Julien moved to sit at her white wooden dresser, staring at the sea of makeup she’d stopped wearing once she hit her twenties. Whereas he’d updated his Parisian living quarters over the years, she hated coming home even more than him, and as a result, hadn’t bothered to redecorate. Julien’s gaze dropped to a shoebox, its contents spilling out of it. He crossed the room to open it.
It was a treasure trove of trinkets.
Old photos of the two of them, sometimes with their mother as well, and a rare few of the four of them. Black and white smiles and silly faces. That boat ride down the Seine. Underneath, a collection of letters, postcards from their travels—New York, Malaysia, Australia—a scrap of material from her baby blanket, a child-sized silver Irish Claddagh ring.
Any number of these possessions would likely make an effective magnet item, yet Julien had something even better in mind.
But that was later.
Julien picked up the telephone in the corner of Béatrice’s room and dialled the number for Darcy’s hotel from the business card she’d given him. The receptionist put him through, and moments later, her voice burst through the receiver.
“It’s me.”
“Julien? Is everything alright?”
“Oui. Well, not entirely. Can you come around here today before the party? I’m worried about Cinn and I think he’d like to see you. He’s not… very happy with me.”
A pause.
“What the fuck did you do?”
“I don’t want to tell you.”
“Julien!”
“Can you come? I miss you.”
“I’m spending the day with my parents, Julien,” she said, but her tone was softer now. “I’ll see you at the party venue, okay? Leave Cinn alone for a bit. Don’t push him.”
“Fine. See you at the party. Oh, and don’t wear heels.”
“What? Why?” And then, “Julien?”
He hung up the phone.
Julien appraised himself in the mirror.
Hair brushed until gleaming.Check.
Dark suit, wrinkle-free, just one top button undone.Check.
One slightly less grumpy companion, lurking in the shadows of the room?Check.
Once Julien had made it back to the conservatory earlier, Cinn suggested they go out for a walk. As if by some unspoken rule, neither of them mentioned any more about last night. Cinn slowly unfurled throughout the day, and by nightfall he was practically back to normal. As long as they continued to ignore any elephants that stampeded through the room.
Cinn had, rather sensibly, left his beanie hat off this evening. His head seemed naked without it, brown curls bouncing free, and Julien resisted crossing the room to run his fingers through them again.
“Here.” Julien threw him a suit jacket of his, navy blue with white embellishments. It matched the tie that Cinn looked so strange in. Even more strange was the brogues he wore instead of his usual battered trainers. “Ready to go? Our car should be here soon.”
When Julien picked up two bags, one oddly large and rectangular, and one a tatty rucksack that certainly didn’t belong at a high-society party, he glanced at Cinn expecting a comment, but none came.
Their destination was on the outskirts of the side of Paris. The traffic was awful, making them blessedly late—the less time at this ostentatious affair, the better—but their taxi eventually pulled up at the venue. Cinn’s eyes became so saucer-wide, Julien could easily see the building reflected in them: a majestic mansion adorned with ornate wrought-iron balconies and cascading ivy, and soft, golden light spilling from arched windows.
Impeccably dressed attendants launched into their efficient checking-in process, ticking their names off lists and taking their coats. Julien dragged Cinn straight through the grand lobby, which housed so many fresh flowers it made his nose itch.
Staff ushered them through to the heart of the party, a spacious ballroom with towering ceilings featuring intricate mouldings, alreadycrowded with people. Beautiful, beautiful people, a vision of refined fashion, the very definition of haute couture. Men donned impeccably tailored tuxedos, complete with bow ties and cufflinks that glinted in the light. The women created a sea of bright colours with their flowing evening gowns, sequins and lace galore.
“See, I told you we wouldn’t be overdressed.”
