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CHAPTER3
AUTUMN
The next morning,I think I’m ready. Or at least, I’ve read and re-read, showered and primped my trademark red mane, and agonized over my outfit before following the packet’s directions down the street. Apparently, House Corbin took proximity and walkability into account when renting my apartment.
As I walk down the street, I can’t help but feel as though I’m floating. The sun is bright, making everything seem fresh and clean, and the cafes I pass have cute tables out front with people sitting and drinking their coffee as though they haven’t anywhere to be. I turn a corner and nearly run into a woman sweeping the stoop outside a storefront. “Good morning,” I say, and then correct myself. “I mean,bonjour.”
“Bonjour,” she answers, not pausing her sweeping.
The streets are narrow, with the buildings pushing in on them, but rather than feeling claustrophobic, it feels like a hug full of charm and warmth. I know large portions of the city have been rebuilt over the years, but the impression I get is one of history and the passing of time. Even the gargoyles on the corner of the building in front of me seem protective and cute, in a semi-creepy way.
I look around at the people too, noting that it’s apparent who’s Parisian and who’s a tourist. The Parisians have a more formal air about them, with predominantly form-fitting, fashionable outfits, perfectly coiffed hair, and expertly applied makeup. The tourists look... sloppy, with tennis shoes, denim shorts, and hair messily piled on their heads.
I can understand not wanting to spend priceless vacation minutes on things like a time-consuming blowout, but it’s a dead giveaway.
I also realize that my carefully selected outfit stands out wildly. I’m used to my red hair being an attention grabber, but my mid-calf-length circle skirt in a deep forest green, white button-up shirt, and nude patent heels feel more like a colorful circus costume against the understated Parisians. It’s too late to change now, though. I won’t be late for this morning’s get-to-know-you introductions and rule breakdown.
Five minutes later, I’m outside House Corbin. It’s huge, with a towering façade that seems to loom over not just the narrow cobblestone road that it’s on, but the entire neighborhood, even if it’s the same height. At the top of the building is a series of lion statues, and on the huge wooden double doors is a golden plaque engraved with the House Corbin logo.
“It looks like Hogwarts!” I murmur, grinning. Can I help it that the first book series that ever hooked me was the Potterverse? I watched every movie enough times that I drove Mom crazy quoting Hermione’s lines. And when Hermione walked down that staircase in the pink gown, going from nerdy to drop-dead gorgeous? My heart exploded, and my imagination went wild. I don’t know why they changed it from the periwinkle-blue of the books, but she looked magical either way.
It's too bad I couldn’t take the time to study French like Fleur Delacour. It’d help me right now, considering that rather than Hogwarts, I’m more likely looking up at the equivalent of Beauxbatons.
I’m shaking slightly as I open the door, stepping inside where things couldn’t be more different from the history-heavy exterior. The interior of House Corbin is modern, as though the building has been gutted and renovated to the highest of technological standards.
Behind a long, dark granite counter is a young, blonde woman dressed in a sharp blue outfit, and I stare in shock.Whoa, it really is Beauxbatons!
The woman says something in French, and when I don’t answer, she smiles and tries again. “You are here for the contest?” she asks.
“Yes,” I said. “Autumn Fisher.”
She looks at her computer and nods. “This way, please.”
The young woman leads me down a bright white hallway to a room, opening the door. “Your host will be with you momentarily.”
I step through to see an austere conference room, except that instead of a long table, the room is filled with white leather couches and wingback chairs. It’s some sort of formal receiving area, I suppose? The door closes behind me, and I jump in surprise.
I hear someone cheerfully singing, “Dun, dun, dun, I’ll take you to the candy shop, uh! I’ll let you lick the lollipop—” The cheerful singing stops and the voice lets out a yell that startles me. “Holy shit! Autumn? What are you doing here?”
I spin to my right, recognizing the voice and then the face. “Molly Rims? What are you doing here?”
Molly and I went to FIT together, even worked on a few projects together in our freshman year, but I haven’t seen her since graduation. She looks great, her hair cut in a shaggy bob with a few braids woven through and peeking out the bottom, the same dimples framing her mischievous smile, and eyes that glitter with intelligence and bad ideas.
She does a Mariah Carey impersonation with one hand to her ear and one waving through the air as she closes her eyes and sings, “Teaching these girls somekaraokeeeefavorites.”
“That no one asked for,” a dry voice answers.
I look over to see a towering slender beauty with a domineering look and harsh, almost sharp features to both her face and her dress. She looks like she’s here to kick ass, take names, and spit out our corpses when she’s done with them, without giving a single fuck the entire time. She looks Russian, or something similar. “She is Molly, you are apparently Autumn. I am Katarina. We are finalists in this contest.”
“Nice to meet you,” I greet her, adding a friendly smile. This is a competition, I know that, but I’m hoping it’s not too ruthless.
Molly is suddenly at my side, her arms wrapping around me. She’s a few inches taller than me, which puts my cheek at an awkward boob level, so I make the hug as quick as possible. “What have you been up to?”
Molly huffs out a laugh. “What haven’t I been up to? Where haven’t I been? I went to Milan, then Berlin. I wanted to get a feel for the Euro trends, you know. Let’s see, then Mumbai, Tokyo, and Seoul. Wait... no, Seoul, then Tokyo. Basically, anywhere there’s fashion-forward people, I went there, sat on the street, and took inspiration. It’s been a trip.” She holds her arms out wide, encompassing the space around her as though it’s a living, breathing entity that she’s embracing fully.
“Wow!” I say breathlessly. “I’ve been in New York with Nora Jacobs since the day after graduation.” Somehow, it pales in comparison to everything Molly has done.
She shoves my shoulder, hard. “I know! I saw your influence all over her last collection! Congrats, bitch! You’re making that coin with her while I’m sleeping in hostels with one-night stands.”
