There was a huge crowd of people still waiting to get inside the party, but she saw a familiar dark honey blond head walk to the front of the velvet ropes, cutting through the mass of hopeful partygoers like a hot knife through butter.
Because Ryan Perry was always on the VIP list.
He caught her eye and her heart stopped at the sight of him. And just like that, Mara completely forgot about her tired, pained feet.
brangelina’s got
nothing on jereliza
BEFORE ELIZA COULD FEEL TOO UPSET ABOUT MARA abandoning her, she was pulled away by Mitzi Goober, who was hyperventilating in excitement.
“The ‘Tawker’ writer’s here! And she wants you now,” Mitzi said, her manicured nails digging into Eliza’s arm. “Tawker” was a must-read Manhattan-based gossip column that appeared daily in one of the major papers.
“Wait! Can I go say hi to my boyfriend first?” Eliza asked, seeing Jeremy enter the store, looking handsome as ever in a nice linen suit. He had been at the store earlier to help but had left to change out of his overalls. He waved to Eliza and started to make his way toward her.
“No time for boyfriends!” Mitzi ordered, pushing Eliza toward the “Tawker” gossipeuse.
“All right.” Eliza sighed, gesturing apologetically in Jeremy’s direction. Given that Mitzi had strapped her baby to her chest, maybe there was no time for relationships when you were trying to make a living on the New York social circuit. Was she going to have to strap Jeremy to her chest to get to spend any time with him?
Eliza pasted on her most winning smile as she prepared herself to take on the reporter’s questions. She knew she had to ace the interview or else be subjected to enormous ridicule. “Tawker” was merciless in its coverage of Manhattan movers and shakers. It had even instituted a popular section called “Dumbass of the Day,” wherein various players on the Manhattan social scene were relentlessly savaged. Never appearing in that column was considered a great achievement among a certain set.
“Hey, nice meeting ya.” The gossip writer, a perky, twenty-something brunette quickly shook her hand before diving right in. “So, which stuff did Chauncey Raven buy? The underwear, I hope? God knows the girl needs it, huh?”
Eliza laughed and then provided all the lacy details. She knew that celebrities’ shopping habits were standard fodder for the gossip press.
The “Tawker” editor followed with a few softball questions about the launch party and who had been invited, and Eliza carefully answered every query, making sure not to use the word like in every sentence or say anything that could be used to humiliate her—with one careless answer, she could be painted as another rich blond socialite trying to buy her way into a career in fashion.
Eliza was proud of her own composure, but she could tell that after only a few minutes, the reporter could barely contain her boredom—she was already checking her watch. What was up with everyone tonight? Eliza thought, annoyed. First Mara bailing early, and now it was so obvious the “Tawker” writer was talking to her only because Mitzi had forced her to. Well, screw her. Eliza wasn’t going to embarrass herself just to give “Tawker” something to talk about. Though she was dying to get some press—the store wouldn’t survive without it.
“Well, thanks for your time,” the girl said, giving Eliza a fake smile. “I’ll let Mitzi know if we run an item.”
“Sure.” Eliza nodded, pushing her hair away from her face, knowing full well that a passing mention on Chauncey Raven’s lingerie purchase would be the only coverage her store would receive. Still, she’d take any press she could get.
“Hey, is that an engagement ring?” the reporter asked suddenly.
“Oh yeah, I guess,” Eliza said, looking at the ring again as if for the first time.
The writer whistled. “What is that, five carats? It’s a monster!”
Eliza nodded, blushing a little. It really was huge. But then, hadn’t she always insisted to whoever listened that she would never settle for anything less? “Five carats—anything less is a speck. An insult. A piece of dust!” “Five carats or don’t bother!” But now, it did seem absurdly large. It looked gigantic on her finger.
“So who’s the lucky guy?” the writer asked, taking a slug of champagne, her interest in Eliza apparently renewed.
“Jeremy Stone,” Eliza said with a warm smile.
“Jeremy Stone,” the girl repeated, furrowing her brow. “Why does his name sound so familiar?”
“He’s a really great landscape architect,” Eliza gushed, beaming. So maybe “landscape architect” was pushing it—Jeremy was just a glorified gardener when you came down to it. But whatever her ambivalence toward the ring, one thing was for sure—she was very proud of Jeremy.
“No, that’s not why,” the reporter said dismissively, waving her glass of champagne around as she furrowed her brow in thought. “Jeremy Stone…. Hey, I remember now. Isn’t he the guy who just inherited the Greyson pile?”
What a way to put it. “Um, well, yes …,” Eliza said slowly.
“Damn, girl. You made a killing! You’re marrying the Greyson heir!” The “Tawker” writer immediately lit up and brought out her iPod recorder. “So when’s the wedding?”
The Greyson heir? Wedding? “Uh, we’re not really sure….” Eliza blanched. Wedding? Who said anything about a wedding? She wanted to explain that the ring signified more of a “promise” than an engagement—Jeremy had never even said anything more about it; he just looked happy to see the ring on her hand—but no words came out. The “Tawker” writer seemed really interested in the story, and Eliza felt the hunger for publicity start to gnaw at her.
“Um … next … next year?” Eliza hedged. Besides, if it was an engagement ring, which everyone seemed to think it was—and what was the harm if they did?—then that would mean there would have to be a wedding at some point….
“You gonna wear white? God knows you have enough white in this store. Design the dress?”
“Um …” Eliza began to feel her cheeks become very red. Just as she was trying to back away from the aggressive reporter, she was accosted by several of her old friends from Spence.
“Liza! Oh my God! We just heard! Congratulations! And by the way, that is an ice rink!” Lindsay said, admiring the ring while the other girls oohed and aahed.
There was nothing like a ring viewing to cause a commotion, and soon even more reporters were swarming around. New York magazine wanted to know if they were having the reception in the city or on the beach. WWD inquired as to the ring’s provenance (Neil Lane from Beverly Hills). The Observer asked if she would do a “bridal blog” on their site. Every question directed toward Eliza had nothing to do with her store launch or the collection but instead focused on her engagement to Jeremy “Five Carat” Stone, as the “Tawker” reported had quickly dubbed him.
It was everything she’d ever dreamed of for herself when she was growing up, and yet—and yet—the ring was starting to feel incredibly heavy on her finger. And she was beginning to become just a teensy bit annoyed that not one of the reporters had asked about her new collection.
Finally, when Eliza could no longer hide the fact that she didn’t have very many details on the impending nuptials, the rest of the reporters ended the bridal inquisition and scattered to attack the goody bags, leaving her alone with the “Tawker” writer once again.
“So, did he have anything to do with the store?” she asked Eliza.
She caught sight of Jeremy across the room. He was politely talking to a few buyers from Japan, who didn’t know anyone else at the party and spoke limited English. He really was such a sweetheart. “Oh yes, he built the whole interior,” Eliza replied. “According to my design, of course.” She smiled fondly, thinking of the two of them throwing paint at each other over the winter and how they had laughed when the ceiling caved in, covering them in plaster, while Jeremy was renovating. She glanced at the corner where he was laughing at something the Japanese buyer was saying.
She caught his eye and he raised his glass to her. She raised hers to him, feeling a pang that she hadn’t even had time to say hello. No matter—if the ring promised anything, it was that they had all the time in the world.
mara doesn’t speak
ex-boyfriend
“RYAN,” MARA BREATHED. AFTER THAT NIGHT ON THE beach, she’d chalked up that odd jittery feeling she’d felt on seeing him to the fact that she was naked at the time. But now that she was fully clothed, why were her hands still shaking? And why was her throat suddenly dry? Was it just because David was thousands of miles away? And had left her stranded in an airport? Maybe if David were here, seeing Ryan wouldn’t affect her so much. She tried to get ahold of herself and stood up straight, willing her voice to stop trembling. “Good to see you.”
“Oh, hey,” Ryan said, looking a bit uncomfortable when he spotted Mara at the door, blocking his way. “You’re off?” he asked. “I mean, it’s obvious you’re leaving. But didn’t the party just start?”
“No, I mean, yes, I mean, I don’t have to,” Mara said, kicking herself for sounding so flustered. What was it about Ryan and those beautiful greeny blue eyes of his that turned her into a blithering idiot?
“You don’t—I mean, you don’t have to stay if you don’t want to. But if you want to, it’s, uh, cool.” Ryan shrugged, sounding a little nervous himself. “I mean, you can do whatever.”
A few people behind him waiting to get inside the party began to harrumph and complain. “Excuse me!” an annoyed forty-something woman cried as she pushed past them, clutching her pink invitation. “Can I get through?”
“Yes, of course,” Ryan said, jumping out of her way and into the store. Mara immediately followed him back into the party. They found a quiet corner by the wall of handbags.
“I thought you hated these things,” Mara said abruptly as Ryan accepted a caviar-stuffed blini off a white-tuxedoed cater-waiter’s tray.
“I thought you lived for these things,” Ryan retorted, licking sour cream off his fingers.
Mara frowned. That was a sour statement. She had spent last summer chronicling the social scene for Hamptons magazine, which necessitated attendance at dozens of these kinds of events—events at which Ryan had rarely made an effort to join her, choosing to sulk at home at being abandoned by his girlfriend instead. “I’m not writing for Hamptons this summer. I’m back on baby duty,” Mara explained. “The Finnemores? Eliza’s dad is dating the mom. They live a few streets over from you guys.”
“The house with all the fake statues?” Ryan asked.
“Bingo.”
A smile fleetingly appeared on Ryan’s lips, but it disappeared just as quickly.
“Oysters?” A cater-waiter appeared, offering fat bivalves on a tray of ice.
“Sure,” Ryan agreed, knocking one back while Mara grimaced. She could never quite stomach raw seafood. They stood in tense silence for a moment. “Anyway, it’s Eliza’s big day, so I thought I should be here,” he said finally, looking down at the pink terrazzo floor. “Is it me, or is everything pink in here?”
“Everything’s pink,” Mara confirmed. Oh. So he was here for Eliza. He and Eliza went way back, and nothing ever seemed to affect their friendship. She was suddenly a little jealous of that, and took a big gulp of champagne from her glass.
“Dude, that is so Eliza.” Ryan laughed.
Dude. There it was again. There was just something so platonic about that word. Ryan called Eliza “dude” all the time, and Mara had liked that he did, since it meant that he thought of her as a buddy and not as a girl he’d once hooked up with. Then again, what did she care? She had a new boyfriend now—not that she was thrilled with David at this particular moment. He’d just sent her a photo of the Louvre from his camera phone with a note that said I LOUVRE YOU. Great, but how about an I Louvre You call?
It was silly to be so awkward around Ryan. They had a history together, and there was no reason they couldn’t be friends. “You know, we should hang out sometime,” Mara proposed, adopting a super-casual tone. The fact that her heart was beating quickly was probably just the stuffy air. There were too many people in the boutique and the air-conditioning system couldn’t keep up.
“Yeah.” Ryan nodded. “I’m sure I’ll see you around this summer.” He took two chicken skewers from a passing tray. “I missed dinner,” he explained, blushing slightly.
“‘See me around’? You’re not getting away that easily,” Mara teased. Did he really just give her the “see you around” brush-off? “We should get together. What are you doing for the Fourth?” she pressed, now determined to squeeze a real plan out of him.
“Dunno.” He shrugged, looking around for a trash can for the skewers and shoving them into his pockets when he couldn’t find one.
“C’mon, you always have big plans.” She thought of her first summer at the Hamptons, when Ryan had saved her from a disastrous Fourth of July taking care of the Perry kids by herself. She’d spent the holiday with him these past three years. Why couldn’t they just hang out like they used to?
Ryan shrugged. “A couple of the guys might be getting together for a barbecue down by the house. Not a big deal.”
“What time?”
“Around noon or so.”
“Cool, I’ll bring beer.”
“Uh, okay.” Ryan nodded, taking the empty skewers out of his pockets and placing them on a passing tray.
“See you then,” Mara said cheerfully, willfully oblivious to how reluctant Ryan was about extending the invitation. Boys could be so immature! She’d practically had to invite herself to the shindig. If he could be friends with Eliza, why couldn’t they be friends too? It couldn’t be that hard, could it?
“Ryan! You made it!” Eliza squealed, bursting on the two of them and giving Ryan a friendly hug. She looked puzzled to see Mara. “I thought you’d left!”
“I was just—,” Mara said, but Eliza had already pulled Ryan deeper into the party. Mara watched them walk away, arm in arm.
The Fourth of July was next Saturday. A week wasn’t a very long time, but for Mara it suddenly felt like an eternity. She hitched the shopping bag that held the minuscule bikini on her shoulder. Maybe she’d wear that to the barbecue, just to remind him that she wasn’t exactly one of the guys.
“Dude” indeed.
good-looking guys get
away with everything
WALLFLOWER WAS NOT A WORD THAT CAME TO MIND when describing Jacqui Velasco, but that was exactly what she felt like at the store opening. Modeling had been fun at first. Eliza had picked a daring, thigh-scraping strapless A-line dress for her to wear, and the white fabric stood out against her deep mocha tan. Jacqui had enjoyed vamping it up and helping guests decide which of Eliza’s sexy white dresses looked best on their figures.
But a few hours later, almost all the racks were bare, and she had to inch around the room, which was getting more jammed by the second with the late-night crowd, who were more interested in the free cocktails than in the clothing.
Other than Eliza, who was busy being a social butterfly, and Mara, who had just left, Jacqui realized she knew almost no one at the party. That had never fazed her before—in her hard-partying days, she could make a friend in the instant it took to pop a champagne cork—but between trying to get into NYU and working for the Perrys, it had been a while since she’d been the life of the party. She grabbed another glass of champagne, her fifth of the evening. Ooh. She should stop. But she’d felt ridiculous standing all alone, dressed to the nines with heavy makeup on, looking like a dismissed diva while everyone else was gathered in tight-knit cliques. Drinking had given her something to do.
Oh, well. No one would even notice if she tiptoed out the door right now. She could just put down the champagne flute and sneak out the back. Eliza would understand. It wasn’t like she needed Jacqui to be there anymore for moral—or model—support. Almost everything in the store had already sold out. And besides, Jacqui had a big day with the
kids planned for tomorrow. The twins needed to be at their gifted seminar in Wainscott by eight, and Wyatt had his practice session for his upcoming KRTs (the Kindergarten Readiness Tests, which was to preschoolers what the SATs were to their high school counterparts) shortly afterward. So it would probably be best if she just left now….
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” A voice startled her from behind.
Finally. Someone she knew. Jacqui turned and began to smile until she realized who it was. Some smarmy-looking thirty-year-old-guy trying too hard to look cool with his slicked-back hair and his vintage Rolex, jangling his Bentley car keys. Why did he look so familiar? Then it hit her. The Hollywood hotshot. The chicks-gone-crazy party. That first memorable summer in the Hamptons. Rupert Thorne. Otherwise known as a Thorne in her side. Raising his smug head again.
“I think you’re confusing me with someone else,” she said, pushing past him and trying to get as far away from him as possible.
“Whoa, don’t be that way, beautiful!” he called after her.
As she stormed away, she bumped into Eliza, who had just finished giving another interview. “You all right?” Eliza asked. “You look tense.”
Jacqui shrugged. “Listen, chica, it’s late….”
“Don’t say you’re leaving too! I can’t believe Mara’s already gone!” Eliza wailed, running her fingers through her hair in dismay.
Jacqui was about to apologize, but just then there was a communal buzz from the party as two gorgeous guys appeared in the doorway. She and Eliza turned to look. Jacqui smiled. It was the two cute Aussies she’d met that afternoon! She was glad to see some familiar—not to mention handsome—faces. Midas looked a bit scruffy and tired. He was still wearing the same worn T-shirt and pants that he’d had on earlier, but Marcus looked freshly shaven and had changed into a dashing white linen suit.