“I believe the term they like to use is King ofLuxury, not semantics, but I’ll take it.”
“Of course you will. You hold court, you know. I’ve seen it.”
“I invite people over for dinner.”
Her brows rise, and there’s a feverish sheen to her eyes. A glint and a smile. “Where they all fight for your favor.”
“They do not.”
“They do,” she says, and nudges my elbow with her own. “You can make or break careers. You’re a tastemaker and a kingmaker.”
“I can’t be a kinganda kingmaker.”
“You know what I mean. You can elevate a designer or bring them to their ruin.”
“What is happening right now?” I ask her, and can’t help my hand from landing on her low back. “Is my wife giving me compliments?”
“Only you would see these as compliments,” she says, and there’s a flush to her cheeks.
“You’re free to continue,” I say.
She laughs, the sound genuine, and I wonder if I’m imagining it. Paige and I, sharing a moment of argumentative banter that doesn’t end in a staring contest.
“But I really want to know,” she says. “You own them all. You ownsixty percentof the luxury brands on the market. Don’t tell me that’s a compliment again. Tell me how it feels.”
“How it feels?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think of it as ownership,” I say. She’s not going to agree with this, has always made it clear that she thinks our attempts at helping Mather & Wilde was immoral. “I see it more as stewardship.”
“Is there a difference?” she asks.
“Yes.” I gesture to the rows of stores we’re passing. We have yet to choose one for her dress for tonight. “They existed before Valmont came into the picture, but many of them were struggling. Artistry and business don’t always mix, and they were drowning under mismanagement, petty family squabbles and poor structure. We take care of that for them, to ensure their survival. We make sure the artists and craftsmen stay employed for another generation to enjoy.”
Paige looks at me with an expression that’s halfway between disbelief and interest. It looks like she barely believes me.
“Speechless?” I ask. “That’s a first.”
“I’m not speechless. I’m voluntarily quiet.”
That makes me laugh. “Right, okay. Call it whatever you want. The way I see it, and the way my father saw it, the modern world could’ve turned away from the history, the craftsmanship, the expensive-but-local. Handcrafted with the finest materials. We could have left all of that behind in favorof industrial efficiency. After all, what’s the utility of any Maison Valmont product?”
“Almost nothing,” she says. “That’s true of all luxury.”
“Yes. Exactly. But instead we saidlook at this. We elevated it. We made it a status symbol and we made sure those legacy industries survived. We employ artisans who hand-print silk using hundred-year-old techniques. Maybe society can innovate elsewhere. Use screens, streamline, effectivize. But nothere. Let us preserve the old ways just a little bit longer. It’s a connection to the past.”
She looks at me like she’s never thought of that before. She nods slowly and wets her lips. “Yes. I can see that. It’s what I believe in, too. It’s also helped you get very, very rich.”
“That,” I say, “is a nice by-product of success.”
She’s not off in her critique. Never has been. It’s just never been the whole truth.
“So, where do you want to look for a dress?” I ask her.
“Why don’t you decide,” she says, “if you have such a vested interest in keeping artistry alive?”
My smile widens. “You think you’re setting me up to fail.”
