“There she is!” Naomi shrieked, launching across the room in a pair of ivory La Perla pajamas and enough lip gloss to light a runway.
Bea barely got her shoes off before she was swallowed into a hug that smelled like champagne, Jo Malone, and political ascendancy.
“I’ve been engaged for four hours and you’rejustarriving,” Naomi accused, grinning against her ear. “You’re lucky I like you so much.”
“I’ve just been emotionally waterboarded by my boyfriend,” Bea said into her shoulder. “But congratulations, you lunatic.”
Naomi froze for half a second, then stood back just enough to look at her. “You okay?” she asked quietly.
Bea blinked. Then gave her a dazzling, slightly too-wide smile. “Of course. I’m thrilled. I love love.”
Naomi narrowed her eyes. Then huffed and shoved her left hand in Bea’s face. “Okay well,look. LOOK.LOOK.”
Bea held Naomi’s fingers steady to keep from going cross-eyed. “That’s not a ring. That’s an offshore bank account.”
Naomi held the pose like she was doing product placement for dynastic wealth. “He proposed in front of the presidential gardens. There was a violinist. I think he was wearing morning tails.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t televised?” Bea asked, eyes still adjusting to the carat count.
“It better not have been,” Naomi said, “because I wasn’t even wearing eyeliner.”
Bea laughed and dropped her bag as she crossed to the living room. The coffee table was a battlefield: glossy French bridalmagazines, crystal flutes, Naomi’s laptop mid-Pinterest spiral, and Georgina’s iPad swiping through vendor portfolios like she was shortlisting NATO candidates.
“Bey, sit,” Georgina called from the couch. “We’re eliminating bridal photographers who say things like ‘whimsy,’ ‘ethereal,’ or ‘candid love stories.’”
Naomi looked radiant. Hair glossy. Skin glowing. Probably hadn’t stopped smiling since sunset. “We’ll lock in the wedding planner shortly, but Georgina has veto power on photography. Isabel’s on PR. Lillian’s got cakes. I’ve assigned you stationery. I trust your font instincts.”
“You’ve already assigned roles?”
“We’re on a seventy-two-hour press countdown,” Georgina said, like it was obvious.
“You’ve been engaged for fourhoursand you’re already planning the press cycle?”
Naomi arched one perfect eyebrow. “We’re not savages.”
Bea took the champagne Georgina offered her. “So…” She tilted her head. “Why aren’t you…celebrating? You know.With Charles?”
“He had a Foreign Ministry call. Something about sanctions,” Naomi said breezily. “And his mother said no visible hickeys during the first press window.”
Bea choked on her drink. “That’s sound advice.”
“Now. While you were off having intimacy with the future CEO of global finance—” Georgina began.
“I wasn’t having?—”
“Sure, sure. We have real problems. Like whether Naomi should do a cathedral veil or a shoulder sweep.”
“It’s going to be a summer wedding,” Naomi said, as if that explained the dilemma.
“Clear your calendar for December,” Georgina ordered.
Bea gave a mock salute.
A knock at the door.
“That’ll be Isabel and Lillian,” Georgie said without looking up.
Naomi drained her glass and stood. “Good. We need everyone in the war room.”
