“Bastien and the crew haven’t exactly been seeing eye to eye.”
She took a nibble of her macaron and batted her lash extensions. “What do you think the problem is?”
“Bastien has a clear vision for Château Mirabelle, one not everyone’s on board with. He’s an artist, really. Maybe a bit of a perfectionist too, which is of course slowing down the train, but he just wants it all to be right. I don’t know if it’s that he sees it to be a personal reflection of him? Or the work he’s capable of? Maybe he is using the renovation of the house as an opportunity to prove himself a bit? He’s so talented and so passionate, I can see how much he is putting his whole self into this thing.”
Kate rested her chin on her hands. “You’re one smitten kitten, aren’t you?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “What? No. I’m not. I mean, I like him. He’s an easy person to like.”
“It’s okay, Plum, you can tell me. I’ve seen the dailies, the sexual tension between the two of you is as thick as ganache,” she said, leaning back in her chair.
A deep flush crept up my face. “It’s the language barrier. Most of the time, I can’t understand even half of what he’s talking about.”
A smile erupted across her face. “You understand everything he says perfectly. Look, I don’t blame you for falling for Monsieur Munier. And all the women in our focus groups, they don’t blame you either. He’s pretty easy on the eyes and charming to boot? He’s practically Prince Charming! I mean, you have the castle and everything.” She threw her head back with a laugh and took a sip of her Earl Grey from the bone china teacup.
Bastien was easy on the eyes, no question, but it was more than that. He was thoughtful, kind, and sensitive. He was frank and unaffected. But there wasn’t anything serious happening between us. Not really. So far, my entire courtship with Bastien consisted of some heavy flirtation and a few light make-out sessions. And though the other night he was angling for us to take the next step, he understood I wasn’t ready. I’d already had my share of showmances, most of them ending as soon as the director yelled cut. I was determined not to go down that road again, unless there was something and someone real waiting for me at the end of it.
“What about Elliott? Personality aside, he’s one tall drink of water, no doubt about that,” Kate purred.
I looked up from my plate. “Elliott?”
“Production has discussed extensively ways to get him on film, but he’s remained pretty adamant he wants to stay behind the camera. Can you imagine someone not wanting to be famous?”
I set down my fork. “Actually, I think he’s become a little more interested in being part of the show in a different way. You know, Elliott and I have uncovered a lot of interesting history about Château Mirabelle that he wants to try to include in the show somehow. I mean, it’s called Heart Restoration Project, right? The house is the heart of the village, or will be once we finish the renovation. We could put such a meaningful and profound twist on its significance to the town.”
“Yes and no, Heart Restoration Project can mean lots of different things. It’s why we ended up sticking with it,” she said matter-of-factly. “Shoot, look at the time, Elliott doesn’t seem like the type who’d be happy to be kept waiting.” Kate waved her hand in the air to flag down the server. “L’addition, s’il vous plait.”
“I didn’t know you spoke French?”
“Un peu. I studied in Paris for a semester during my junior year. I use the term studied loosely. Ran around like a silly American drinking far too much wine and having baguette sword fights in the streets with mes amis.” She laughed at the recollection and threw some euros down on the table before adding, “Shall we?”
We sped over to the sixth arrondissement and spent the rest of the morning being pampered by the personal shoppers at Le Bon Marché. They brought us champagne, canapés, and the best of French fashion. Elliott looked bored out of his mind, but he diligently captured every moment on film as directed.
Kate refilled her flute and collapsed onto the round cotton candy–pink chaise longue in the center of the dressing room while I finished zipping up a body-conscious Balmain ribbed dress with metallic braid detail up the front.
Kate sat upright. “Shut the front door! You look hot in that dress. You have to get it.”
In the mirror, I caught a quick glimpse of Elliott, whose mouth was dropped open, his eyes locked on mine. He immediately shifted his gaze away and tucked himself back behind the camera. I glanced down at the price tag dangling off the bottom of the dress: €3,950. “I can’t afford it.”
Kate shot me the same look of astonishment almost everyone did when they heard I wasn’t rolling in the Everly millions.
“How’s that even possible? You got paid for EVERLYday, right?”
“I was young and stupid and had a lot of people in my ear giving me all the wrong advice,” I admitted.
“What about your parents? Where were they during that time?”
“Believe me, they tried to tame my wild ways, but back then, I didn’t listen to anyone besides Rhys, and look at where that got me.”
I glanced over at Elliott. For the first time all day he seemed to be invested in our conversation, not just recording it.
“You weren’t stupid, you were in love. We’ve all been guilty of making poor decisions in the name of love.” Kate refilled my champagne flute, and I downed the glass in one gulp before stepping back into the dressing room. I slipped out of the Balmain number and handed it to one of the personal shoppers.
“We should wrap things up. Our guide’s meeting us at Coco Chanel’s apartment in about an hour for our tour. Let me close out here,” Kate said, holding up her small pile of purchases. “Can you flag down the driver, and I’ll meet you both outside?”
I spotted our driver, who was parked on the other side of the street, and Elliott and I crossed over the Rue de Sèvres to meet him. The driver opened the door to let me inside, and Elliott jumped into the front seat, probably so he didn’t have to make awkward chitchat while we waited. A few minutes later, Kate approached juggling a handful of shopping and garment bags, putting all but one in the trunk.
“31 Rue Cambon, s’il vous plaît,” Kate told the driver as she slid into the car. “Here,” she said, passing me the garment bag. “This is for you.”
“For me?” I slowly unzipped the garment bag, revealing the incredible Balmain dress inside. “Kate! It’s too much, I can’t accept this.”
“Of course you can. Heart Restoration Project’s shaping up to be a hit, and we have you to thank for that. You and Bastien.”
“This is way too generous.”
“Generous nothing, it’s called friendship.” Kate rolled down the window. “Is that the apartment building?”
“Non, Mademoiselle, c’est le Musée de la Résistance nationale, the museum of the French Resistance,” the driver translated.
“Excusez-moi, excusez-moi, can we pull over here, s’il vous plaît?” Elliott asked the driver excitedly.
“Here?” Kate questioned and looked at her phone for the time. With urgency in her voice, she said, “Well, we don’t really have time to stop if we’re going to make our tour at Chanel.”
“What if I just make a quick pit stop and meet the two of you over there?” Elliott asked.
I turned to face Kate and said, “Actually, I’d love to go too. Is there any way to squeeze it into our day?”
Kate hesitated before responding, “I mean, I guess if you really want to visit a museum more than Coco Chanel’s apartment? You know her home’s not normally open to the public. I set the tour up as something special for us,” Kate said, a tinge of disappointment in her voice.
