“We don’t for a while, but then there’s a tipping point where we go from looking twenty one night to two hundred the next morning.”
“Well, if they all look like your sister or Colette at first, sign me up. Now tell me, what’s the deal with you and Colette these days? One minute you’re on, one minute you’re off, I just can’t keep track anymore.”
“I can’t either,” Carlton said. He was so sick of the games Colette was playing. All week long, she had been dropping hints every time they passed by a jeweler. He knew that when he refused to go into Mauboussin with her on Tuesday, she had put Plan Richie into action and sent for him to come to Paris. She could be so fucking childish sometimes. As if having Richie here throwing her a party with his daddy’s dirty money was going to make him jealous.
Carlton felt Harry jabbing his ribs. “Hey, do you know that girl over there? White dress, nine o’clock.”
“Harry, someday you’re going to realize that not all Asians know each other.”
“You can’t blame me for getting excited—that’s quite possibly the fittest bird I’ve ever seen! I’m going in.”
“Race you there,” Carlton said. If Colette wanted to play games, he could play too. He gave his jacket lapel a tug, grabbed two glasses of wine from a passing server, and strode confidently across the terrace toward the girl in white. Just as he got to her, Nick suddenly cut in front of him and, to his astonishment, wrapped her in a warm embrace.
“Astrid! What the hell are you doing here?” Nick said excitedly.
“Nicky!” Astrid squealed. “But I thought you and Rachel were in China.”
“We were, but we flew to Paris on the spur of the moment with Rachel’s brother and some new friends. Oh, speak of the devil, here’s Carlton. Carlton, this is my cousin Astrid from Singapore.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Astrid extended her hand to Carlton, who was completely stunned by the sudden turn of events. This extraordinary creature he was about to hit on was Nick’s cousin?
“And this is my great friend, Mehmet,” Nick said, introducing Carlton. “You rascal—what are you doing hanging out with my cousin in Paris?”
Mehmet patted Nick on the back heartily. “It’s a complete coincidence! I’m here on business, and we ran into each other at Le Voltaire. I was sitting down at a lunch meeting and who should come through the door but Charlotte Gainsbourg…with Astrid! Of course I had to say hello—I couldn’t resist making all my associates sick with envy. Then Astrid invited me to dinner, and I talked her into making this pit stop.”
By this point, Rachel and Colette had joined the group. “Astrid! Mehmet? This can’t be happening!” Rachel shrieked, hugging both of them in utter delight.
Colette was introduced all around, and she couldn’t help but scrutinize every inch of Astrid. So this was the couture-wearing cousin that Rachel had told her about. Astrid’s sexy gold sandals she recognized as being handmade in Capri by Da Costanzo. Her white patent-leather clutch was vintage Courrèges. Her gold Etruscan-style cuff bracelet with the facing lion heads were Lalaounis. But that little white pleated dress she just couldn’t place. My God, it was perfection, the way the linen skimmed her body, just tight enough to drive all the men wild but not so tight it looked vulgar. And those sundial pleats at the neckline to accentuate the sensuality of the collarbone—pure genius. She just HAD to know who designed it.
“I am a fashion blogger—would you mind if I took a picture of you?” she asked.
“Col
ette’s being modest. She is THE most popular fashion blogger in China,” Nick bragged.
“Um, of course,” Astrid replied in surprise.
“Roxanne!” Colette yelled. Her trusty assistant came running over and snapped a few pictures of Colette and Astrid posing together. Then Roxanne began to take notes as Colette quizzed Astrid on everything she was wearing.
“Now, I just need some caption info. I recognize your shoes and your handbag, of course, and the bracelets are Lalaounis—”
“Actually, they’re not,” Astrid interrupted.
“Oh. Who did them?”
“They’re Etruscan.”
“I know, but who designed them?”
“I have no idea. They were made in 650 BC.”
Colette stared in wonder at the museum artifacts dangling so casually on Astrid’s wrists. Now she wanted some herself. “Okay then, most important, tell me which genius designed your fabulous dress. It’s Josep Font, isn’t it?”
“Oh, this? I bought it today at Zara.”
For the rest of her life, Roxanne would never forget the look on Colette’s face.
• • •