‘Wow, this party is going off!’ Poppy exclaims as we walk into the enormous venue.
I agree – the theme appears to be a riff on Carnivale and the organisers have gone all out – but you’d think that Poppy has never been to an event like this before. Though, to be fair, there probably aren’t events like this in the world of health and wellbeing. She’s probably more accustomed to yogis handing out shots of wheatgrass than waiters dressed as plague doctors bearing trays of brimming champagne flutes.
Speaking of…
I signal to a passing drinks waiter, and we relieve them of three flutes. I take a sip of fizz just as Cass holds her glass up to make a toast – oops.
‘To my little sister, who has taken Paris Fashion Week by storm.’
It’s generous, though I’m not sure ‘taken by storm’ accurately depicts the coverage we’ve received since my show. It’s been positive but hardly effusive.
Cassie’s eyes mist over, and she adds, ‘I am so proud of you, Bean.’
‘I’ve been meaning to ask about that since this morning,’ says Poppy, clinking her glass against Cassie’s, then mine. ‘Why “Bean”?’
‘Nickname from before Elle was born,’ Cassie explains. ‘When my parents—’
‘Our parents.’
‘Sorry, yes, our parents. When they told me Mum was having a baby and that it was in her tummy, I got confused because I couldn’t see anything – her stomach was still flat. Then she told me that the baby was only as big as a bean. So, that’s what I called the baby. And it stuck.’
‘That’s sweet,’ Poppy says.
It may be, but childhood memories are doing nothing to assuage my mounting nerves. I take another swig of fizz – French courage? – and try to appreciate that it’s a huge step up from what we usually buy from Aldi.
‘Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but you’re Elle Bliss, aren’t you?’
I pivot towards the oddly familiar voice and find myself face-to-chest with Tom Finn. Tom Finn(!) – style guru, co-host of the most popular fashion show on television, and the personification of ‘debonair’. He’s taller than I thought – definitely over six foot – but as expected, he smells divine and looks a million pounds.
He smiles at me kindly, head tilted as he awaits my reply, but I’m utterly tongue-tied. In the end, Cass has to nudge me to get me to speak.
‘Uh, yes, hello.’
He holds out his hand for me to shake, which I do, and he takes my hand in both of his. Tom Finn is holding my hand!
‘I just wanted to tell you, I absolutely loved your show yesterday.’
‘Oh, thank you,’ I squeak. He is still holding my hand!
‘Your aesthetic is classic, it’s classy, but you’ve also got that Elle Bliss je ne sais quoi. I imagine big things are coming your way. In fact—’
‘You found her.’ And that’s Hilde Klein, supermodel royalty. I try not to stare but she’s even more beautiful in person than I could ever have imagined.
‘Hello, I’m Hilde,’ she says, reaching past Tom, her hand outstretched. He releases me and I shake hands with Hilde.
‘We loved your show,’ she says.
‘I was just telling her,’ says Tom, nodding in agreement as they both regard me intently.
Cassie nudges me again. ‘Thank you. I— that means the world to me. Oh, and this is my sister, Cassie Bliss, and Poppy Dean, who writes for Nouveau.’
There’s an exchange of polite hellos but it’s hard to miss the odd look on Hilde Klein’s face when she greets Poppy. I wonder if there’s some sort of history there.
‘We’ve been talking,’ Hilde says, turning her attention back to me, ‘and we think you would be a great guest judge for our show.’
My jaw drops and all I can manage is, ‘Er.’
‘That’s brilliant,’ says Cassie. ‘Elle would be thrilled.’ At least one of us sounds like a grown-arse woman and not an extra from The Last of Us. ‘Here’s my card,’ she continues. ‘I’m Bliss Designs’ business manager.’
‘Excellent,’ says Hilde, slipping it into her clutch. ‘We will be in touch. Tschüss.’ She adds that million-watt smile and wiggles her fingers at me as she goes.
Tom squeezes my arm. ‘So, I guess this means we will see you soon!’
We exchange smiles – at least, I hope I’ve achieved a smile, rather than grimacing at the poor man – and he leaves.
‘Whoa!’ says Poppy.
‘Wowser!’ exclaims Cassie.
Then there’s an ‘eee’ sound, like the one the bath makes when you let the water out.
‘Elle? Are you all right?’ asks Cassie.
Oh, that sound is coming from me. I cease eee-ing and look up at my sister. ‘Did that just happen?’ I ask, not trusting my own eyes and ears.
‘Tom Finn and Hilde Klein offering you a gig?’
I nod.
‘Yes!’ Cassie answers with a wide grin, her eyebrows lifting so high, they almost reach her hairline.
‘Elle, that’s brilliant,’ says Poppy. ‘And so deserved.’
‘I’m going to be on their show,’ I say, the words barely permeating my fugue.
‘You are,’ Cassie confirms again. I may need her to tell me a hundred more times before it sinks in. ‘Now,’ she says, surveying the room, ‘let’s see who else we can network with.’ Her eyes glint with excitement, and she gulps down the rest of her champagne, then calls over her shoulder, ‘Follow me.’
Poppy and I exchange looks – hers signposting excitement, and mine? Well, I’m unsure, but I do know the fizz is now hitting my bloodstream. Coupled with the offer to appear on Hilde Klein and Tom Finn’s show as a guest judge, I’m riding such an intense high, anything feels possible.
‘Listen to what I am saying. It’s not going to happen.’
Cassie and I square off, eyeing each other with matching Paddington Bear hard stares.
‘How about—’ interjects Poppy but I cut her off.
‘How about you stay out of it? Because this is between me and my sister.’
‘Sorry.’ Poppy raises both hands in contrition and now I feel like an absolute shit.
‘No, I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘That was ill-mannered.’
It wasn’t just ill-mannered; I keep having to remind myself that Poppy is a journalist. What if she paints me as a diva with questionable manners?
‘Look,’ she says, ‘it’s been a big week – an intense week – and you not only put on an incredible show, but you’ve also had to deal with me following you about like an over-eager puppy and your ex is here and it seems like you’re in the cusp of a professional break-through. You’re entitled to feel overwhelmed.’
‘That’s generous but—’
‘But,’ I say, interrupting Cassie, ‘none of that is an excuse for having poor manners. I know you’re on my side, Poppy, and I apologise.’
‘Accepted,’ she says, and I can’t help but admire how easily she forgives and, generally, how good-natured she is.
‘All that aside,’ says Cassie, ‘we’re meeting up with Leo tonight.’
‘No!’
‘I’m wearing my business manager hat, Elle. When we get back to London, I’ll pop my big sister hat back on and you can moan and whinge and we’ll down a bucket of cheap wine and a dozen packets of even cheaper chocolate biscuits. All right? But for now, we’re going over there’ – she points to where Leo and his hangers-on are swilling (expensive) wine – ‘and saying hello.’
It’s rare that Cassie puts me in my place. I think the last time was when I borrowed her razor to shave my initials into the (poor) cat when I was a pre-teen. It sobers me up immediately, from both the fizz and my encounter with two fashion megastars.
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘Really?’ she asks and I laugh.
‘That whole speech and you’re surprised it worked?’
‘Well, yes.’ We share a gentle laugh and Poppy steps between us.
‘Now that’s sorted… Shall we?’ She nods towards Leo et al.
I down the rest of my fizz, set my empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, and give Cassie and Poppy a thumbs up. Cass smirks at me, then leads the way. I fall into step and Poppy brings up the rear.
‘Lorenzo!’ says Cassie loudly as we approach. She holds out her hand. ‘Cassie Bliss, Bliss Designs.’
This is all for show, of course. Cassie has known Leo nearly as long as I have. I also don’t know that I’ve ever really seen Cassie in full business-manager mode before. She’s bold and confident and I can’t help admiring how savvily she’s navigating this event.
Leo leans in for a cheek kiss and says something in Cassie’s ear that makes her smile.
‘And, of course, you know my sister, Elle,’ she says, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear. She turns and waves me forward.
Leo edges towards me and I hold out my hand for him to shake, because that’s what you do, right? Shake hands with the only man you’ve ever loved when you meet him in a professional environment? But Leo is having none of that. He gently clasps my shoulders and leans in for a triple cheek kiss, as though we’re close friends and Parisian.
My disloyal heart hammers in my chest as his scent – the distinct Leo scent that’s been imprinted on my brain for a decade and a half – assaults my senses and I instantly feel light-headed.
‘Hey,’ he says, steadying me on my feet. ‘Are you okay?’
I nod, not trusting my voice. But I need to say something – what if he thinks he’s made me swoon? ‘I’m fine – too much fizz on an empty stomach,’ I lie.
He nods in understanding, flashing me a smile. That smile. It’s even more potent than his scent and my heart hammers louder. Last time we were face to face, he came off as an arrogant wanker. But this bloke… he seems… well, like Leo. It’s also hard to ignore that he’s sexy as hell, having thrown a camel-coloured, single-breasted linen sportscoat over that cowboy ensemble. I’ve never really had a thing for cowboys – until now.
‘Hey, I really loved your show – honestly, it was impressive,’ he says, his eyes boring into mine. My breath hitches and I succumb to the moment, my eyes locked on his and basking in his Leo-ness.
‘Thank you,’ I say, recovering. ‘And yours… Just, wowser.’ I wish I could more eloquently explain how much it blew me away – the seamless collaboration, his successful foray into vegan leather – but I’m still tongue-tied. I’d like to imagine it’s because I’ve just met two of my idols, but deep down I know it’s because of him. Myriad emotions war inside me – nostalgia, tenderness… and, yes, attraction. Bucket loads of attraction. There’s also a smidge of hurt peeking out, but it’s outnumbered for the moment and I shush it.
‘Thank you kindly, ma’am,’ he says, laying on the Texan drawl and tipping an imaginary hat. ‘Who would have thought those wide-eyed kids from Kingston would end up here, hey?’
It’s jarring, his question.
‘I did,’ I say, partly baffled, partly miffed. ‘It’s been my dream since I was a little girl, remember?’
‘I do remember, yes,’ he says with a wink. ‘I was just, you know…?’
Oh, right – it was rhetorical. Idiot. But before I can respond, we’re interrupted.
‘Hi, you must be Elle.’
Brandy. She’s tall and slim and impossibly pretty – essentially, a female version of Leo, only her hair is the same glossy brown that Leo’s used to be.
‘I’m Brandy, Leo’s sister,’ she adds when I don’t answer her right away.
‘Sorry! Hello, I’m Elle.’ She looks at me oddly and I realise what I’ve said. ‘And you knew that already,’ I say with a shake of my head. ‘Anyway, nice to meet you.’
‘You too! Leo tells me you used to date – when he was living in England.’ What may seem to her as a casual remark is yet another punch to my gut.
‘Um, yes,’ I manage, right as Leo says, ‘Brandy.’ He exchanges a look with her, the kind that says, ‘Behave, little sis.’ I know that look because Cassie uses it on me from time to time. Brandy presses her lips together in a suppressed smile.
‘So…’ she says, beaming at me brightly, ‘have you been to Paris before?’
‘Er, yes,’ I say, feigning excitement. I’m still reeling from ‘used to date’. That’s one way to describe spending every waking hour together – and most nights. ‘Not as often as I’d like – work is pretty intense,’ I add, trying to hold up my side of the conversation. Based on tonight, I’d say a doorknob has better conversational skills than I do.
‘I’m sorry I missed your show,’ she says. ‘I only got in last night. But Leo wouldn’t stop raving about it.’
‘Really?’ This both surprises and delights me, but when I glance at Leo, he’s looking at the floor, shaking his head in embarrassment. So much for reining in his sister; she seems hellbent on embarrassing him, or at least clueless she’s doing it. It’s quite sweet how his cheeks are flushing.
I want to hear more – and to share with him what I loved about his show – but then he says, ‘Please excuse me,’ and turns away to speak to Cassie and Poppy.
No, talk to me!
It takes a significant amount of willpower not to go after him, but it would be impolite to abandon Brandy. And I’d be admitting – to myself, as well as everyone in earshot – that he’d affected me. Affects me.
This party was supposed to be the crowning event of the most extraordinary week in my career. But so far, I’ve bumbled my way through a conversation with two of my idols and now I’ve allowed my ex-boyfriend to crawl back under my skin.
Gah!
