CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
ANTOINE
Laura hesitates for a moment before she says, “Fine, I’ll show you.”
I stand from the couch, grab a chair, and sit next to her at the dining table. The soft scrape of the chair legs is the only sound as I settle in.
She opens the sketchbook to the page with the pendant she’s been working on. I lean in so that I can study the intricate detailing. It’s shaped like a fat teardrop made up of delicate, interwoven flowers. A single, exaggerated petal curves outward, giving it a whimsical edge. It’s simple in concept, but effective. And masterfully executed.
“This”—I gesture to the page—“is amazing. What materials were you thinking for it?”
“Stainless steel, maybe?” She looks at me like I’m qualified to give an opinion. “Or brass. Something cheap and affordable.”
“It would look stunning in gold.”
“You think?”
I decide to ignore the snark and point to the pendant’s center. “Maybe a gemstone here. Something subtle like a sapphire.”
“Great idea!” She laughs, a short, dismissive sound. “Let me just go get the sapphire money I had lying around.”
With an eye roll, she reaches to close the sketchbook.
“Can I see your other designs?” I ask.
Her hand freezes. “I don’t know…”
“If they’re half as good as this one, then you have a real gift. In which case I’ll insist that you stop calling it a hobby.”
Laura bites her lip, on the fence about letting me see the rest of her work.
Then she relents. “Fine. But you have to promise to be honest. If something’s bad, say so.”
“I promise.”
She flips to the first page. It’s a bracelet with interlocking geometric shapes.
I take in the clean lines and the way the angles flow seamlessly into curves. “Not bad at all!”
We go through the sketchbook. Some pieces catch my attention more than others, and I let her know when they do. “Very clever,” I say of a ring design with an adjustable band disguised as part of the aesthetic. Others get a neutral “hmm,” not because they’re subpar—quite honestly, none of them are—it’s really just for the contrast.
Halfway through, we hit a necklace. It’s unabashedly baroque with cascading chains that mimic falling water.
I study it for a while. “This piece is spectacular.”
“It’s too dramatic.” She blushes, waving me off. “No one would actually wear that.”
“Gigi would,” I say without hesitation. “You should show her your designs. She has an eye for jewelry that stands out, and she’d agree with me that your work is uniquely original. And bold. And beautiful.”
Her softly rounded cheeks turn redder. “You’re just saying that.”
“I never just say things.” My eyebrows knit together. “Oh, come on, I’m sure others have told you how good your designs are.”
“Denise has,” she admits. “And Aunt Mei. But my parents don’t think they’re anything special.”
“Your parents don’t know what they’re talking about.”
She stiffens.
