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“I can already see it now, and it will be magnifique. And Emmanuelle is not a stranger anymore. We spent all afternoon with her so you two could get to know each other!”
Yes, much of it with me standing in my bra and panties for countless measurements while Margo and the pint-size designer circled me, slipping in and out of their native tongue as they discussed past runway events and flirted with each other.
I tried canceling. By the time we put Violet in Henry’s car so Victor could drive her home to Philly and we walked back to the penthouse, it was already time to go. I wanted to sleep. But Margo would have none of it, and Henry ushered me out, telling me he’d be busy with the guys, anyway.
“Fine. I’m trusting you.”
“As youalwaysshould.” She winks playfully.
My attention wanders around the interior of Lux, the Wolf Tower’s restaurant and lounge, located on the fiftieth floor where the building changes shape, narrowing above us as it continues its climb to the clouds. One side opens to a terrace that’s closed for the winter.
Given it bears the same name as the Lux fine dining restaurant at Wolf Cove, I expected a similar vibe—silky linens and a killer view—but, while New York City’s skyline is incredible, everything else here feels different. It’s dark and moody, and far more lounge-like, with a mix of tables and cozy seating areas. Heavy velvets and leathers drape the walls and cover the furniture, and pendant chandeliers cast almost too little light. In the center is an enormous fireplace.
Henry and I have ordered dinner from this restaurant several times, but I’ve never stepped foot here in person. Now that I have, I think I’ll be dragging Henry down more often.
Joel is perched on a stool at the far end of a full bar. He wandered over there fifteen minutes ago to peruse the extensive high-end liquor along the wall, and now he’s in deep conversation with two women that he may or may not be trying to line up for a tryst. The way he strokes an auburn curl off one’s cheek tells me he likely is. The way she leans into his touch tells me he’ll likely succeed.
“How serious are you about Joel?” I ask suddenly. I’ve never broached the subject with Margo. But after last night, I feel like I know him differently, better.
She shrugs. “He is good for me. He cares for me, and yet he allows me to do as I please with whomever I please. He does not try to dominate me.”
“Do you think you’ll ever get married?”
“To him?” She shakes her head. “But maybe one day, when someone comes along that I fall madly in love with and do not wish to share. Like Henry, with you. I could never be with a man such as your Henry, though. He does not give up control easily.”
He did last night, for me. I smile into my drink. “You know Joel’s at the bar, hitting on two women, right?”
“Is he?” Margo glances over her shoulder at him. “Oh, he won’t fuck them. They’re not his type. I’m sure he will ask to photograph them together, though.” She says it so nonchalantly.
“And that doesn’t bother youat all?”
“Why?” She waggles her perfectly drawn eyebrows. “I will watch.”
I know she is one hundred percent serious. Her very open and carefree sexual lifestyle no longer fazes me as it once did. We’ve spent most of the late afternoon and early evening together. There’s been no mention of our House of Mirrors escapades, but no awkwardness either. Not that Margo would ever feel any shame or embarrassment, but oddly enough, I don’t either. Maybe it’s because I was with Henry. Or maybe it’s because we have our own history and, through it, a bond some might consider unconventional.
I take a deep breath, suddenly nervous. “Margo, will you be my maid of honor?”
She claps with glee. “But of course I will!”
An odd wave of relief washes over me that she didn’t laugh or dismiss my request. That I didn’t otherwise misread the depth of this unlikely friendship I’ve forged with the supermodel who once slept with Henry.
“Can I tell you a secret?” She leans in, her eyes sparkling with humor. “I already assumed I was.”
I laugh at her admission. “Why doesn’t that surprise me.” It’s so very Margo.
“This is going to beso muchfun.” She claps again and I sense her genuine excitement. “Who else have you asked to join us?”
“My friend Autumn, who you met in Alaska. The concierge.” I called her last week to ask and she squealed into the phone.
“Oui. She is a doll.”
I smile sheepishly at my next choice. “And I want to ask Ronan, but Henry’s not totally on board.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Ask him, anyway. It is your bridal party, not Henry’s.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Why not? Ronan is important to you, non?”
