Tell Me a Fantasy

Chapter Nineteen

"Well, at least you looked stunning tonight." June ran her hands through short, black hair and peered at me over her thick, black-rimmed glasses.

I rolled my eyes and sniffled. June and I were in my suite at The Carlisle. I sat in an overstuffed, cream-colored Edwardian chair and propped my bare feet up on a footstool. The entire room smelled like lilies, almost like a funeral home. Too sweet, too saccharine, and like death.

Matching my mood.

"Dinner sucked."

June groaned in response and looked at me with concern in her huge brown eyes. She knew how upset I was. For the dinner, she'd scrambled to seat an editor from Vogue next to me, in the place that Colin was supposed to occupy.

I'd managed to hold it together the entire night, through drinks, through the meal, through the award ceremony. Okay, the pill helped, too.

And now I was ready to fall apart.

"I didn't imagine it would hurt this much to be stood up by a fling. By a guy I'd just met." I rubbed my eyes, hoping the tears that had sprung up would go away. "I want to get home. Did you book the flight for tomorrow? You're going to have to tranquilize me like a zoo elephant to get me on that flight and back to Florida." I rubbed my forehead. I'd had a headache for hours.

"Yes, the flight's booked and I've checked us in. I'm sorry he didn't show up. Do you think there was an emergency? I can't believe he'd stand you up like that. That's some next-level assholery." June unwrapped a bar of premium Belgian chocolate and snapped off a piece. She offered it to me and I shook my head. I'd barely eaten at dinner, simply pushed my food around my plate. Of course, most of the other women in the room did as well, so no one noticed.

"Like what emergency would lead him to stand me up at a black tie gala at London's most exclusive restaurant? He got lost? He couldn't afford the taxi fare? Please. He's well-off. Rich. Whatever. And, last I checked, he has a phone. And opposable thumbs."

"It doesn't make any sense, sending you those flowers and then not coming to the show or the dinner. Has he called? Texted? Emailed?"

"I don't know, and I don't care. I shut my phone off hours ago. I couldn't very well sit next to Karl Lagerfeld and check my phone all night like a lovesick teenager, could I?"

Truth be told, I did sneak off during dinner, into the ladies room, to see if Colin had called.

He hadn't. Thank God I had eye drops in my bag, otherwise everyone would have seen my red-rimmed, tear-stained eyes.

June heaved a sigh. "Men suck. But you might want to actually get an explanation from him, at least for entertainment value."

I held out my glass, gesturing for more wine. June obliged and poured a hefty glass of Cabernet.

"I'm in no mood for entertainment. Not after tonight. Not after what Amber told me about him. And not after what he told me about himself. He tried to sleep with his sister-in-law while his brother was missing. Can you believe that?"

June raised her eyebrows and I continued to rant. "Right? I'm seeing a pattern here."

She flopped on a sofa and inspected the chocolate in her hand. "I don't know. There might be a pattern, or he might have changed. You never know. And you won't know until you talk with him. But I'd say he needs a pretty damned good reason for standing you up. Like an accident."

I barked out a laugh. "Or death. Three strikes, he's done. And tonight was an enormous strike. Counts for three strikes in and of itself."

She took a bite of chocolate, chewed and stared at me until she swallowed. "Look. If you'd leave the estate, you'd meet someone nice and you wouldn't have to second-guess guys like this."

"It's not that easy, June."

"Well, obviously it is, because you're here. Look all that you've survived this week. A near plane crash. A hot weekend with a man. Dinner with Karl and a hundred other designers, all who looked at you with pride and envy. You're the shit."

I was silent. There was nothing to argue. June had been my assistant for years and had watched my world shrink. She'd never been able to understand why I couldn't get over the hump of anxiety.

"Karl still hates my footwear." I sighed, changing the subject. Even my show hadn't been flawless. Karl had always loved my irreverent clothes, but he hated flip-flops and had flown into a snit over dinner that I'd included them in my show. Sam C girls live in flip-flops, I told him. My clothes are for the beach, cruises and the pool. He replied with a wave of his gloved hand and said he was "physically allergic" to flip-flops.

"Whatever. Karl loves you. Ignore his quirks. Anyway, promise me you'll try to get out more when you get home? Even if it's only to the Breakers for cocktails on Saturday nights, like we used to?"

I nodded. "I'll try. Maybe I can handle that. We'll see."

Whether I could, remained to be seen.

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