valentine ; t.chalamet

SEPT

Valentine stepped out of the shower, shivering as she wrapped her body in a white towel. Wiping the steamed up mirror with a towel, she examined her fresh face, leaning closer to squeeze a pimple on her chin.

"Delightful," Romilly said as she burst into the bathroom.

"Rom!" Valentine exclaimed. "This is my bathroom time."

"You've been in the shower for almost an hour," Romilly said as she dabbed on a red Chanel lipstick.

"It was totally necessary," she said, switching on the hairdryer full force.

"So what's all this flirting on my instagram then Valé?" Romilly asked, her red lips poised in a meddling smile.

"Huh?" Valentine pretended not to hear her over the hairdryer.

"You can hear me," Romilly rolled her eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Valentine insisted.

"You can barely speak to the boy and all of a sudden you're flirting in my comments?" Romilly continued. "I thought you didn't want anyone to find your account."

"Then why did you give Timothée my username?" Valentine retorted.

"It was an accident." Her sister said with a smile. "I was trying to show him a picture on your account and he must've seen the username."

"What did you show him?"

"Some picture of Papa when he was young," Romilly shrugged. "Anyway, he's a lovely boy, you should get to know him."

"I'm not really into actors," Valentine said stubbornly.

"You were quite into Brad Pitt for a while if I remember correctly," Romilly said.

"Oh shut up," Valentine rolled her eyes with a smile. Her sister followed her out of the bathroom and into her bedroom down the hall.

"You're too judgemental," Romilly said. "Remember he's not some fame-hungry celebrity. He's a normal boy."

"I like being judgemental." Valentine said. "Now go away so I can get changed."

Romilly sighed, ruffling her sister's half blow-dried hair before leaving her alone. Valentine sat on her bed for a minute in her towel, pondering her sister's words, before she got up and headed over to her vanity desk to do her makeup.

It was simple, glowy and very french. Just blush, mascara and a little shiny Dior lipstick. Once she was done, Valentine headed out onto her balcony to waste time before the party started.

When her sister came back up to get her, she was still in her towel, painting her toenails as she smoked a cigarette.

"Valé, get dressed," Romilly said. "People are arriving."

Valentine slipped into the outfit her mother — who had just arrived back from London — had brought her and headed downstairs barefoot.

The apartment's open plan living area was beginning to fill with the cast and crew of her father's movie, and there was a small jazz band tuning their instruments in the corner. Whenever Louis filmed in Paris, he would throw a party on the first day of filming to celebrate being in his home city. He was a director who felt that mixing his personal life with his colleagues was essential to making a successful film, and was never shy about inviting them into his home.

Valentine noticed her half sister Ottilie arrive with her two daughters. Manon, who was sixteen, had been modelling since she was six but had moved onto dominating the social media world. Quincy was eleven, and wanted to be a ballet dancer.