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 ti
me?”
“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.
She began to wave, but Eliza tugged on her arm. “Oh. My. God. Do you know who those guys are?” Eliza whispered fiercely, pulling Jacqui close. “That’s Midas and Marcus Easton—they’re the hottest photographers in fashion right now!”
“Really?” Jacqui asked. So they hadn’t been lying or pretending to be something they weren’t. That was good to know. So many guys called themselves “photographers” when really all they did was run up-skirt websites. Not that Jacqui had ever been on one, thank you very much. But she’d seen the Chauncey Raven shots.
“Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of the ‘Saucy Aussies’?” Eliza asked, forever shocked that other people could be so ignorant of the fashion industry.
“The what?” Jacqui raised an eyebrow, amused.
“That’s what they’re called because they do these really cool, almost risqué fashion shoots. Vogue can’t get enough of them. Midas is known for his ‘touch of gold.’ He’s really the genius behind it all. A lot of people say Marcus is just along for the ride. That he doesn’t do anything but hold up a reflector. But you know, the ‘twin’ thing works to their advantage. I mean, they’re both great-looking, so why not have two beautiful guys on a shoot instead of one? Oh my God. Oh my God. I can’t believe they’re here!” Eliza squealed, unable to conceal her excitement. She was speaking so loudly that several guests turned to look.
“Why? You’ve got almost everyone here,” Jacqui said, pointing to a famous actress who was leaving the party with four goody bags stuffed under her arm. “It looks pretty A-list to me.”
“You don’t understand—every year Midas and Marcus pick one model and one designer to follow—they do this thing called ‘reality fashion,’ where instead of doing formal shoots and stuff, they just follow a model wearing the designer’s clothes the way a normal person would—you know, everywhere from the bedroom to grocery shopping—and then they do a big spread in Vogue showing all the designs. If they pick my line, it could launch my career!” Eliza explained, anxiously smoothing the lapels on her satin tuxedo and giving her hair a good shake.
“That’s so funny, I bumped into them earlier with the—,” Jacqui began, but her words died as the two boys walked right up to them.
“There she is,” Marcus said, putting a friendly arm around Jacqui. “The girl of the moment.”
“Thanks for the invite,” Midas added, fiddling with the zoom lens on his camera and pointing it at the Marilyn mannequin. “This is a great store. Love the high-concept thing.”
Eliza looked confused and turned to Jacqui. “You know these guys?”
“Sure. We’re all best pals here. I’m Marcus. That’s Midas. Cheers, big ears,” Marcus said merrily, taking a champagne flute from a waiter’s tray, his hand still draped casually around Jacqui’s neck. “Brilliant! Pink and white! Like being in a big cotton candy machine.”
“That’s the idea,” Eliza replied smoothly, not quite sure if she’d just been complimented or insulted.
“Guys, this is my friend Eliza Thompson that I told you about,” Jacqui said, making introductions all around.
Midas shook Eliza’s hand with a firm grip while Marcus was content to wave lazily, still attached to Jacqui’s side.
Jacqui felt his hand trail from her neck to her waist, giving her a light squeeze. Maybe all the bubbles had gone to her head—she usually didn’t like a gu
y to be so forward—but she leaned comfortably into his embrace. After all, who could resist a Saucy Aussie?
supermodels are discovered, not made
“THANKS FOR COMING TO MY party,” Eliza said shyly to Midas. She felt a little bit like a seventh grader throwing a birthday party, and she hoped he wouldn’t be able to detect her nervousness.
“No worries. You’re all this?” Midas asked, motioning to the store as a whole and closely inspecting the row of portraits of famous actresses from the thirties and forties that lined the wall leading to the dressing rooms. All of Eliza’s fashion icons were up there. Greta Garbo in a feathered nightgown. Bette Davis smoldering in a sequin bolero. Katharine Hepburn in her signature men’s-style trousers. Joan Crawford in her wasp-waisted suit—the only woman who could make shoulder pads look good.
Eliza nodded, glancing in Jacqui and Marcus’s direction as they drifted off on their own, Marcus’s hand brushing Jacqui’s hip in a possessive manner. That was fast. She turned back to Midas. He wasn’t as flashy or slick as his brother, but he was certainly very cute. His deep blue eyes focused on her with shining intensity.
“And you did that,” Midas was saying, gesturing to the hot number that Jacqui was wearing. The dress was covered in white acrylic beading that made it shimmer in the light.
“Uh-huh.” She nodded stupidly. The Easton brothers were total career launchers, and first impressions were everything. Her palms were practically sweating. Why was it so warm in here? Who was in charge? Oh, right, she was.
“It’s very sixties, isn’t it?” Midas asked.
“I was inspired by Twiggy,” Eliza admitted. “But I wanted to update the shape and the fabric. Not make it feel so retro. I like to put my own twist on things. The fabric is actually washable, so it’s practical too.” As the words spilled out of her mouth, Eliza felt herself begin to relax. Talking about her designs had always come naturally.
“This is lovely as well,” Midas said, taking a modern-looking kimono jacket from the nearest rack and studying it intently, as if he were going to be tested on its details. “What’s the theme of your whole collection?”