a questioning eyebrow. "Texting on the job, are we?" she teased. "What are you annoying Barba with now?"
Sonny swatted at her partner. "Shuddup." There's a beat where Sonny processes the rest of Amanda's sentence. "Hey! Why do you assume I'm the one doing the annoying."
"Sonny, have you met yourself?"
"Okay, okay, point taken," she huffed, shaking her head. "But Ella was just saying our, y'know, suits arrived. For the Met."
Amanda's eyebrows shot up. "Oh? Any chance I'll get to see these mystery suits? I find it hard to believe you're going to be wearing a designer suit."
Sonny smirked. "Oh you best believe it. My wife would not have me in anything less."
"Makes sense," the southern woman's eyes creased, "you only ever dress nice when Rafaela Barba's involved."
•••
"Stop fidgeting."
"I'm nervous. How are you not nervous? This is, like, a big thing. There are actual celebrities out there somewhere. Oh my God, do you think Amy Adams will be there?"
Ella grabbed her hands. "Sonny, breathe. You'll be fine. All you have to do is smile and look pretty. Esa es tu fortaleza." She smirked and tugged gently at the silk lapel of Sonny's blazer, pulling them closer. "You're my arm candy – I'm the main act," Ella breathed in the cocky tone that pissed defense attorneys off for days.
"Hell yeah you are," Sonny whispered as she closed the distance between their mouths.
•••
The flashing lights and camera noises greeted them as soon as they stepped out of the car and Ella's hand quickly found Sonny's, linking them tightly together. Walking up the steps and giving their names over was pretty surreal and Sonny kept wanting to pinch herself to check she hadn't clocked into a dream world by accident.
Once they were in the main carpet area, Ella steered them towards a collection of journalists and photographers, muttering something about getting it out of the way and please don't say anything Daniella Carisi or I will kill you.
Ella gave them permission to ask a few questions and Sonny didn't even have to try hard to stay quiet. She just stared at her wife (hoping it came across as lovingly and not, in fact, in confusion) as she excitedly described every part of their outfits and how they felt it pertained to the theme and how great it felt to be immersed in such a grandiose part of fashion culture.
"As a queer latina woman in a highly regarded position, do you have anything to say to any other little girls with dreams like yours?" Sonny's tuned back in at that question, removing her hand from the other woman's to slide an arm around her waist.
"Yes. Never underestimate the value of hard work. They will tell you you can't do it, you're not fit for the job. But use that as motivation. Prove them wrong. Sepan que si yo llegue aquí, ustedes también pueden." She smiled and nodded at the end, indicating that the interview was over. As they walked away, Sonny pressed a kiss to her forehead.
"I'm proud of you, Rafa. I love you so much."
"You say this now, but don't pretend like you wouldn't drop me for Amy Adams faster than you can say 'Sorry, Counselor'," she teased, "But I love you too, cariño."
•••
Sonny was speechless as they walked round the main exhibit - she didn't get fashion and art, not in the way Ella did, but she could appreciate how much work had gone into all of this. Rafaela stopped at one particular mannequin, and Sonny almost tripped over the trailing cape in her haste to stop.
"This is, wow, I love this."
"Yeah? You gonna buy it?"
Ella sticks her tongue out. "Maybe I will."
"It costs more than our combined yearly earnings, so let's go with a no on that one."
Ella shrugs and says nothing.
"Babe, no."
"Spoilsport."
•••
"If you spill soup on that suit I will divorce you."
"I'm not gonna sp––I'm forty-one years old, I don't need a bib anymore," Sonny whispered back indignantly.
Ella hummed dubiously and threw a napkin onto Sonny's lap before joining back into their table's heated conversation on the gender pay gap.
Sonny just rolled her eyes and spread the napkin out neatly. Rafa was going to be hearing more about this later, she decided.
•••
"I can't believe you tripped up Jared Leto," Ella laughed as they entered their apartment. Sonny, gave her a light shove, also laughing.
"Hey! It was an accident! I didn't--" she was unable to finish the sentence, the surreality of the situation hitting her as she doubled over to laugh more.
"Our one night of fame, Sonny." Rafaela giggled, "And I make an impassioned speech and represent cuban-americans, while you spill dessert and trip up Jared Leto." She stopped to wipe a tear from her eye. "Have I ever told you how much I love you?"
Sonny regained control of herself as she bent down to untie her loafers. "It may have come up," she aimed a sweet smile up at her wife.
"You're a dumbass," she squatted so she was on the same level as the blonde and ran a hand through her now-ruffled hair, "Thank you for coming tonight."
"We're married, I'm contractually obligated to attend everything with you." They stood up. "And besides, I had fun."
"You did?"
"Yeah, even if I spent half the night admiring how hot you look in that suit."
"Mmm, I look hot?" Ella pushed Sonny back against the wall, eyes suddenly aflame with desire.
"Always," Sonny kissed her. "But--"
"There's always a 'but' with you, isn't there?"
Sonny smirked. "But you'd look hotter out of it."
"Smooth," Ella scoffed, but went back up on her tip-toes to kiss Sonny again.
Sonny pulled away, hands remaining firmly on Rafaela's hips. "Bedroom?"
"Bedroom."
As they headed towards the room in question Ella paused briefly.
"Oh, what now?" Sonny sighed.
"Nothing, just... we've got to take the suits of gently, okay? And fold them."
"I hate you."
