Chapter Ten
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” I asked as we turned onto Seventh Avenue. “It was for sure better to be in the judge’s seat than up there sweating on that stage.”
“Yeah sure, all fun and games until we made that designer with the toilet paper wedding jumpsuit cry and sent him packing.”
“You and I both know our decision had more to do with it being a jumpsuit than the fact it was constructed out of toilet paper.”
Jamie snorted. “Where’d Jordana sneak off to? I didn’t see her backstage.”
“I think she went back to the office. She said she had some calls. Plus, I think she’s a little afraid of you right now.”
Jamie slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses. “When you see her, remind her I fulfilled my end of the deal. One episode. They want you to judge the finale show, not me.”
“I’ll worry about my encore in a few months. In the meantime, have you checked your email?”
“Not since this morning, why?”
I turned my phone to him. He pushed his sunglasses up and onto his head. “Gemma’s going to have to start giving us more than a few days’ notice,” he said after reading her note.
“I can’t believe she really booked us on separate flights and at separate hotels. I thought she was kidding with all that. She asked to see the early sketches for the bridal party and Victoria’s reception gowns. Not to mention the wedding gown options.” I buried my phone back in my bag. “I don’t have any of that done yet.”
“It’s a what, six-hour flight?”
“Seven”
“Bring your pencils.”
“This is insane. They may as well have made us sign the contract in blood.”
“Relax, Gigi, we’ll figure it out.” He took my hand as we crossed the busy intersection. “Let’s pop in for a drink somewhere. We deserve it after our morning.”
We stopped into a small Irish pub and ordered a round…which quickly turned into five. About three hours later, we stumbled out, piss drunk, having almost forgotten the events of the morning. Jamie was trying to convince me to go somewhere else for one more drink—his own version of a bar crawl. I looked at my watch and told him we should do the responsible thing and eat something to sober up and then head into the office for a bit.
We squeezed our way through the crowds lined up at the TKTS booth in the center of Times Square and crossed over to Forty-fourth Street, where there was a small crew readying the St. James Theater’s marquee for a new show. Jamie grabbed my hand and rushed me past it.
I pulled out of his grip. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. The restaurant I’m thinking of is up this way,” he said, yanking me by the arm toward the corner.
“Oh my God, ow, Jamie, what’s your problem?” I said, elbowing him off of me.
He pointed up to the marquee. “That. I was trying to avoid you seeing that.”
I looked up at the massive billboard announcing that Elizabeth, starring Perry Gillman, would be occupying the St. James in the fall.
Jamie put his arm around my shoulder. “There’s been press around this for months. You knew he was coming here.”
“I didn’t think about him in my backyard. I live six blocks away. I walk down this street at least four times a week.”
“How ’bout that drink?”
I nodded, and we slipped into a dive bar off the corner of Forty-sixth and Eighth. The rest of the afternoon got a bit hazy after that. I remembered Jordana calling to check on whether we were coming back into the office and Jamie passing me the phone so I could tell her we were way too hammered to show our faces anywhere near there. I had a vague recollection of the bartender cutting us both off after our fourth Mind Eraser—a shot made up of Vodka, Kahlúa, and 7-Up that more than lived up to its name. After that, nothing, until I woke up on Jamie and Thom’s couch the next morning with a throbbing headache, wearing only one of my shoes.
I rolled off the couch and crawled to the kitchen where Thom was busy making coffee.
“Morning, sunshine.” Thom handed me a steaming mug.
I looked around. “Where’s Jamie?”
“Well, as of around five this morning he was puking his guts up in the bathroom. I brought him a pillow and blanket. I think he’s still asleep in there.”
I sat down at the kitchen table. “We were hot messes yesterday.”
“You were both curled up in fetal positions when I got home from the office, so, unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to see it firsthand. But, based on how Jamie looked this morning, I can imagine. He was so excited about going back to Top Designer. I’m guessing it didn’t go well?”
“The contestants recreated Operation Code Wed.”
He pushed his glasses down to the bridge of his nose. “Oh, Christ.”
“Yeah, exactly.”
Thom sliced open a bagel, smeared both sides with cream cheese, and handed me half.
“If he’s serious about wanting a child, some of this behavior’s gonna have to stop. He knows that, right?”
“I’m sure he knows,” I said softly.
“Knows what?” Jamie walked into the kitchen to join us.
“That hangovers are for weekends, and today’s a school day, young man. You better get yourself showered and into the studio,” Thom said.
“I can’t believe I have to be on a flight to London tonight,” I said.
“Why do they need you back so soon?” Thom asked.
“Mostly to take measurements. We need the sizes of the bridal party and Victoria so we can get started. I’ll fly out tomorrow and meet Gigi there,” Jamie answered.
I rolled my eyes. “I still don’t understand why we can’t just go together. This whole thing is beyond ridiculous. Who even cares that we’re designing the dress?”
Thom laid his hand on my forearm. “Everyone cares, darling. Everyone. Or at least everyone will care once news gets out.”
Jamie slid into the seat next to me. “What are you complaining about? It’s another opportunity to see Gideon, isn’t it?”
Thom leaned into the table. “Who’s Gideon?”
“Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Jamie said. “Gigi’s dating a viscount.”
I shot Jamie a look. “I’m not dating anyone.”
“Okay, Gigi’s sleeping with a viscount. Is that better?”
I slapped my hand to my forehead. “Oh my God. No. Not better.”
“You know if you marry him you become a countess, right?” Thom added.
“Did Jamie make you watch all of Downton Abbey too?”
“Make me? No. I’d already seen all of it. I knew it was just a matter of time before he’d come around to it.”
“He’s pushing me to start Game of Thrones next,” Jamie said. “I don’t know how I feel about all those moats and dragons though.”
Thom threw Jamie a look. “When have I steered you wrong?”
“Never,” he said, leaning into Thom for a kiss.
Thom stood up to clear my plate and coffee mug. He leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Countess or not, I’m just glad to hear you’re starting to move on from Monsieur Gillman. It’s about time.”
I left Thom and Jamie’s to head back to my apartment then fell asleep for a few hours and woke up with just enough time to shower and pack for my flight. In all the craziness of the day, I hadn’t even had a chance to call Gideon and tell him I’d be in town for a few days. I picked up my phone to dial him and then decided it’d be more fun to surprise him in the morning with a call from London.
Two movies and lots of tossing and turning later, the pilot announced that the flight attendants should do their final sweep of the aisles, as we’d be touching down at Heathrow shortly. I readjusted my chair to its upright position and tucked my Kindle back into my tote. I closed my eyes and tried to forget how unprepared I was for the trip. Gemma’d been emailing me nonstop with changes to the dossier—additional events and inspirations. I was turning into Victoria’s personal wedding Pinterest board. Her ideas were so all over the place they were almost giving me less of a direction instead of more of one.
After we landed, I stopped in the ladies’ room to splash some water on my face and try to wake up. I did a quick wardrobe change in one of the stalls and emerged feeling a bit better. I slid on my biggest Jackie O sunglasses and pulled my carry-on into the terminal. As was my habit since I was a little girl, I liked to read off the destination for each gate, and then look at the people waiting to get on the flight, imagining all the possible reasons for their travel.
The first gate I passed was a British Airways flight to Nairobi. I noticed a young couple dressed almost head to toe in khaki. I guessed they were newlyweds, heading off for a fabulous honeymoon safari. I turned to the other side of the terminal, where people were waiting for an Air France flight going to Cannes. A beautiful and impeccably dressed young girl surrounded by Louis Vuitton luggage was talking on her phone and flipping through a magazine on her lap.
I decided she was a young starlet heading to Cannes for their famous film festival to debut in her first movie. Her agent had secured her a very coveted reservation at the Hotel du Cap-Eden-Roc, and her suitcases were filled with borrowed gowns for the different premiers and parties.
The starlet put down her phone, picked up the magazine on her lap, and held it closer to her face. That’s when I saw it. The cover of Hello! Magazine and the headline, “Victoria Ellicott Chooses G. Malone to Design Wedding Gown of the Century.”
I dropped the handle of my carry-on, rushed over to where she was sitting, and tapped the starlet on the shoulder.
“Excuse me,” I said, peeking around her neck.
She pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. “Can I help you?”
“Can I take a quick peek at that magazine?”
She held it up. “This one?”
I nodded. “That one.”
“Uh, sure,” she said, passing it back to me.
I practically ripped it from her hands and tore it open to the page of the article. It wasn’t so much an article as a two-page spread all about Jamie and me, our brand, and predictions on what the gown would look like based on our past designs. There were interviews with some of the other contestants from our season of Top Designer, and even a quote from Trini Bower. I mumbled thank you to the girl, passed her back the magazine, and dashed over to the closest gift shop I could find.
I flew past the register over to the magazine rack. My face and Jamie’s were everywhere, gracing the cover of several newspapers. I grabbed as many different ones as I could hold and tossed them at the salesclerk to ring up.
She rang them through the scanner. “You want all of these?”
“Yes, all of them.”
“Long flight?”
I looked up. “What? Oh, sure, yeah, long flight.”
“She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”
I dug through my wallet to find the pounds I knew were mixed in with my American dollars. “Who is?”
“Victoria Ellicott. Do you know this G. Malone designer she selected? I’ve never heard of him. I thought she’d go with Mr. Valentino. His designs are so elegant and tasteful.”
She handed the magazines back to me with the receipt. I stuffed what I could into my tote and the rest into my carry-on. I made my way through customs and as soon as I got the green light, I rushed out of the airport and into the black car waiting for me outside. As we pulled away, I tore into The Guardian. The article about Victoria and G. Malone was above the fold. I devoured it, trying to figure out who’d leaked the story. I didn’t personally know any of the people quoted. Most were stylists and fashion industry insiders commenting on what an “outside of the box” choice G. Malone was. I threw the paper onto the seat and dug for my phone. There was only one person I could think of who could’ve outed us. The only person outside of my small, intimate circle who knew we were designing Victoria’s dress. Gideon picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?” he said through a yawn.
“It’s Gigi.”
“What a nice morning surprise—although, what time is it for you? Three a.m.? Is this a booty call?”
“How much did you sell the story for?” I asked.
“What? What story?”
I took off my sunglasses and laid them on my lap. “Oh, don’t play stupid with me. How much?”
“Am I still asleep? I literally have no idea what you are talking about?”
“It’s everywhere. Everyone knows. I got off the plane, and it’s the headline of every newspaper and magazine.”
“Plane to where? Now you’ve completely lost me.”
“London. I’m in London,” I practically screamed into the phone.
“You’re in London? That’s fantastic. When can I see you?”
I dug my fingernails into the leather seat. “How ’bout a quarter past never.”
“I’m so confused. Why are you so angry with me?”
“You told the press G. Malone’s designing Victoria Ellicott’s dress.”
“I certainly did not.”
“Then who did? Only a handful of people knew!”
His voice softened. “I didn’t say a word, Georgica.”
There was something in his tone and the way he sighed into the phone. I believed him. I heard a beep on the line and pulled the phone down to see who was calling.
I put the phone back to my ear. “Gemma’s trying to get through. Can I call you back?”
“I don’t know. Will you actually call me back?”
“Yes. I promise. I believe you. I’m sorry I overreacted.”
“You can make it up to me with dinner tomorrow night. I’ll come into town from Highclere.”
“I might be on the first flight back to New York after Victoria fires me.”
“She won’t sack you. Just tell her the truth. That you don’t know how it got leaked.”
“That is the truth. I really don’t know how it got leaked. I should take this call. I’ll be in touch later.” I hung up and switched over to Gemma. I took a deep breath and answered. “This is Georgica.”
“Georgica, this is Gemma Landry.”
“Hello, Gemma,” I said in my most upbeat voice.
“How quickly can you be at Victoria’s?”
“I’m in a cab now and heading to the hotel.”
“Don’t go to the hotel. Come straight here. Victoria wants to meet with you as soon as possible,” she said before abruptly hanging up the call.
I started to dial Jamie but remembered it was only three a.m. back in New York. He’d certainly be sleeping, and even if I woke him it’d take him at least a good half hour to be awake enough to help me piece together exactly what had happened. I turned off my phone, slipped my sunglasses back on, leaned back, and readied myself for the storm waiting for me in South Kensington.