I thank the waiter as he fills my champagne flute and ask him for water for the table, before flicking open my purse and pulling out my tiny compact for a quick makeup check. As I sense someone behind me, I shift very slightly to the left, assuming it’s the waiter with a fresh carafe when something gold flickers in my mirror.
My spirits sink just a little and I slide my compact away. As my attention lifts, I come face to face with Amélie as she lowers herself into Josephine’s chair.
She’s a vision in gold, her dress covering every inch of her lithe body, clinging to her like a second skin from her neck to her wrists, where a diamond sparkles on the fourth finger of her left hand.
Deluded bitch.
Actually, I revise my first impressions. She looks like an Oscar statuette.
For the porn industry.
A brunette fills Remy’s seat, a blond sitting in the chair next to Amélie. I guess what we have here is the high school bully and her slightly drunken posse.
‘I don’t believe we’ve been introduced formally,’ she purrs, her mouth more pout than smile.
‘No, I don’t believe we have,’ I reply placidly. ‘I also don’t believe we need to be.’
Her blonde friend at the other side of her rattles off something fast and French under her breath, but I get the general gist.
‘I don’t know whether you know,’ I say, addressing the blonde, but Américain stupide pretty much stands on its own in English.’
Now who’s the dumb bitch?
Go ahead, glare all you want. I don’t give a flying fuck . . .
‘What a gorgeous dress.’ Amélie’s comment is seems sincere, but she’s not finished yet. ‘And such an improvement on the one you were looking at in Deuxième Amour.’ I find myself frowning as she turns her head over her shoulder, addressing her friend. ‘That’s the place in Monaco-Ville I was telling you about, Colette. Second Love, it’s called in English. The store that sells used designer wear.’
My skin prickles as her attention returns, this time with a sneer.
‘I don’t know why you’re looking so superior. You were obviously in the same place as I was.’ Apparently. Though I don’t recall seeing her.
‘Yes, but she was dropping off,’ her bitch of a friend replies on her behalf. ‘She wasn’t thinking of buying other people’s used clothes.’ She says used clothes as though I was trawling the bargain bins for something in the colour herpes.
‘I donate the resale value to charity,’ Amélie adds with careless shrug.
Sure. And I sell smack to kids at the local playground.
‘Well, bless your heart,’ I say, going all Southern on her skinny butt. ‘I guess that’s easy to do when you’re buying the stuff with someone else’s credit card.’
‘Yes, it is nice,’ she purrs. ‘And I’m sure Remy doesn’t mind picking up the cost.’ Her hand coasts down the long line of her sleeve from shoulder to wrist. ‘Especially when he gets to rip those clothes off me any time he wishes.’
‘Bat. Shit. Crazy,’ I mutter under my breath.
‘What did you say?’
‘I said your parents must be so proud.’ I pick up my glass, despite telling myself I’d take it easy on the stuff, but when you’re swimming with sharks you do what you can to not act like chum. Taking a decorous sip, I set it back down. ‘Well, apart from the fact you weren’t able to seal the deal with him, so there’s very little chance of him ripping anything off you. Except maybe that fancy black credit card out of your cold grasping hand.’ I throw in a tiny shrug, kind of oops, sorry. Not!
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
I sigh, allowing my gaze to roam over her. ‘I know you just don’t have what it takes.’
‘Encule toi Salaud,’ she spits. Basically, fuck you, bitch.
‘Well, I tell you, Emily,’ I say, getting a kick out of her ripple of indignation. ‘The way I see it, I am the only bitch between the pair of us that is getting fucked. By Remy at least.’
Leaning across the brunette between us she makes as though to grab my hand, her words low and furious and in French and really not making a lot of sense.
‘He will tire of you, you are vulgaire. Cheap! You have novelty value only. You want him for his money—the house and the jet. The dress that you wear! But he will come back to me.’
‘I guess that’s where our opinions differ. The fact that Remy