“Good,” he said. “Because I was going to suggest it anyway. But now I can pretend I had to talk you into it.”
She laughed and the thing that had been clenched inside her loosened up considerably. This was good. Randi had been right.
“When can I see you again?” she asked.
“Let me work something out and I’ll text you,” he promised. “But soon. Very soon.”
“That sounds good.” If this was what happiness felt like, she was all in. She gasped as something occurred to her.
“What is it?” Graham asked.
“I know the answer to your crossword puzzle,” she said.
“Do tell, I beg you.”
She smiled. “It’s happiness.”
There was a pause. Then Graham chuckled. “By Jove, you’re right. I say, that bodes well, don’t you think?”
She nodded. “I think it does.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Coming up with an outfit that looked effortlessly chic while still being age-appropriate and timelessly beautiful was no small feat.
Blaise stood in front of her open closet, hands planted on her hips. A rainbow of fabrics and textures stared back at her—chiffon, linen, soft cotton, and silk. All things she’d collected over the years, all things she hadn’t been able to part with.
In her previous life, she’d never hesitated over what to wear. Clothes had been part of her job. She’d lived in front of a camera, striding down runways with confidence so fierce it practically counted as armor.
But that was then. This was years away from those days.
“Okay,” she muttered, squinting at a sea-blue caftan. “Age-appropriate, but…do I look like I’m attending a very glamorous bingo fundraiser?”
Beau, curled on the bed behind her, gave two tiny snorts. Unhelpful critic.
Blaise tried another approach. She pulled out cream-colored wide-leg linen pants and a crisp white blouse with a soft drape tothe neckline. Stylish without being try-hard. She held them up to herself in the mirror, studying the reflection.
Still beautiful? Yes. But beautiful for whom? For her? For Maude’s camera?
For a world that preferred models barely out of high school?
She caught herself frowning and forced her shoulders back. The last things she needed were deeper smile lines and a slouch. She wasn’t a girl anymore, and she was fine with that.
She’d earned her lines, her stories, and her confidence the hard way. Now she needed the world to see that the woman she’d become was someone relatable, aspirational, and available for bookings, thank you very much.
The website Maude was working on was Blaise’s chance to present herself to the world again. A chance to land some lucrative speaking engagements, and possibly a memoir deal, if all the planets aligned and the proposal landed on the right desk.
And if she could pick up a few modeling gigs—modeling that required women like her: stylish, seasoned, and not ready to fade into background—she’d be all right with that, too.
She draped the blouse and pants over her arm and rummaged deeper into the closet, pulling out a fitted, slate-gray blazer. It was everything an Armani blazer should be—polished and powerful. The image of a woman who still had something to say.
“Yes,” she said under her breath. “This could work with a different background than the beach.”
Beau lifted his head, tail giving one approving thump.
“And maybe some shots in a sundress,” she added, reaching for a delicate coral one she hadn’t worn in years. “Something more carefree. Something to show that I have range and softness, too.”
She laid all the outfit options on the bed and smoothed out the fabric, imagining Maude’s friendly encouragement, the beach’s golden light, the beach breeze tugging at her hair.
