Page 67 of French Martini

“Not entirely. I did okay for myself after the split, if you remember.”

“Of course I do. That’s why there’s so much desire for you to return. You left a hole in the design world with your absence.”

“I appreciate that, Madeline, but Paris is a magical city. She draws the talent to her. The hole won’t be there long.”

Smiling, she squeezes my hand. “All the better then that we managed to get you here for the recognition you absolutely deserve to receive.”

“Thank you, Madeline.”

“Of course. Give us a few minutes, and then we’ll walk through a few important announcements for the week.”

“Perfect.”

After she walks away, I turn toward Oakley, lifting my face to silently ask for a kiss he happily provides.

“Madeline is very impressed with you.”

I nod, running my hands over the soft material of his sweater. “I was the shit in Paris.”

Oakley’s chuckle vibrates through me, reminding me that I’m strong enough to do this. “You still are, kitten.”

I shrug.

“Am I talking too much?”

“No. You can say whatever you like.”

“Okay. It just seems like you’re curating everything you say.”

“I am, yes, but you don’t have to be anyone but who you are. I’m careful so nothing I say can be taken out of context or used to start drama.”

He lifts my chin with his fingers. “I understand. For what it’s worth, Alain looks better in pictures than he does in person.”

Laughing softly, I nod. “He’s aged. Even though it’s only been a couple of years since I’ve seen him, he looks a decade older.”

“And his man looks two decades younger.”

“I agree. Shall we get a drink?”

“We shall.”

With his hand on my back, Oakley guides me to the bar where we wait behind a few people. One of the couples in front of us turns, and the woman’s face lights up.

“Lowen Ainsley?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Hi.” She smacks her partner’s arm. “My name is Candace Mitchell.”

“Oh. I’ve read about you.”

Her face goes blank. “What? You have?”

“Yes. In Parisian Couture, I think. You designed the wedding venue for the singer Amaya in Florence, Italy last summer, right?”

She nods, practically hyperventilating. The man next to her rubs her back, smiling warmly. “Yes, that was me. I don’t normally do weddings, but Amaya is a friend from childhood and she asked.”

“It was beautiful. Very well done and elegant while having a modern and edgy feel.”

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