The difference between writing for Style Sydney and Vanity Fair was as stark as day and night. Maddie spent every spare moment on her upcoming exposé piece. She was on her own this time, with no crack team to back her up, and she felt it.

Maddie had set out to prove to everyone she was not a one-hit wonder and, to one person in particular, that she could write hard news. She was a real journalist.

Her story was about whether the dreams of New York lived up to the experience of young hopefuls in the fashion field who had set out from all parts of the world. She focused on the fashion industry because that’s where her contacts were, thanks to her first scoop. People knew who she was now. Her exclusive had opened fashion doors as if she were royalty. She had respect. And she had Perry, who hooked her up with some of his industry friends and contacts in New York.

The story had become a perfect distraction, so she didn’t have to think about the word Elena had whispered in her ear. Impossible.

She’d come to hate that word. Maddie heard it over and over at night, and it never felt less painful. So she’d thrown herself into her work, pitched her story, won a green light, then caught a plane back to New York. She had to be here anyway, for the next ball in six weeks’ time, so it worked out well.

For the lost-dreams aspects of her story, she’d found several young designers and models who’d been lured into drugs and prostitution by a sleazy magazine editor supposedly looking for the next big thing. Then there was the photographer with breathtaking talent, whose dreams had been realised at the cost of losing his family. Success mattered more—and he couldn’t see a way to have both. Not in New York. The worst part of it was, he knew he was losing them but couldn’t see a way out of it. So he’d chosen. Every day he went to work, took astonishing photos, went home to an empty, swanky apartment, and drank to forget the addictive dream.

After much internal debate, Maddie decided to include the sexual harassment rife within the industry. She worked her way down the assistants’ secret list. She’d made a copy of it the first day she’d found it, so she could take it home to read. Armed with the list, she’d tracked down and spoken to half a dozen of Elena’s former assistants. The worst part was when she’d asked them about what it had been like when their boss’s husband was among those making sexual demands on them.

Maddie used aliases for the assistants, but she knew Elena would be well aware of which company, which boss, and which husband these unidentified women were talking about. The wider world would be none the wiser, but the insiders—well, they’d definitely speculate.

It had been a difficult decision. Maddie had stayed up night after night, doubt crippling her and giving her butterflies. She wanted to shed a light on the issue, but she didn’t want Elena to suffer for it. In the end, she decided the issue was too important not to be honest about. Besides, wasn’t Elena famous for doing what was necessary, not what was easy?

Maddie hoped she would understand her decision. But if she didn’t? Well… there was little she could do about that. Maddie was determined to give the victims their voices.

She found the solitude of the assignment strange. She’d never worked alone before and missed the human interactions. Even Felicity’s dramatic huffs and acerbic commentary had made her feel part of a team. Working alone also gave Maddie dwelling time, and that was not good.

Her thoughts kept drifting back to that last ball together and Elena shutting down any suggestion of them for good. It had been confusing. Hadn’t Elena been flirting with her? In the dressing room at Véronique’s show in Sydney? Those fingers trailing across her back? Called her beautiful? What was all that?

As the days began to bleed together, she wondered if she’d just imagined it all. Or maybe it had happened, but it was just Elena’s way of expressing her interest in beautiful things, be they newspapers or former assistants. Was Maddie little more than “art” to Elena? Or perhaps a game? Someone she pulled in to see if she could, and then pushed away?

Maddie sighed. No good would come of this line of thought. She flicked to her diary. She had two days before her Vanity Fair deadline and five days until she saw Elena again. The Foreign Correspondents’ ball. She was looking forward to hearing the highly respected war correspondent Trent Dalton, who was the guest of honour. Maddie had been reading his work behind the lines of trouble spots in the Middle East. She appreciated that he often made the local people the story, not the military objectives.

Thoughts of the ball brought up her next problem: What to wear. She had rejected every suggestion Perry had emailed her. Her cheeks still burned in humiliation at Elena’s softly worded suggestion. Dress for yourself, not someone else. That was rich, since Elena was the one who’d come up with the shortlist of dresses for her last time.

There was a sharp rap on her door. She frowned. Who would visit her? Only Simon and her parents knew the address of the Airbnb apartment she was staying at in Manhattan. Maddie scrambled to her feet and opened the door.

“Ah. Good, you are here.” Natalii brushed past her in a rustle of packages. “Okay. I am ready. We must work with what we have, oui?”

“Um…what?” Maddie closed and locked the door behind her.

“It is no time to lose.” Natalii wagged her finger. “Fear not! I have it right here!” She held up a garment bag.

Maddie stared at her. “Not that I’m unhappy to see you again, but when I emailed you for advice on what to wear for the ball, I didn’t mean for you to turn up. And why aren’t you back in Paris, making wedding plans?”

“I was already here for business. I have been on the Facebook talking with your Simon. He explained everything. Now my mère and I, we have the solution. Oui? A way for you to be unforgettable for your woman.”

Maddie sank into her sofa. “My woman?” She shook her head. “Okay, I’m afraid you’re going to have to back it up a bit. Can we go back to the beginning? What did Simon say?”

Natalii laid the garment bag across the kitchen bench and eyed her imperiously. “He informed me of this disaster of your Legends ball in Sydney.”

“Disaster.” Maddie’s stomach plummeted at the reminder. “One word for it. So what exactly did he say?”

“He sent me the photos from the newspaper,” Natalii said. “Of you in the magnifique dress. He said you were too, what is the word, self-consciousness, to enjoy yourself. And that your Elena did not care when an oaf in her employ forced you into dancing. And he says you think that she did not care for you at all. Your dress, it was the cause for this state of affairs, for you could not be you. Well!” Natalii waved towards the garment bag and then sat on a sofa cushion beside Maddie. “What is the use of knowing the greatest designer on the planet if you cannot use her? Mm? Do not worry, I asked Maman to help me a little, too!”

Natalii grinned at her own joke. “Anyway, this time, you will be you, and your lady will gasp and swoon.” She nodded as though this was a certainty.

“Natalii.” Maddie’s mind was reeling. “It’s really sweet you thought to do this, but it’s useless. Elena made it clear she is not interested.”

“Oh? And how did she do this?” Natalii gave her an arch look. “You forget I have seen you two together. The chemistry? It explodes!” Her hands flew apart like a bomb blast.

“She told me she was getting a divorce, being watched by the world for cracks, and couldn’t afford to make mistakes. That it was impossible for someone in her position.”

“And when did she say this? Before or after the dancing oaf?”

“After. I’d gone outside to leave, and she followed and said all that.”

“Ahhh,” Natalii said. “Let us review—your boss, the one who does not care, the one who has such indifference, runs after you to tell you these things. Your Elena, she does not do this often, am I right?”

Maddie was shocked the thought had never occurred to her. “I guess not.”

“Oui.” Natalii nodded, satisfied. “And she told you she is to be divorced so mistakes cannot be made.”

“Yeah.”

“So if she is not interested, why tell you about this divorce? Hmm? Why not say, ‘Go away! I do not like you that way and never will? Be gone!’”

“Um, because she didn’t want to be mean?”

Natalii laughed and slapped Maddie’s thigh. “Your Elena loves to be mean. I see her; it amuses her sometimes. It is a game. Non. That is not it. Divorces, they are temporary. She is telling you there must be patience. She says not now, not yet. She does not say non.”

“She said it was impossible.”

“Because she is still married. Oui?”

“Um.” Maddie was suddenly a lot less sure of what Elena’s words had meant. But she knew, absolutely knew, she shouldn’t dare to believe. Even so, the swell of hope in her chest was breathtaking. “Oh…” She exhaled again.

Natalii beamed. “So, here I am. Here to make you happy, the way you make me and mon Adèle blissful.” She rose, unzipped the garment bag, and carefully lifted the outfit.

Maddie stared. “Holy…Oh!” She leapt up and rushed to the outfit and trailed her fingers over the material. Then she hugged Natalii, who laughed in her ear.

“I take this to mean un succès?”

“Oui!” Maddie was in awe. “Holy shit! Your mother could do a whole new line with this. You know that, right?”

“Oh, I do. But it is my design, and I am already doing a whole new line with it. This is the first piece in my own label, Natalii. You shall be my model for the evening. Make sure you tell them all who made it when the photographers go snap, snap, snap. Okay?”

“I will,” Maddie said. “Oh my God. I think Elena’s brain will explode when she sees this design.”

Natalii frowned. “That is a good thing?”

“Oh yeah. Really good. A new Duchamp design? Except the twist is it’s the daughter now? Wow, she’ll…that is…” She faded out as a thought hit. “I mean if she’s still speaking to me.”

“Oh? Why would she not be?”