She interrupts with an over-exaggerated sigh and an equally over-exaggerated eye roll. “I know, I know. Your daddy won’t ever approve of you bringing home a bad boy. But honestly, Lauren, I reckon your daddy won’t approve of anyone.” She blinks several times, as she takes another sip out of the small porcelain cup. “You know I’m right,sugar.”
Sheisright.
Daddy won’t approve of anyone I bring home. He never has. I suppose he wants me to marry a politician like my sister Beckydid.
Becky.
The perfectdaughter.
Becky with the good body. Becky with the good looks. Becky with the…good hair. While most twinsies end up being besties, Becky and I never did click. And since we’re fraternal twins, we look nothing alike. Polar opposites. Like the moon and the sun. She’s skinny and I’m not. She’s got brown eyes. Mine are blue. My hair is black. She dyed hers red. She’s a bitch, while I’m asweetheart.
Most of thetime.
“Anyway,” I mumble, as I apply a coat of lip gloss to my mouth, “when are you coming back to Paris? I miss seeing your gorgeous face forreal.”
She dips the tip of her pinky into a tiny container of balm, then carefully dabs it onto her lips. “Babe, I was just there two months ago for three whole weeks. You know I can’t afford to be away from my own business longer thanthat.”
Last year, Arabella, formally known as the southern socialite ArabellaPrincessaRoyale, launched her own clothing and makeup line calledRoyale Beauty.When she came to Paris two months ago to visit me, I set her up with clients to help expand her business. Since then, she’s been bombarded withorders.
“I know, but two months seems so long ago. I barely remember saying goodbye to you at the airport.” I deliver her my award-winning poutyface.
“Now hun, how can you possibly forget that day at the airport? The day you bumped into,”—she pauses as she allows a mischievous grin to settle onto her face—“the fella you described as theman of yourdreams?”
Not only do I feel my cheeks burn, I can see the scarlet flush on my cheeks in the mirror. That day at the airport, I bumped into the most delicious-lookingman.
Tall. Dark.Manly.
He was so good-looking, I swear I forgot how to speak. I was so beside myself, I ran out of the airport and darted into the town car like a woman on therun.
“Oh, yeah”—I lower my head in embarrassment—“thatguy. Well, I know the odds of me seeing him again are low. And frankly, I probably wouldn’t even recognize his face if I saw it since it…”— I pause, pondering my last statement. “Okay well, I would remember his eyes, dark and mysterious” I quickly amend. “Besides, soon after that, I met Jean Clau, who I also swore was the man of my dreams…and look at me now. Still pitifully single. Perhaps I shouldn’t even bother dating. You know, stick with what I dobest.”
Arabella frowns. “Work? Oh hun, surely there is more to life than just getting buried in and under yourwork.”
“Not my life. Anyhow, I need to focus on closing this deal with the folks in New York City. Then, I’ll go back to dating”—I pause and smile into the screen as I pat my hair into place—“maybe.”
Arabella applies moisturizer to her face and says, “You’ll always have Truffles. Oh, and good luck today, hun. I hope it all works out. Shall we meet up again via FaceTime in eighthours?”
“You bet. Nighty-night.”
“Go kick some ass, honey,” she says before our call comes to anend.
After taking one last look at my reflection in the mirror, I grab a small bottle of eye drops out of my makeupbasket.
You can’t step out with reddened eyes. There is no way anyone can ever know that you’ve beencrying.
Crying.Me. Lauren Blake—The IcePrincess?
Yep. Crying. And not over Jean Clau…perse.
Crying over the realization that I’ll probably grow old without anyone by myside.
As if on cue, Truffles, the onlyreliablemale in my life, jumps onto my lap. He’s an adorable rescue Yorkshire terrier I got when I first moved to Paris six years ago, small enough to fit in my purse. I usually take him everywhere with me, but today he’s stayin’home.
“Hey, darlin’. You behave while I’m out today. Jules will take you out later for a walk, as usual.” I rub the spot between Truffle’s ears and his back leg flopsuncontrollably.
Lifting Truffles off my lap, I let out a chuckle as his rough tongue lightly brushes my cheek. “Here you go,” I say, placing him down onto his pillow-top bed, “Mama has to run, now. My car should be waiting forme.”
By the timeI make it down the elevator, Jules is waiting for me, his smile eagerly greeting me. He’s been the doorman here atChateau De Grenellesince I moved to Paris. Over the years, the two of us have grown rather close. And since Jules, at age twenty-eight, is only two years younger than I am, he’s just about as close as I’ll ever get to having the little brother I neverhad.
