Christine’s next race—she’ll be okay
Eddie’s miso brownies—confused where he’s going to bake them
cherry blossom trees—pink. Reminds me of the poppies back home.
Chapter 14CARO-KANN DEFENSE
JAPAN
Mei meets me by theSuzuka Circuit with a sigh. “I have bad news.”
“I would prefer good news?”
She key-cards us through the staff entrance. It doubles as a Paddock Club checkpoint. Fitting. “The team wants you to head to New York after this race.”
Her back’s to me, so I squeeze my eyes shut, allotting myself one second of stress. “Did they say why?”
“Faust’s agreed to go to the Day Gala.”
“Hehas?”
Mei throws me a knowing look—she’s as surprised by this as I am. “Take credit where credit’s due. You’ve had an impact on him.”
Did he say that? Or is she assuming that’s his reasoning after his little television-namedrop bombshell? I stare at the pit building’s pristine white tile floor as I follow Mei down a hallway lined withsubtle skincare ads; up-close, black-and-white photos of the drivers, tiny print espousing hyaluronic acid. Bernard is in most of them. Faust is in none. “Also, Antient’s happy with how the Paris show played out,” she adds. “They’re considering a sponsorship for next season, so we have to keep proving that Faust is fashionable and reliable. Ergo, gala.”
“Great. That’s… so good.”
It really is. There hadn’t been any photos of Faust and me together at the show, and I’m not about to squander this gift from the universe. I’m done with him and—whatever happened back there. Detoxed. It’s a new day. We’re in a new country. I have drinks scheduled tonight with Bernard, and I will only be around Faust when I have to. And so far, I haven’t had to.
“The team wants you to be back at home base planning the look,” Mei continues. “I’ll send over a list of potential designers we want to collab with. The theme for this year’s gala is Garden of the Gods. Think mythology, Greco-Roman, Celtic, fables, whatever. I have some books. Clear?”
I nod, going for my water bottle.
“Good. You’ll be attending the gala with him.”
My water almost slips from my hands.
“Mei, that is so sweet—really—but I can’t do that. I’ve barely worked here.”
“Please. This works better for my schedule, anyway. The gala falls on April twenty-eighth this year, so whoever works with him misses three races while they’re in the States.”
I fiddle my water bottle’s cap. I used to dream of going to the Day Gala. Watching my designs walk down those famous, white-carpeted steps outside the Day Art Museum. My life can change in a million different ways, but the last Monday in April isstill the best day of the year. And one day—after Maisie’s internship, once she graduates—she might get to live that dream.
Three races away will do me good.
“So, I’ll be back for Miami?” I ask. “That’s the weekend after the gala, right?”
“Correct. And please don’t sing the Will Smith song. It got stuck in so many people’s heads, they banned it from our office.”
That night, I meet Bernard at the cocktail lounge close to my hotel. It’s already been a thirteen-hour day, what’s one more? I paste on a smile, change into an airy Issey Miyake dress, and find my date tucked away with a lowball of Hibiki whisky. The lounge is dark, hazy and red-toned, with waiters that politely ignore us and a vinyl record player spinning city pop. “You know this song?” I ask when I’m back with my sparkling water and lime; a fake gin and tonic if you’re delusionally hopeful. “I think it’s called ‘Lipstick Message’ in English.”
Bernard chuckles, shaking his head. “Can’t say I do. Makes sense that you like it, though.”
His gaze has settled on my lips, and I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, smiling. “I like the color red.”
“It looks good on you,” he says. “Though blue does, too. Can you explain that one to me?”
I lift my arms. My finely pleated sleeves shift, rippling like two immaculately crafted accordions. “It’s from his Pleats Please line. Do you like it?”
