Where Beauty Lies (Sophia and Ava London) (2 page)

He shook his head. “Nope, I lost,” he said, shrugging it off the way only people with plenty of money can. “But the experience. Some of the biggest names in poker were playing there. It was like getting to play piano with Mozart.”

“That’s amazing,” Sophia said.

“It was an audition, actually. I’m trying to get one of the top coaches to work with me.”

“You’re really taking this poker thing seriously.”

“A prince has to do something while his princess is busy all day beautifying the land,” he said. He said it with a grin but Sophia caught the slightest tinge of frustration as well, which made her feel guilty. Luckily, things slowed down from December until February, and she would dedicate herself then to being the best girlfriend in the world.

Sophia smiled up at him and could have spent the rest of the day staring into his handsome face if she hadn’t heard Ava say, “No, he just said
every
minute, not
every single
minute.”

The two of them were sitting, heads together, on the other side of the table.

“What are you doing?” Sophia asked.

“Collecting dialogue for my new play,” Lily told her. “The rule is I can only use things I’ve heard people say in real life.” She grinned at Sophia and Hunter. “Pretty much all the best romance lines come from you two.”

Sophia said, “I know Ava’s doing a boytox, but you’re no shrinking violet. You must have your own romantic dialogue.”

“Yeah,” Hunter concurred, pulling out Sophia’s chair for her. “Get your own.”

“Somehow, ‘You look hot in that droid costume’ doesn’t sound as good out of context as,” Lily dropped her voice. “‘Now you know how I feel every minute I’m with you.’”

Hunter and Sophia grinned at each other. “Be careful,” he told Lily, “or we’ll start charging royalties.”

“Hey hey, did I just hear my favorite word? Royalties?” Rusty Green, president of MeanGreen Productions, had a long red braid and always wore green suits. “How are my favorite future reality stars?” he asked.

“Hello, Mr. Green.” Ava said. “We’re well.”

Rusty Green was one of the first producers to have contacted them about doing a reality show after their charges of theft were dropped by the police, and over the past six weeks he’d also been one of the most persistent.

Sophia hadn’t even had time to change her clothes the morning she got back from her NYC date with Hunter before Ava had hauled her out the door to their agent Corinna’s office.

Corinna had stood by them through the LuxeLife debacle and their arrest and was always a calm, rational voice.

That morning she’d looked harried.

“Everyone loves a damsel in distress—especially if she’s young, beautiful, and nice to animals,” she said. “You two have practically attained Disney Princess status now. And boy have people been noticing.”

The proposals poured in; reality shows like Mr. Green’s, pet-care lines, home-care lines, and many random product-endorsement offers in foreign countries. The one they’d fallen in love with was an offer from HomeSweet to do a line of homewares, starting with a bedding collection that they were launching for Valentine’s Day.

Or, as Rusty Green put it now, “How’s your little sewing project doing?”

Sophia said in her sweetest voice, “You mean our housewares line?”

He shrugged. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

“Actually, we’re calling it Live Love London,” Ava told him, purposely misunderstanding. “And our first collection is called Romp. It’s all bedding, sort of country French meets English—”

“Great, great,” he said, and Sophia wondered if his reaction would have been any different if Ava had told him they were making couches for baboons. “I’ve already got someone else on the hook for my project but seeing you two here, if you begged, I would still give it to you. Tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

“I’m afraid we haven’t,” Sophia said. “We were approached with so many quality reality concepts, but we want to build our brand from the ground up, not just through flash PR.”

“I’ve got to take this,” he said, holding up his cell phone and drifting away.

Ava followed him with her eyes to make sure he was really leaving, but said to Sophia, “He didn’t have a call, did he?”

Sophia shook her head. “Nope.”

“What word do you think it was that scared him off? I want to know so I can use it repeatedly, maybe even have an amulet made.”

Lily glanced up from her iPad. “Was he the Martian show?”

Ava laughed. “I’d forgotten about that. No, he was the bachelorette style show set in a rain forest,
Love Is a Jungle.
”

“
House of Mars
was my favorite project you were offered,” Lily said. “I can’t believe you passed on a show with the pitch line, ‘Big Brother set in a biological and gravitationally accurate Martian colony.’ What was their slogan?”

“Red. Hot,” Sophia told her.

“I might hold you personally responsible if that show doesn’t get made,” Lily said.

Sophia became aware of people behind her speaking Italian but it wasn’t until she heard the phrase
stella mia
that she really began to pay attention.

Giovanni,
she breathed, and her heart began to pound.

He’d said it that night at the gallery,
stella.
The last time she’d seen or spoken to him. Said it and then disappeared without another word or text or phone call. He hadn’t even bothered to reply to hers.

And now here he was. Presumably talking to a woman, someone else, maybe it wasn’t even him, maybe—

“
Stella mia,
for the sake of Pete please do not try to stab yourself with the buttering knife. The tablecloths here are much too nice for such things.”

That had to be Giovanni. Unable to stop herself, she turned to look at the table behind them. It was occupied by a model-gorgeous Italian woman in her thirties wrapped in a leopard fur, pointing a butter knife dramatically at her heart, a shorter man with round glasses who gazed at her adoringly, and a boy somewhere around twelve with wide brown eyes and curling golden hair who could have modeled for a Renaissance angel except for the way he winked at every waitress who went by.

No Giovanni.

She wasn’t disappointed, Sophia told herself as she turned back to her friends. She leaned back and felt Hunter’s arm around her shoulders. Who had time for friends, even funny ones who mangled English and made you see yourself … differently.

“I’m going to go take a gallery tour. I need to start working on my Christmas tree,” Lily said, picking up her iPad. A gallery tour, for Lily, meant that she was walking around the restaurant taking pictures of everyone’s plastic surgery, which at this time of year she would then have printed on Christmas-tree balls. The year before, her tree had been all noses, but she’d been talking about doing all lips and chins this year. Although all of Lily’s perfect parts were original, part of her Los Angeles–childhood heritage was a fascination with plastic surgery, both its practitioners and its recipients.

“Am I wrong thinking Lily is wearing one of the sheet sets from the Romp campaign?” Hunter asked as she wandered off.

“You are
not
wrong,” Ava said. She tapped the coat draped over Lily’s chair. “And this is one of the comforters. There was some extra yardage from the samples they sent over so I repurposed it.”

Sophia had always known her sister had a good eye and could put patterns together well, but it seemed Ava’s creativity had gone into turbo overdrive since she’d started her boytox.

One day Sophia would get up and there would be an entirely new concept for the throw pillows on the bed. The next, she’d find a dress made from the fabric samples. Ava had made one with leather-fringe trim that they were considering for pillows, which Sophia had been dying to wear for weeks.

“The silk straps were Sophia’s idea,” Ava was telling Hunter. “She’s the trim-and-finishings genius. I just do the grunt work.”

“I bet you could sell that stuff,” Hunter said. “But I am not suggesting that. I want you to have more free time, not less.” He tugged Sophia toward him.

“I’m sorry, Prince Charming. As soon as we finish shooting the Romp campaign, I’ll have three, maybe even four days off.”

“Four whole days,” Hunter marveled.

“Did I say days?” Sophia said. “I meant hours.”

“Actually she meant minutes,” Ava told him.

“I’ll take them!” Hunter went along with the joke. “As long as they’re—”

There was a discreet throat clearing, then the same Italian-accented voice Sophia had heard before said, “Please excuse me for the interruption.” They turned and saw the man with the round glasses. “The Contessa humbly requests a word with the beautiful ladies, if they are the friends of that one”—he pointed at Lily—“there.”

“We are,” Sophia said. Her eyes met Ava’s and she could tell they were both wondering what Lily could possibly have done now.

“Prego,”
the man answered, holding his arms out to the side, one for each of the London sisters to take. Hunter tagged along, and they made a slow, stately, and as far as Sophia and Ava were concerned incredibly mortifying procession from their table to the Contessa’s, three over.

If there was anyone talking or moving or looking anywhere but at them in the dining room, Sophia didn’t see them.

When they reached the Contessa, Sophia had a moment of panic about the etiquette when addressing a contessa. Did you curtsey? Kiss her hand? Her ring?

The Contessa herself solved the problem, standing and giving them each two kisses on the cheek. She beamed at them, holding one of each of their hands for a moment, then pointed them into chairs the busboy had brought.

“
Che belle,
how beautiful you are,” she said. “We are going to be biff, I know this already.”

Sophia and Ava must have looked puzzled, because she said, “Biff? This is an American thing you say, no?” She turned to the boy, snapping her fingers to get his attention, and said something quick in Italian.

“BFF,” he explained, with only a slight accent. “You will be the best friends forever with my mother. Good luck to you.” He winked at them.

The Contessa leaned toward Ava. “I am told you are the hand that made this.” When she said “this,” she flourished her right hand toward Lily.

“I made the outfit, yes,” Ava said, wanting to be completely clear.

“I am the Contessa Antonia di Bellevista. You have heard of me of course. You know, I do not speak idly. Your outfit is
molto bello.
Or, as you Americans say, the Wow. I must have it. So, it is decided. You will make a fashion collection for me for New York Fashion Week.”

Ava said, “Right now we are really focused on—”

The Contessa reached out and placed a perfectly manicured finger over Ava’s mouth. “This is not a conversation, blah-blah you blah-blah me. This is me telling you, you will do this.”

“All business proposals must go through our agent,” Sophia told the Contessa, hoping her voice sounded calming. Since she had just seen the woman pretend to try to kill herself with a butter knife.

The Contessa smiled and nodded, only then remembering that she still held a finger over Ava’s mouth. She let go and patted Ava on the cheek. “
Bene.
You give me the name of your agent. I will go buy him. Very good.” She brushed her hands together. “It is done. You are mine now.”

“Didn’t that sound like that should be followed by an evil laugh?” Ava asked Sophia in the car going home.

“Completely,” Sophia told her. “But I don’t think we need to worry about hearing from our new
Biff.
She forgot to ask for Corinna’s number. Or name.”

“What a relief,” Ava said.

LonDOs

The truffle-and-cheese pizza at Soho House

Promptness

Serendipity

The Wow

Repurposing

Fast-drying nail pens

New York Fashion Week!!!!!!!!!!!!

LonDON’Ts

Mess with people who had PE with you in third grade

Underestimate the Contessa

Ever say, “But I don’t think we need to worry…”

Go to sleep without taking off your eye makeup

2

lip lash

Two Months Later

“Three weeks, one day,” Ava said as their plane touched down at JFK.

“And two hours,” Sophia added without looking up from the magazine she was reading. “Three weeks, one day, two hours, and”—she glanced at her watch—“seven minutes until our very first fashion line goes down the catwalk in one of the most-watched tents at NYC Fashion Week.” She flipped a page of the magazine. “Piece of cake.”

Ava, seeing that Sophia’s hands were shaking, grinned. She was glad to know it wasn’t just her.

Although compared to the two months they’d just lived through, it seemed like it almost could be a piece of cake. Ava felt like she hadn’t slept that entire time, or maybe she hadn’t been awake. Her life had certainly been a lot like a dream since the morning Corinna had called to tell them that some “crazy Italian woman” had forced her out of bed at 5:00
A.M.
to say she wanted to buy the London sisters’ “bodies and souls” and ask how much that would cost.

Sophia had turned to Ava at that point and said, “I guess the Contessa found the number.”

“I thought it was a joke,” Corinna went on. “Until I looked her up and saw that her brother just died, leaving her one of the richest women in Europe. What do you say? Are you up for a pact with the devil?”

The Contessa had actually turned out to be much easier to work with than they’d feared. She was generous, enthusiastic, supportive, and seemed to know what she was doing. Not only were her critiques spot-on (once you figured out what she was talking about), but she’d also gotten them a place in Fashion Week’s coveted New Young Designers tent and show.

“Must have had to murder someone to do it,” Lucille Rexford, the eccentric millionaire who owned LuxeLife and had given them their makeup line, said approvingly, “Just the kind of businesswoman I admire.”