Page 36 of Shout Out To My Ex

‘Thanks. I’d love to.’

Just over an hour later, we’re at Le Fumoir, a restaurant and bar that’s reasonably close to the Louvre. It’s quintessentially Parisian, with its golden awnings, dark polished wood, and tufted red leather sofas. This afternoon, it’s even mild enough to sit outside, which we do, with me sacrificing the view of passers-by so Cassie and Elle can face the street. Half the fun of Paris is people watching.

The waiter arrives, wearing a stark-white, waist-to-ankle apron and bearing the champagne we’ve ordered, expertly cracking the bottle and pouring into three flutes.

‘Merci,’ we say in unison when he finishes pouring and sets the open bottle into an ice bucket. He scowls at us, which is Parisian waiter for, ‘My pleasure – enjoy.’

‘So, Zara really didn’t want to come?’ I ask Elle.

‘I insisted she join us,’ she says, ‘but thensheinsisted that she needed to oversee the shipment of the collection back to London, even though we offered to help her with that tomorrow.’

‘Very conscientious of her,’ I say. ‘Still, it’s a shame.’

‘She’s promised we’ll celebrate properly with the others when we get back.’

‘And on that – celebrating, I mean,’ says Cassie, holding her flute aloft. ‘To my brilliant and talented little sister. I am so proud of you, Elle. Congratulations on your first of many,manyFashion Week shows.’

‘Hear, hear. Congratulations,’ I add.

Elle flushes, her cheeks pinking, but she lifts her flute and clinks it against ours. ‘Thank you.’ She sighs loudly. ‘I can’t believe it’s all over.’

‘It’s an incredible amount of work,’ I say.

‘It is, but you must see this all the time?’ she asks. She sips her champagne, watching me over the rim.

‘Don’t forget, I’m new to fashion,’ I say, leaning into the fib that beforeNouveau,I wrote about mental health and wellbeing. To really sell a lie (sorry – afib), stick as close to the truth as possible.

‘Oh, that’s right,’ Elle replies. ‘So, did you always want to be a journalist?’

‘Nice try,’ I say, deflecting with a smile. ‘As I’m still on the clock, how about you tell me about you? Where did your passion for fashion – oh shit, I really didn’t mean to rhyme like that.Orswear in front of you. Fuck.’ I clap my hand over my mouth and the three of us share a laugh. ‘Ahem,’ I say, sitting up straighterand doing my best to present myself as a real fashion journalist. ‘So, Ms Bliss, tell me about your journey into fashion.’

Elle begins by telling me about her as a five-year-old, who spent hours either playing dress-up with her dolls or designing new outfits for them.

‘That’s fairly early to choose your profession,’ I say, making a note in my notebook.

She shrugs. ‘I suppose. Better than getting to your GCSEs and wondering what to do with your life. For me, the path has always been clear.’

I write that down.

She then walks me through her uni days, her expression clouding a little when she gets to this part – no doubt troubled by thoughts of Leo – and some time and a bottle of champagne later, her fashion journey arrives at today. And it may be because of the champagne, but there’s an easy camaraderie between us now.

‘Oh bugger,’ I say, something occurring to me. ‘I didn’t get a photo of the two of you celebrating – for the magazine.’ I take out my phone.

‘Nooo,’ says Elle, holding her hands over her face. ‘I must look a fright. I’ve been up since five – impossible to sleep – and no amount of concealer will get rid of these.’ She points to under her eyes.

‘You look fine,’ says Cassie.

‘But I don’t want to lookfine, Cass. It’sNouveau!’

She has a point and I slip the phone into my handbag.

‘How about this?’ I ask. ‘When we get back to London, we book a studio and do a proper photoshoot.’

As soon as I’ve spoken, I realise what I’ve promised. For a millisecond, my eyes meet Cassie’s – she’s clearly as horrified as I am – but, thank god, Elle doesn’t seem to notice.

‘That sounds brilliant,’ she says. She turns to Cassie. ‘I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I’m going to be featured inNouveau! It’s so surreal.’

Cassie drains her glass and sets it down heavily on the table. ‘It’s unbelievable,’ she says, her eyes flicking in my direction.

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