Where Beauty Lies (Sophia and Ava London) (9 page)

She would be fine.

Close to her someone barked, “What do you say to the rumors that you have no models to walk in your show?”

That was the first answer they’d practiced. Ava said, “They’re wrong. We will have more than enough models.”

The next question was an easy one also. “Who do you think is Christopher Wildwood’s celebrity guest?”

“We’re too excited about how our show is shaping up to spend time thinking about his,” Ava told them.

A male reporter in a checked jacket muscled forward to ask, “What do you say to the people who maintain you’re just publicity artists, hacks with no real talent?”

For a moment Ava’s mind went blank, but they’d practiced this one, too. “Ask Christopher Wildwood. He wouldn’t steal from talentless hacks,” she said, and was rewarded with chuckling from a few of the reporters.

The circle of reporters wound tighter and the questions started moving beyond the ones they’d practiced.

“Is there any truth to the rumors that your boyfriend Liam was hurt in a train accident in Budapest?” a female reporter lobbed at Ava.

Budapest?
Ava had thought he was in Moscow. She felt panic starting to creep into her and looked around for Sophia, spotting her partway across the room. Sophia looked so composed, leaning in to listen to each question, then smiling and nodding as she gave the answer. Like a princess, Ava thought, somehow part of it but above it.

Listen, think, respond,
Ava reminded herself
. You can do this.

“The last time we spoke, Liam was fine,” Ava answered.

As though aware of Ava’s attention, Sophia glanced over then and their eyes met above the heads of the reporters. Sophia gave her a smile and Ava was conscious of the strangest feeling of missing her. Which was ridiculous because they were together almost every hour of every day.

But they were always working, and when they weren’t working Sophia was on the phone with Hunter. Ava wasn’t jealous exactly, she understood that, but she wished—

Without explanation, the reporters began to peel away, at first one by one and then in swaths, as though they smelled bigger prey. Ava was perfectly happy to let them go. Their departure gave her a chance to sample some of the crispy maple bacon that had passed her by three times while she answered questions. As well as the mini tuna tacos. And were those tiny chocolate ice-cream cones?

She looked around to see if Sophia was free, too, but she couldn’t find her among the well-groomed, perfectly dressed people at the party. She was struck by subtle differences from Los Angeles, the way the girls in New York wore dresses that seemed designed to showcase their cut and style more than their figures. Harper had explained that it was more important to look chic than to look sexy, and Ava definitely saw that maxim in action. The lines of the clothes and haircuts were a little more severe, the bras seemed less padded, the makeup was either more severe or nearly absent, and the focus was on a kind of aloof cool that made everyone, even the cocktail servers, seem sophisticated, like they probably listened to music in French and wrote dark poetry with lots of adjectives.

Ava was about to plunge into the crowd in search of Sophia when she heard a low, rumbling voice with a hint of southern accent behind her. She’d heard it before, on television, one of her favorite design shows—ex-favorite, she modified—and knew exactly whom it belonged to.

Turning, she saw the handsome face of Christopher Wildwood towering over the sea of reporters. He had a mane of white hair swept off his forehead and gray eyes in a tanned face. He’d been a model before he became a designer and he’d retained the height, looks, and, Ava thought, ability to pose.

At least now she knew where all the reporters had gone. Without consciously thinking about it, Ava found herself making her way to the group gathered around him. She stood at the back to be inconspicuous while she listened to what was being said.

The first thing she heard was her name. A reporter near the front of the group asked, “Are you pleased that the London sisters had their credentials revoked? Do you think justice has been done or will you be pursuing criminal action?”

Christopher Wildwood gave a weary—but practiced, Ava was sure—smile and said, “I’ve put this whole thing into the hands of my lawyers. To me, it’s just an unnecessary distraction and I’d rather not discuss it.”

I bet,
Ava thought.

“Surely you have some comment,” a female reporter pressed.

His expression grew thoughtful and his accent thicker. “I find it tragic that youngsters today have so little integrity they would be willing to take credit for someone else’s work. But what can you expect?” He shrugged. “We’ve created a culture where a pretty face is more important than talent and hard work, where the ability to sell is more important than the ability to create. So I guess my comment would be that I pity these girls, and I hope they have a good investment adviser because fame built on lies will not last.”

A chuckle went around the reporters but stopped as Ava said loudly, “I agree.” Heads swiveled, and when they saw it was her the crowd parted, propelling her toward him. “It
is
a pity when people take credit for work that’s not their own.”

Christopher Wildwood smiled at her pleasantly. “I’m sorry. You are—?”

Ava was aghast. “Ava London. It’s my work, mine and my sister’s, that you are stealing.”

His smile didn’t falter, but his eyes, which had seemed bemused, changed. Ava had thought they were the color of pencil lead but they now looked like steel, and just as hard, and menacing. “There are many good things about being young, my dear. You have a long life ahead of you.” He took a step closer to her and his gaze locked on hers. “But let me assure you that if you ever accuse me of stealing again, in public and in front of reporters, every moment of that long life will be filled with regret and pain.”

Ava stared from him to the reporters, then back to him. “Are you threatening me?”

He grinned, amusement reaching only to the crinkles around his eyes, and stood up to his full height. “Of course not. I was trying to give you some advice. Stop this nonsense now, before it gets out of your control.” Before she could answer, his eyes swept to the reporters. “Now that you bloodthirsty sharks have had your dose of ugliness, let’s talk about beauty. I could not be more thrilled about my new line.”

He moved off, trailing reporters in his wake. “We’ll be proven innocent,” Ava shouted after them, but no one seemed to take any notice. “You’ll see,” she said, a little more quietly.

She looked down and realized she was shaking. Partially out of rage, at the audacity of the man.

But it also came from fear. Not because of what he’d said. Because of what she’d seen in his eyes—or hadn’t seen. There was no bluff there, no hesitation, not even the faintest glimpse of a naughty child getting away with something. He was acting like he hadn’t done anything wrong, like he really believed the designs were his. If Ava hadn’t known better, she could even have believed him. Given that, what chance could she and Sophia have of convincing anyone?

And what kind of person acted that way?

The kind of person who would stop at nothing to destroy his competition,
was the unwelcome answer she came up with.

Wandering dazedly, she found herself in a little bar area at the far end of the party. It was dark and empty.
Perfect,
she thought, sliding onto the stool nearest her and ordering a bottle of San Pellegrino.

Although she was doing a boytox, there was a part of her that wished a knight in shining armor would come along and say, “You look like you could use a really good dessert. Let me get you out of this place,” and carry her off. Only there were no such things as knights in shining armor and even if there were she imagined they rarely brought ice cream.

The bartender had just set her bottle of water in front of her when a voice said, “Excuse me.”

Ava didn’t look up. “I’m not answering any questions right now. I don’t want to be rude, but please leave me alone.”

“Sure. As soon as you get off my coat,” the voice next to her said.

Ava looked down and saw that there was, indeed, a coat folded on the stool she was sitting on. She looked up at the guy who had spoken and her heart skipped a beat.

It was the cute guy with the sleepy eyes from Starbucks! Standing there, at the otherwise empty bar. Like she’d wished him into existence. Her knight in shining armor.

He was taller than she’d expected, well over six feet, but not skinny-tall, tall like an athlete. Up close his face looked like it had been chiseled from a block of something solid, with high cheekbones, a firm, square jaw, and deep-set, serious eyes. His skin was the color of a mochachino and his eyes were a few shades darker. Ava had thought he was cute but now she realized that she’d been wrong—he wasn’t cute, he was handsome.

Definitely knight material.

Ava smiled at him and said, “What are you doing here?”

He pointed to the stool. “Trying to get my coat out from under you.”

“Sorry.” Blushing, she stood up and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed and she felt a shock, but she didn’t know if it was from him or static. “I meant at this party. I—I’m surprised to see you.”

His eyes came to her and he frowned more. He was wearing a blue-gray shirt with a heather-gray jacket over it. “Why? Do I look like I don’t belong with the rest of you fancy people? Because my coat isn’t hand stitched and I could use a haircut?”

That wasn’t exactly the response Ava had been expecting. “No. I just—it’s funny to see someone one place when you expect them to be somewhere else.”

His frown became a squint. “Do I know you?”

He was not doing a very good job of fitting into her fantasy. Ava perched back on the stool. “Don’t you recognize me?”

He went back to frowning. “Should I? Have you done something noteworthy? Found a planet? Cured cancer?”

“Not either of those—”

His mouth twisted into a wry smile. “So you’re one of those.” His tone made it clear that wasn’t a good thing.

“One of
whats
?” Ava asked.

The bartender set a bottle of Coke in front of him. “A nobody who thinks they should be somebody. This party is full of them. Pretty girls here to ‘network,’ which is just code for land a rich, well-connected boyfriend.” He tipped his Coke toward her, said, “Good luck,” and turned to go.

“That’s not me,” Ava called after him. She knew she should just let him walk away, but for some reason she couldn’t. She’d had enough of people underestimating her for one night. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

He stopped and turned to face her. “Really? So you just came to have fun? Because if that’s it, you don’t look like you’re doing it right.”

“I’m here working,” she said defensively.

He grinned. “As I was saying.”

This wasn’t going at all how she’d expected, and it was very unfair of him to be such a jerk, especially because when he’d grinned she’d discovered he had very nice teeth and a great smile. “You—you have to be one of the most frustrating people I’ve ever met.”

The serious eyes studied her. “
Have
we met?”

“No.”

“Good,” he said, finishing his Coke and setting the bottle on the bar. “Let’s not. I don’t have anything to offer you, and I definitely don’t need any more spoiled girls who are always looking over your shoulder to see if someone better is coming along in my life.”

Ava stood. “And I don’t need any more self-righteous, judgmental jerks who pretend they haven’t been staring at me for the past two weeks at Starbucks in mine.”

He tilted his head to one side. “What do you—”

“Ah, hello, my biff!” The Contessa broke in then, interrupting whatever he was going to say. “I have been hither and thither looking for you.” A leopard arm looped itself through Ava’s proprietarily. “Tell me, who is your friend? You have known each other a long time?”

“He’s not my friend,” Ava told the Contessa brightly. “We just
didn’t
meet.”

The Contessa smiled. “
Bene
. Because you know, the count he will be jealous if he hears you are talking to the other men. Even the”—the Contessa’s eyes raked over him, taking in his clothes, and her face assumed a pained expression—“math teachers. And when he is jealous, perhaps he finds someone else to be interested in. We do not want to risk that the count loses interest, do we? So now is time for to say ciao. Besides, we have other people that require our charming.”

Ava wished she were anywhere in the world other than there. The sleepy eyes came to her and now they appeared amused. “I can see I was completely wrong about you,” the guy said to Ava. “You’re not a pretty girl trying to snag a rich boyfriend at all.”

“You don’t know anything about my life,” Ava answered. Her cheeks were burning with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

He gave her a little salute. “And I’m glad to leave it that way. Have a nice night, Countess.”

The Contessa, assuming he was talking to her, said, “Yes, you too,
istruttore,
” and steered Ava away.

Over the sound of her stiletto heels tap-tapping the Contessa leaned her head close to Ava’s to say, “There is no need for you to thank me for saving you from that.” Before Ava managed to come up with a reply she wouldn’t regret, the Contessa went on. “I hear that you put the Worm man in his place. I understand that must make you tired. Sometimes when we are tired we can act like a silly girl.”

“I was not being silly,” Ava objected. “I was just talking to—”

“Sleepy sleepy,” the Contessa said, wiggling her fingers over Ava’s eyelids. “Tomorrow you will be a serious girl again, like your sister.”

Ava was near tears. How much more of a serious girl could she be? All she did was work seriously hard all the time. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had fun.

And none of it mattered. Christopher Wildwood had only to lift a finger to destroy them, and the Contessa had only to think for one second that she was less than serious—less than Sophia—and it could all be over.