By her side are the two tall greyhounds she rarely travels without. One speckled, one gray. I always try to remember their names and I always fail.
“Sylvie,” I say, and walk out to greet her. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”
“Nonsense,” she says in French. “I heard you were back in Como and I set off immediately.”
She’s in her mid-fifties and wears her status as a legend in the fashion industry like an accessory. She started designing her signature tailored dresses back in the eighties, merging French and Chinese sensibilities into something unique that’s entirely her. She quickly became a household name in France and then the world.
And for the last eight years, she’s been the head artistic director for Armandelle. It’s the largest legacy brand in myportfolio, one of the world’s most recognized brands, and has had a complete revival under her artistic stewardship.
But lately she’s spoken about leaving.
Stretching her wings and dissolving the partnership that’s been so very lucrative for us both.
“I’m glad you came.” I bend to kiss her cheek. She smells like cigarette smoke and perfume, and my words are only half true. There’s no need for her to meet Paige.
“I have lots to talk with you about,” she says. “I’m tired of dealing with the latest business-degree lackey you assigned me. That Florian you have me talking to—bah. He doesn’t have an artistic eye, and he is too on time. Too German.”
“He’s Austrian, but yes, he has a background in finance. I’ll make sure you get a new liaison,” I say. “Someone with an artistic eye.”
“Good. You do that.” She pushes up her sunglasses, and the famous, no-nonsense Sylvie Li stare skewers me. “Now, I’ve heard the rumors about your marriage. Is it true? Tell me it’s not.”
“I have gotten married, yes.”
“Putain.” She slaps my shoulder. “Don’t tell me you did it for business, Raphaël. Just to get access to that little American company. Some things are holy, and this is one of them. If you’ve married for profit, I’llknowthis isn’t the place for me anymore.”
Her gaze is dramatic, her tone even more so. But the eyes on mine are heavy with disapproval.
I stand very still and lie. “It’s not just for business.”
“It’s love, then? You’ve found love? Because you know I’ve had my doubts, Rafe, about the… business side of things. That I’ve considered leaving Maison Valmont. I’ve been happy seeing your progress since you took over, but you have to have aheart, yes? You have to have passion. That’s the only way you can understand your designers and artists.” She taps across her breastbone, her own wedding ringglinting in the sunlight. “No creative would marry for anything but love.”
Shit.
She’s always driven a hard bargain and been the most challenging—and fun—of any designer I’ve worked with. But I didn’t anticipate this angle. She has plenty of sway with others, too. Her opinion matters.
I’ve been hastier with Paige than I usually am.
“We are different,” I say. “I’m not the artistic soul that you are. You’re one of a kind, Sylvie.”
“Flattery,” she says, but her lips curl. “It won’t work, but I love it so when you try this approach. Please continue.”
“It’s the truth, and it’s what makes our partnership work. I know my marriage happened quickly. It’s not like me, I’ll admit.”
“Why wasn’t I invited? Why was it such a small, courthouse thing? You, Raphaël Montclair, getting married behind closed doors?” She shakes her head. “Bah, I don’t believe it.”
“It’s one of the few impulsive things I’ve done in my life,” I say, because she knows me too well. The best lies are threaded with truth.
Sylvie’s gaze shifts to something behind me, and her smile widens. “Ah. Is this her, then?” She switches over to faintly French-accented English. “Hello, there. You are Rafe’s new wife?”
Paige accepts Sylvie’s hand with a smile she never gives me. Flight attendants, lawyers, strangers. They all get it.
“Yes. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Paige says. “I’m sorry, I feel very underdressed.”
Sylvie laughs. “Everyone is underdressed next to me. It’s okay. I’m used to it.”
“I bet. Do you live close by?”
“Yes. I have a house across the lake, closer to Bellagio.” She reaches for Paige’s left hand. Her nails are short and bare next to Paige’s red ones.
