She actually laughs. “Really? It seems more likely you’d see the ghost of fashion present. Or perhaps even fashion past. Maybe you saw Gianni Versace. You know he was tragically murdered, and I’ve heard that he shows up at some of the Milan shows.” Her brow creases like she’s thinking. “Actually, that would make a very interesting segment.” She turns to Alistair’s camera. “What do you think, fashion friends? How about a segment on the ghosts of fashion past?” She grins at me. “Brilliant!”
“I’ll be with Mom and Leah,” I tell her.
She looks as though she’s about to question this, but I don’t stick around. I feel sick to my stomach and I don’t think it’s from lunch.
“What’s up?” Mom asks as I join her.
“Don’t ask,” I mutter.
“What?”
“Later,” I mumble.
“Is Paige wrapping it up?” Leah asks.
“I wish she would,” I moan. “I want to go home. I mean to the hotel.”
“What is wrong with you?” Mom persists.
“My stomach hurts,” I tell her as I see Dylan coming out. With what looks like a very fake smile, he begins mingling with the models and the few stragglers who have stuck around, likely making small talk as he’s glancing about nervously. He’s probably curious as to whether or not I’ve broken the news to Paige yet. Maybe he plans to do damage control. But I don’t plan to stick around and see it. Instead I turn to Mom, telling her I’ll be in the car.
“What is going—”
“Never mind,” I seethe before storming away.
By the time I hear the car door opening, I’m somewhat cooled off and rational again. Oh, I don’t know what I’ll do or say just yet, but I know I won’t sit by silently anymore. Mom and Leah get in, but Paige isn’t with them. “Where’s Paige?” I ask.
“She’s going with Dylan,” Mom says as Leah instructs the driver to take us to our hotel.
“With Dylan?” I demand.
“Yes.” Mom nods and looks curiously at me. “Our work is done for the day and he wants her to help with the after-party.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure he does.” “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I bite my lip, uncertain of how much to say. It’s one thing to spill the beans to Paige — after all, it’s her life. And I wouldn’t even mind telling Mom. But I’m not convinced Leah needs to hear all this. Not just yet anyway. Really, I need to talk to Paige first.
“What’s wrong?” Leah presses me. “Why are you so upset?”
I shrug. “I don’t feel very well.”
“You seem angry, Erin.” Mom studies me.
“I’m just tired,” I tell her. And to change the subject I ask them what they thought of Dylan’s spring line.
“It was nice,” Mom says cautiously.
“It didn’t seem quite as impressive as some of the others,” Leah admits.
“I thought it was surprisingly ordinary,” I tell them. “Borderline boring.”
“Really?” Mom frowns at me. “That seems a bit harsh.” “It’s the truth,” I snap back.
“Sorry to say this.” Leah looks uneasy. “I agree with Erin.”
I launch into a critique that’s not so dissimilar to how Paige will tear into a designer she thinks needs to find a new line of work. And perhaps it’s a bit more cruel and heartless than necessary, but considering what I just witnessed, I don’t particularly care.
At the hotel I tell Mom and Leah to go out to dinner if they like. “I’ll order in if I get hungry, which is unlikely.”
“Are you sick?” Mom looks worried.
“No,” I assure her. “I just need some time to myself … some space. Okay?”
She nods. She knows me well enough to know this is sometimes spot-on true. I get worn out by crowds and busyness and new things. “Sure, honey,” she says. “Just go up there and take it easy. Call me if you need anything.”
“Okay,” I promise as I give her a quick hug. Then I go directly to my suite, close the door, and just sit and stare out the window. I have no idea what I should do. I could try to call Paige, but how do I tell her something like this on the phone? Especially when I know she’s with Dylan? And for all I know she’ll be coming here to change for the party. Really, I decide, all I can do is wait. And pray.
After I’ve prayed, I check my iPhone. Once again, the only messages are from Mollie, but I text her back and without going into detail, I ask her to pray for Paige, saying it’s urgent. Out of habit, I want to text Blake too, but I’m slightly irked, and mostly hurt, that he hasn’t been in touch. I hate to assume this is because of Grace, but part of me feels that’s a reasonable explanation. Probably even more so after witnessing Dylan’s despicable behavior this afternoon.
Even so, I’m tempted to text Blake anyway. After all, we are friends, and he’s Paige’s friend too. And he’s prayed for me in the past. But before I have a chance to begin, my iPhone rings. For a minute I think it might be Blake, except that I suspect it’s quite early in the morning there. Then I hope it’s Paige, although I don’t know what I’d say. To my surprise though, it’s Gabin.
“Oh, Gabin!” I exclaim in relief. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
“Mon cheri!” he says happily. “And your voice is good too.” “I’m having a bad afternoon,” I admit. “I’m in my room pouting.”
“Pouting? That is not good. And it’s beautiful weather. You should be out enjoying Milan. Although you are correct, it is not as beautiful as Paris.”
I stand up and look out the window. It really is gorgeous outside, all blue sky and sunshine, in a way that’s probably unique to September. “It is lovely out there,” I admit. “But I’m sorry to say my mood is cloudy and dark. I wouldn’t be good company.”
“I love your company,” he tells me. “Come out and play, cheri. I will take you to my favorite ristorante.”
“I’m not very hungry.”
“We will first go and see sights,” he says enticingly. “I know you love seeing the sights. You can bring your camera. I think the light is just about perfect.”
I stare outside, knowing he’s right. The light is perfect. “Okay, you talked me into it, Gabin.”
“Fantastique!”
“Let me change.” I pause. “Do I need to dress up?” “You may dress however you please, cheri. No one will complain.”
I thank him and hang up. Then I look in the closet. Out of respect for Gabin, I know I can’t be too casual. Finally, I decide on a corduroy skirt with tights and a pair of Prada boots that Paige insisted I needed. I top this with a sweater and don’t forget to add some accessories, following Paige’s rule. Put several on then look in the mirror and take a couple of things off. “It’s called editing,” she likes to tell people. “Less is more.”
Then I switch to a large Fendi bag, one of this morning’s purchases, putting my camera and things into it. I head down to the lobby, where Gabin is already waiting. He smiles when he sees me. “You look beautiful,” he says as he kisses my hand. “Casual yet stylish.”
“Thank you,” I tell him. “I tried.”
We go straight outside, but instead of getting into a car, we head out on foot and I immediately begin to see some great photo opportunities with the architecture and the early evening light. Gabin is patient as I shoot here and there. He even points out some shots I might’ve missed and, all in all, I’m having a great time. I temporarily forget about why I was so out of sorts.
It’s not until the sun is down and we’re at dinner that I remember about my sister and what seems to me her doomed love life.
“Oh, oh,” Gabin says to me after a bottle of red wine is placed on our table. “Here come the clouds again.”
“Sorry.” I attempt a smile. “It’s really been a lovely evening.”
“But I know you are troubled.” He pours himself a glass of wine then looks curiously at me. “Are you still, as the English say, a teetotaler?”
I chuckle then hold my fore
finger about an inch from my thumb. “I’ll try a little.”
“See, I thought I was right. I thought you were growing up, cheri.”
“Well, as someone pointed out, Jesus’ first miracle was turning water into wine. But I do think moderation is vital.”
“As do I.” He nods and holds up his glass. “Here is to friendship, cheri. Remember when you told me you wanted to be friends?”
“Yes.”
“I did not respond so well then.”
I make a nervous smile. “I remember.”
“Maybe I too have grown up a little.”
“Here’s to friends,” I say and we clink glasses. I take a sip and am surprised that it’s not as bad as I expected. Still, it’s not really my thing.
“Now, tell me, my friend,” he says, his eyes serious. “What is troubling you?”
“I’ll warn you,” I begin. “It has to do with my sister. And I’ve really been trying to stay out of it. In fact, I’d love to stay out of it.”
“But it is impossible?”
I nod. “Impossible.” Then I tell him the whole thing— from Taylor’s confession to what I saw while getting water this afternoon.
“You have not told this to Paige?”
“No.” I shake my head. “To be honest, I haven’t had an opportunity.”
“And you say Dylan saw you … seeing him?”
“Yes.”
Gabin presses his lips together, concentrating. “It is possible that Dylan has already told Paige.”
“Really?” I’m surprised by this. “You think Dylan would confess?”
“Perhaps not so much confess … perhaps he has made a — how do you say? He has made defense … explanation.”
“Like putting his own spin on it?” I ask. “To make him seem innocent?”
“Yes. Like that. Perhaps he is excusing his, ah, his bad behavior. Do you think it is possible?”
“I think you could be right.”
“And perhaps you must be careful what you say to Paige.”
I take another sip of wine, mulling his advice in my brain. He may be French and he may have a different code of ethics than I do, but I do believe he’s right about this. As I thank him for his advice and later, once again, for his friendship, I wonder if I was too quick to push this guy away last spring.
Chapter
17
Saturday is a busy day with back-to-back shows. As a result I never really get a private moment with Paige. And by the end of the day, I think maybe it’s for the best. She seems so happy and oblivious that I think Dylan has either completely covered up what I saw yesterday or else has mentioned it in a dismissive way, like it was nothing. So if I mention it, she’ll probably laugh and say I’m overreacting because I’m so moralistic and old-fashioned. Whatever the case, I decide to just bide my time.
“You and Gabin have to come to the after-party with Dylan and me tonight,” Paige tells me as we’re heading to our suite.
I already told her about spending time with Gabin last night. It was my only way to excuse having missed Dylan’s after-party last night, although I’m sure he was relieved at my absence.
“It’s a big party,” she tells me. “Everyone will be there.”
I can’t even recall which Italian designer is hosting this particular event, but I know I don’t want to be there. “I’m tired,” I tell her. “I think I’d just like to spend the evening in.”
“No way,” she insists. “You played the hermit last night.”
“I was out on the town with Gabin last night,” I remind her. “Hardly a hermit. In fact, we had a wonderful time.”
“You know what I mean, Erin.” Paige is getting that stubborn look now, like she’s about to pull a princess fit. “We are here for our show. Part of that includes making appearances. I need my sister by my side.”
“You have Dylan by your side,” I say in a flat voice.
She narrows her eyes slightly. “And that’s a problem?”
I shrug then turn away.
“Mom said you were kind of down on him yesterday, Erin.”
I feel slightly betrayed by this. What did Mom tell her? And why? Still, I’m not sure I want to go there right now.
“Mom said you thought his show wasn’t very good.”
I turn to face Paige, studying her closely. “What did you think of his show?”
She looks trapped—like no matter what she says, it will be wrong.
“Come on,” I gently press her. “You’re the fashion expert. If Dylan weren’t your fiancée, what would you have said about his spring line? I’d like to know.”
“Okay. I don’t think those were his best designs.”
I nod.
“I don’t get why you’d hold that against him, Erin. That seems pretty mean and judgmental … even for you.” I blink. “Even for me?”
“Well, you know how you are. You’ve admitted it before. You can be pretty harsh and judgmental sometimes.”
“So can you,” I point out. “If a woman’s purse is all wrong with her outfit, I’ve heard you—”
“I’m not talking about fashion now,” she says loudly. “I’m talking about the way you judge someone’s character.”
“What if a person has no character?” I ask. “Am I supposed to simply pretend that he does have character?”
She looks stumped.
“Remember the old fairy tale ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’?”
She shrugs, but I can tell by the look in her eyes she does remember it.
“Everyone was supposed to pretend the emperor looked fantastic,” I say quickly, “but the foolish dork had been duped by a devious designer and he was actually parading around in his underwear. Remember?”
“And your point would be?”
“That’s like Dylan.”
“What?” she sputters.
“In fact, Dylan is like that in two ways.”
“Explain yourself.” Paige’s voice is tight and high and I can tell she is about to explode. Even so, I continue.
“First of all there’s Dylan’s spring line, which is, in my opinion, ho-hum, unremarkable, and just plain boring. And yet you acted like it’s inspired and amazing. I know you know better, Paige. You know it’s not good, and yet you’re acting like it is.”
“It’s because I believe in him,” she insists. “He’s an excellent designer. He got an early start and blew away some of his contemporaries. He was said to have the brightest future in the American industry and—”
“Maybe that was true then, but not so true now — “ “Who died and made you a fashion expert?” She glares at me.
“I’m just being honest, Paige. You’re acting just like one of the emperor’s subjects, pretending Dylan still has talent. And I know if it was anyone else’s show, you would have cheerfully torn them to shreds.”
“That’s not—”
“Let me finish. Second of all there’s Dylan himself— more specifically, his character, which in my opinion is seriously lacking. He plumps up his ego however he can. For all we know that could explain the decline of his creativity—”
“He’s just having a little slump.”
“And you’re covering for him! That’s my whole point, Paige, you’re acting like one of the emperor’s lame subjects. You’re bowing down to Dylan and pretending like—”
“I am not bowing down to him!”
Suddenly I know I’ve gone too far. I’m not even sure how it happened. I’ve totally thrown Gabin’s advice to the wayside. “I’m sorry,” I say quietly.
“How can you say things like that, Erin?” She’s right in my face and looks close to tears. “I’m your sister and you treat me like—”
“I’m saying it because I love you, Paige — “ “It’s a strange way to show love, Erin!” “It’s because I don’t want to see you get hurt.” “I’m not going to get hurt!”
“Yes.” I nod firmly. “You are going to get hurt. Dylan is not who you think he is. He is definitely
going to hurt you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Even if I did …” I pause, steadying myself, “would you listen?”
“You’re just jealous,” she says as she turns away, heading to the bathroom. “Just like all the other females in my life. Everyone hates me because I’m successful and pretty and — “ She slams the door so loudly that I can’t hear the last word. And now water is running.
I sit down, wondering if I could’ve messed this up any more, even if I’d tried. Once again, I pray. I pray that God will somehow salvage my mess and help me communicate with Paige in a way she can understand. Her shower finally ends and I can hear the fan running, but she spends such a long time in there that I feel worried.
By the time she emerges, looking fresh and perfect, I’m pacing. “Look,” I say to her, “I’m really sorry for the way that went.”
She smiles, but it’s not genuine. “That’s okay. I’m fine now.”
“Good.” I sit down and try to think.
“Should I assume that you and Gabin won’t be going to the after-party with Dylan and me tonight? I mean, I wouldn’t want to subject you to being seen with a second-rate designer who has no character.” Her voice cuts like acid.
“Oh, Paige.” I stand and look at her. “Can I just explain something to you? I mean calmly and without fireworks?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs as she tightens the belt of her bathrobe. “Can you?”
“I’d like to try.”
“Fine.” She sits on the sofa and I sit in the chair across from her. “Go for it.”
I begin by telling her what Taylor told me outside the bathroom at the Nina Ricci after-party.
Paige looks stunned. “Seriously? Taylor said that?”
I nod. “She didn’t say it proudly, and I can tell she still cares about Dylan. She said he helped launch her career.”
“That’s true enough.” She frowns. “I thought Taylor was pretty ungrateful for leaving him in the lurch like that.”
“Taylor is a Christian,” I tell her. “And she didn’t approve of Dylan acting like that toward her when he was engaged to you.”
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