The Baur auLac hotel shines in the mid-afternoon sun. It took almost three hours to get through customs, and by the time we were done, the town car waiting for us had left, so we had to wait in a long line for a taxi.
It’s well after two, and the first cocktail party begins at seven. I wanted a nap, but I’ll have to settle for one of Marina’s quick eye treatments and a lot of makeup instead.
“Max!” I call, raising my arm to flag him down from across the opulent lobby. He waves back, the light from the crystal chandelier glinting off his watch. Reception is mobbed, but Max weaves his way among the white and blue velvet sofas, and once he’s at my side, guides me to the VIP counter.
“Layla, take care of Sloane for me, will you? She should be in one of the deluxe corner suites—along with Ms. Marsh.” He nods toward Marina, who’s so excited, she’s practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Of course, Mr. Snood.” In seconds, our bags are whisked away and two keys—actual keys with heavy golden fobs—are pressed into my hand. “Take the elevator to the top floor. Last suite on the right.”
“I’ll see you at the Patron’s Soiree tonight, Sloane. I have some calls to make now that it’s areasonablehour in New York.”
“No, wait!” He’s five steps away before Marina prods me in the back to free my feet—which feel like they’re glued to the fine marble. “I need to talk to you.”
“Tonight,” he promises. “Meet me at the bar half an hour before the ballroom opens. Then, I’m all yours.” He pats my back—an almost fatherly gesture—but before I can protest, his phone rings.
Max is addicted to his phone in ways that are truly unhealthy. There’s no way he’ll hang up that call for me unless I want to yell my secrets across the lobby.
“Max! Dimitri Volkov is blackmailing me and he’ll kill me—and you—if you breathe one word of this to anyone!”
That little stunt would probably get me kicked off the cover—and out of the hotel. Not to mention get both of us killed. The press is everywhere. A dozen different paparazzi have already snapped photos of me and Marina. The hotel, to its credit, is keeping them behind velvet ropes, but they’d hear every word.
Linking my arm with Marina’s, I plaster on a smile. “Come on. Let’s go up to the room and relax. I’ll talk to Max before the party.”
The worry in Marina’s eyes makes my heart ache, but until I can get Max alone to tell him how well and truly fucked I am, maybe I can have a small bit of fun with my friend.
* * *
“This suite ishuge!”Marina says once we’re safely inside. She’s not wrong. My bedroom has its own lavish bathroom with a smaller half-bath off the sitting area. One corner holds a Murphy bed, and two sets of balcony doors offer views of the lake.
We spend the afternoon sitting out on the main patio, wrapped in blankets, with a platter of fresh fruit and a pot of herbal tea between us.
Beauty and Stylesent a complete wardrobe for me—separate from the outfits I have to wear for the runway shows—all hanging from a garment rack in the suite’s bedroom.
“Thank God tonight’s dress isn’t skin-tight,” I say as I pop another strawberry. “Flying always makes me feel like I gained ten pounds.”
“Oh, puh-leeze.” Marina rolls her eyes. “You’re the size of a pencil. Well, a pencil with perfect B-cups and an ass that’s the envy of half the universe. You’re going to look fabulous in that dress, and I’m going to be your frumpy older sister.”
Flashing her a wicked grin, I take one last strawberry and practically skip into the bedroom. “No. You are not. Come see!”
When she joins me, I’m holding a green, strapless gown in one hand and a pair of wedge heels dangling from the other. “I may have needed something frivolous and fun to take my mind off of…well…everything that’s happened the past week.”
Marina’s mouth forms a littleo, and she cradles the dress in her arms like it’s a newborn baby. “Sloane! You shouldn’t have spent all that money—”
“Before you get too excited, it’s off the rack and I just had it altered. Your afterparty dress…that one took a little negotiation withBeauty and Style.It’ll be here on Friday along with a seamstress. There was no way I was going to come here and let you be trapped in the room the whole time I’m out theremingling. If I have to suffer, you’re going to suffer with me.”
“It won’t be suffering if I’m wearingthis.” She twirls around, the flared skirt a green blur against the room’s mostly white and beige interior. “It’s about time to get you ready so you can meet Max before the party,” she says with a pointed glance at the clock. “Hop in the shower and I’ll unpack my box of makeup magic.”
* * *
Griff
Zurich is equal parts big city and ritzy vacation getaway. Rather than rent a car at the airport, I found an eager taxi driver who was thrilled to take three hundred francs to give me averythorough tour of the streets within ten kilometers of the Baur au Lac hotel.
Only takes me ten minutes to get him to understand I can’t hear shit but have a speech-to-text program on my phone that works if he doesn’t talk too quickly. Plus, I promise him another hundred if I don’t have to ask him to repeat himself more than a couple times.
“Can you show me the fastest way to get from the hotel to the city center?” I ask after half an hour.
“Is there somewhere specific you want to go?” He looks over at me from the driver’s seat, brows drawn together.
