S'more to Lose Read online

  The judges called the ensemble an unexpected breath of fresh air, and the piece had won me the coveted spot in the Top Designer finale and the chance to show a complete collection at fashion week. After the show, I framed a copy of the sketch and hung it in my apartment as a reminder of my achievement. In a weird twist of fate, the rendering ended up serving as the inspiration for Perry’s contemporary retelling of Elizabeth.

  While we were sitting together on the couch, enjoying some takeout and jazz, Perry had honed in on the picture hanging on the wall to our bedroom. He stood up and studied it, asking at least a half-dozen questions about my modern interpretation of the Tudor queen. He rushed back to his keyboard, picked up his composition book and began furiously jotting down the ideas that eventually became the foundation for the entire show.

  Hoping to draw some inspiration of my own for Victoria’s wedding looks, I’d brought along my sketch pad and colored pencils, planning to spend some time finding ideas for either outfits or textiles. Almost two hours later, the pages were mostly blank except for a few sketches of Renaissance gowns I thought might prove inspirational later. I flipped back to look at some preliminary sketches I’d done of Annabelle’s bridesmaid dress at Highclere Castle and found myself imagining how she’d look on the royal wedding day. Perfect. She’d look perfect, so much so that she might even outshine the bride. I closed the sketch pad and my eyes, picturing Perry standing beside her, the photographers going crazy snapping shots of London’s newest “it” couple.

  I felt a light tap on my shoulder. “Miss, the museum’s going to be closing in a half hour.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, getting off the cold marble bench. “Which way is the gift shop?”

  The guard pointed it out on my museum map and continued her patrol down the gallery halls.

  I stopped into the shop and asked the clerk where the books on fashion were located. He directed me to a large row of shelves stacked floor to ceiling with books on every imaginable topic. After skimming through a few, I found what I was looking for, a complete anthology on the costumes and fashions of Elizabethan England.

  “I think this might weigh more than you do,” the clerk said as he rang me up. “Do you want the book gift wrapped?”

  “No, that’s okay. It’s for me.”

  “A fan?”

  “Of fashion?”

  “Of Elizabeth. We’ve had a hard time keeping books on her in the shop since the show opened in the West End. I wish you’d said that’s what you were looking for—we made an entire Elizabeth I section with books, postcards, even CDs from the show. The composer, Perry Gillman, did a lot of research right here in the museum. Nice guy. He came back and signed some items as a thank you to the docents he worked with. We have a few things left on sale. I can show you some if you want.”

  “I’m okay, thanks. How much do I owe you for the book?”

  “It’s £50 even.”

  I handed him my credit card.

  “Sure I can’t interest you in an Elizabeth CD? For those of us who’ll never get tickets to see the show in this lifetime, it’s really the next best thing.” He handed back my card and the receipt to sign.

  “I saw Elizabeth, actually.”

  His eyes got huge. “Who do you know? The Queen of England?”

  No, just the crown prince and soon-to-be princess, I almost said out loud. Instead, I simply answered, “Just got lucky with the ticket lottery.”

  He nodded in astonishment and passed me my shopping bag. He reminded me the museum was closing in a few minutes and directed me down the hall to the nearest exit.

  When I got outside, it was dark and raining pretty hard. The clerk was right, and the book really did weigh almost as much as I did, so I decided to take a taxi to the hotel. Unfortunately, it was rush hour, so finding one took forever. By the time I got back, I was wet, cold, and looking forward to a hot bath and curling up with some room service.

  I got up to the room and struggled with the key card, almost missing the envelope slipped under the door. I grabbed it off the floor and tossed it onto the bed, along with all the packages and my coat. I was heading into the bathroom to run the bath when my phone rang. I grabbed it off the pillow and laid down horizontally across the thick duvet.

  “Hi. How was the flight home?” I asked.

  “Great,” Jamie said. “A Xanax, glass of bubbly, and the Elizabeth soundtrack. It was a delightful six hours. How was your day? Lots of sightseeing?”

  “I lost track of time at the Victoria and Albert Museum, so have some ground to make up these next two days.” I sat up. “Really, Jamie, the Elizabeth soundtrack?”

  “Have you listened to it? It’s amazing. Anyway, what’s on the agenda tonight? Dinner plans? Hitting the town?”

  I picked the envelope up off the bedspread and pulled out the card inside. “I’m pretty tired, so I think just a bath and some room service.”

  “Too bad you didn’t exchange info with Gideon. He might’ve been a fun distraction.”

  “Funny you should mention him.” I quickly scanned the card “He left a message for me at the hotel.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “It’s just a note with his name and a number to call him back on. How’d he know where to find me?”

  “He knew which hotel we were staying at. How many Georgica’s could there be? Are you gonna call him?”

  “No, I mean, what’s the point, right? I’m only in town a couple more days.”

  “That’s exactly the point. You’re only in town a couple more days—have an adventure.”

  I leaned back into the headboard. “I don’t know.”

  “Call him, Gigi. Live a little. What do you have to lose?”

  Jamie hung up, and I turned on the water for my bath. I poured a glass of wine and looked down again at the card. Before I could overthink my decision, I dialed Gideon’s number. He picked up after the second ring.

  “Gideon Cooper,” he said formally.

  “This is Georgica Goldstein,” I responded.

  His voice softened immediately. “Good, you got my message. I know it’s last minute, but I’m going to be in town tonight and wanted to see if you were free to meet up for a drink later?”

  I looked over at the tub and room service menu and thought about Jamie’s advice to live a little. I squeezed my eyes closed and said, “I’m free.”

  “Want to meet at the Red Coat Club at nine? Do you know it?”

  “No, but I can find it.”

  “Great, your name will be at the door. See you tonight,” he said, hanging up.

  Two hours later, I found myself back in the black and nude backless Givenchy dress. I jumped into a taxi and gave the driver the name of the club.

  “Your name on a list there, Miss?” he asked.

  “I think so, why?”

  “That’s the hottest club in South Kensington. Maybe in all of London right now.”

  I pulled out my phone and searched the Red Coat Club. A few dozen articles pulled up, all of them linking the club to A-list celebrities or royalty. Victoria and Alexander were apparently regulars. The car pulled down a long alley and stopped about halfway.

  “I can’t go any farther, or I won’t be able to turn the car around,” the driver said.

  I rolled down the window. “Are all these people lined up to go inside?”

  “All these people and those,” he said, pointing the where the line snaked around to the other side.

  “What’s the big deal? It’s just a nightclub, right?” I said.

  “Most of ’em won’t get in. They’re just hoping to catch a glimpse of Prince Alexander or Emma Watson going inside.”

  I paid for the taxi and headed to the front of the velvet ropes. I gave my name to the bouncer, who stamped my hand with the letters RCC and let me right inside. I hated places like this in New York, the club was almost half empty but the managers liked to have people waiting outside to make it seem that much more elite. I did a quick scan of the ro
om for Gideon and spotted him sitting at the smallest bar in the VIP area. He turned around and our eyes met. He motioned for me to join him. Security checked my hand for the stamp and let me down the stairs to the lounge.

  The bloodred walls, black lacquer bars, and dim lighting made the room seem more intimate than it was. The servers, most of whom I guessed were aspiring models, were dressed uniformly in short red military-style double-breasted blazers paired with even shorter black leather pleated skirts. The DJ booth was up on the second floor, so it was far quieter in this section of the club. I was glad Gideon and I wouldn’t have to shout to get to know each other.

  “A VIP lounge seems a bit like overkill in this place, don’t you think?” I asked looking around.

  He laughed and passed me the drink menu. “What can I get for you? Glass of champagne?”

  I nodded and Gideon motioned to the bartender to get two. “You look beautiful—is the dress yours?”

  I looked down. “I bought it a few days ago.”

  “Oh, I thought you’d designed it?”

  “No, I wish I had, but I have to give Givenchy all the credit,” I said.

  The bartender handed us our flutes of champagne, and Gideon clinked his to mine and took a sip.

  “Get to all the sights you wanted?” he asked.

  “I spent way too much time in the Victoria and Albert Museum, so not sure I’m going to have enough time to get to much more this trip. Looks like I’ll be back in London for work a few more times this year, though, so hopefully I’ll make it through my list.”

  He nodded. “And now you can check off the Red Coat Club.”

  I peered around. “I guess this really is the new hot spot? The line to get in stretches around the block,” I said. “Do you know someone who works here?”

  There was really no polite way to ask how he’d managed to gain VIP entrance at a club that seemed harder to get into than Fort Knox.

  He put his hand on the small of my back. “Excuse me for one minute. I need to say a quick hello to someone. “Hey, Craig, two more,” he said, pointing to our glasses and throwing down his credit card.

  It wasn’t just a credit card. It was an Amex black card, with the name Viscount Satterley on it. The room was starting to fill up with some familiar faces, most of which I couldn’t name, but recognized from all the cyber-sleuthing I’d been doing on paparazzi sites these last few days. I looked over to the corner of the room, where Gideon was chatting with a small group of well-dressed women. He had his arm around a gorgeous redhead, who was laughing at something he’d just said. Who was Viscount Satterley? And who was the redhead? Suddenly this decision to “have an adventure” seemed like a very bad idea.

  I quickly turned back to the bar so Gideon wouldn’t see me spying on him. A few minutes later he returned, apologizing for having stepped away.

  “It’s no problem. I actually think I’m gonna get going, though.”

  “You just got here. What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not sure this is really my scene, but you seem to know a lot of people, so stay and have a good time,” I said, picking my clutch from off the bar and pushing into the crowd that’d gathered by the stairs.

  “Georgica, wait a second. Let me explain. Let’s go somewhere a little quieter.” He took my hand and led me to a small room off the bar.

  “What’s this place, the VIP room within the VIP room?” I asked, looking around.

  “It’s the coat closet. Look, I’m sorry you don’t like the club. Let’s go somewhere else.”

  “The club is fine. I’m just a little confused as to what we’re doing here, and why your credit card said Viscount Satterley on it. Who is that?”

  “I’m Viscount Satterley, heir apparent to my father, the Earl of Harronsby.”

  I put my hand up. “This is a little too Game of Thrones for me. What does all that even mean?”

  “That when my father dies, I’ll be the Earl of Harronsby and owner of Badgley Hall, our family home.”

  “So, why are you working at Highclere Castle?”

  “It’s one of the most successful houses in England. I have to learn the business of running an estate if it’s going to be mine one day.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “When you said the aristocracy was still alive and well, you really meant it.”

  “I’m not that guy, I promise. I took you here tonight to impress you. After you left Highclere, I googled you and read all about your fashion house and the celebrities you’ve dressed. I thought you’d like this sort of scene.”

  “You Googled me?”

  His green-gray eyes stared into my own. “It felt like we had a connection that day at the Blue Hen. I wanted to know more about you.” He took my hands into his. “You wanna get out of here?”

  “The coat closet? Definitely,” I said, smiling.

  “I meant the club. Do you want to go grab a coffee or nightcap?”

  “Sure, yeah, that’d be nice.”

  “Go wait by the front door. Let me close out the tab and say goodbye to my sister and her friends, and I’ll be right there.”

  It all made sense. The redhead he was chatting it up with a few minutes earlier was his sister. I felt foolish for assuming the worst. I made my way to the front of the club, which was now packed wall to wall with people. Most of them were clamoring to get to the corner bar. I tapped the guy next to me on the shoulder.

  “Who’s over there? Emma Watson? Daniel Craig?” I asked.

  “Victoria Ellicott and Prince Alexander,” he said.

  “Exciting,” I muttered. I turned back around to push my way closer to the door and felt a hard tap on my own shoulder.

  “It’s Victoria Ellicott and Prince Alexander,” I shouted behind me.

  “Gigi,” said a voice I would recognize anywhere.

  I closed my eyes and slowly turned around. When I opened them, Perry Gillman was standing right in front of me.

  Chapter Six

  Perry motioned for me to follow him out of the crowd to another VIP area of the room. He found us a small table, and we took seats across from one another. He looked even better up close than on stage the other night. His dark, curly hair was longer than I was used to, and I figured he’d grown it out for his role as Robert Dudley. He’d also grown back the same neat beard he had when he played the Fiddler. I started to reach across the table to touch his face but stopped myself, slipping my hands underneath me so I wouldn’t be tempted again.

  We sat in silence for what felt like forever, neither one of us knowing how or where to begin. Finally, when I couldn’t stand the silence a second longer, I spoke.

  “This place is a far cry from Rosie’s,” I said, looking around. “Unless there are cigarette machines by the bathroom? I haven’t been down that way yet.”

  I looked up at Perry. He was staring at me but saying nothing. My heartbeat pulsed in the center of my throat. It was echoing in my head so loudly, I was sure my eardrums would explode from the sheer force of it. I kept talking just to reassure myself I hadn’t gone completely deaf. “Do you think Rosie’s is still open? It has to be, right? It’s a Milbank institution.”

  “I knew we’d eventually run into each other,” he said, interrupting my prattle.

  There was an edge in his voice. I couldn’t tell if I was making him uncomfortable or just irritated. It was the same fine line I remembered straddling when we first met.

  The pounding in my chest was slowing down, and my voice wasn’t quivering as noticeably. “Well, London’s a smaller town than I ever realized.”

  “In some circles it can be, I suppose,” he replied coolly. Perry called over a waitress and ordered us both a drink.

  “The ones you seem to be traveling in these days, anyway,” I said, more harshly than I intended.

  He leaned back into his chair and crossed his legs. “That’s rich, coming from you. Wasn’t it your name I saw next to Alexander and Victoria’s on the list of people coming backstage after the show S
aturday night?”

  “I’m sure your girlfriend told you I’m not allowed to talk about what I’m doing in town.”

  He uncrossed his legs and sat upright. He looked straight into my eyes. “I wanted to tell you about Annabelle in person. I’d hoped we’d have a few minutes to talk Saturday night.”

  I broke from his gaze and looked down. “It’s fine. Your publicist filled me in on all the details.”

  “Gemma works for Victoria and Annabelle, not for me.”

  “It doesn’t matter how I found out. I’m happy for you. I’m happy for all your success. You’re the toast of the town,” I said, lifting up my glass.

  He lifted up his own to meet it. “Sounds like G. Malone will be soon.”

  “Maybe we both got what we wanted, then.”

  “There you are, darling.” Annabelle Ellicott approached our table. She was even more beautiful than I remembered. Taller than her sister and less curvy, she easily could be a model. She was wearing the most perfect little silver sequined Jenny Packham dress. Jamie’d begged me to try it on when we were shopping the other day, but I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. Annabelle more than pulled it off. She looked stunning. She put one hand on Perry’s shoulder and waited for introductions.

  He put his hand over hers and guided her to the seat next to him.

  I extended my hand. “I’m Georgica Goldstein, Perry and I—”

  “Just had the pleasure of meeting,” Perry said, speaking over me. “Georgica came over to introduce herself and apologize for not making it backstage the other night.”

  I did a double take. I’d just assumed Perry told Annabelle we were engaged or at the very least that we knew one another. Why keep our past a secret? I had two choices. I could speak up, hurling myself into one of the most awkward conversations of all time or play along until Perry had a chance to explain himself to me. I chose the latter.