oversized chairs in dark green leather for his study, and a dining table that seated thirty. With the choices he’d made, the house was going to have a decidedly masculine look, which suited him. He had emailed her images of the art he was having shipped from New York. They were all from major artists, Rothko, Pollock, Warhol, and a stunning Picasso they were going to put in the living room.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been able to do this part of the process as quickly,” she said, smiling at him as they left the house. “It’s terrific. I’ll get everything ordered by Monday.” She hadn’t promised him, but she was promising herself to have his house finished by Christmas, which was only three months away. She had given him a date further out, so he wouldn’t be disappointed if everything didn’t arrive as quickly as she hoped, or if they ran into problems or delays.
“You’re a whiz, Nadia,” he said admiringly. “Do you have time for lunch?” It was a rainy Saturday, and both of her girls were out with friends. She had begun to organize her Saturdays for their morning meetings.
“Actually, I do,” she said easily.
“Do you like Costes?” It was trendy and popular, a lot of fashion people and models went there, and they had a year-round covered garden and good food. It was only about a block away from the Ritz in a small boutique hotel. The restaurant was jammed most of the time, and particularly during any of the fashion weeks. It was fun people-watching there.
“I like it a lot.” You could have anything from a salad to a major meal, and the food was more international than just French, so Americans loved it.
When they got to the hotel, there was music playing in the hallway leading to the restaurant, and the garden looked bright and cheery under a canvas canopy. The outdoor space was heated, as dozens of sexy young waitresses buzzed around in miniskirts waiting on tables. The headwaiter led them to a quiet table in the corner at Gregory’s request. Compared to most popular restaurants, it was busy but not too loud, so they could talk.
Gregory ordered a Bloody Mary, and they ordered spring rolls and salads for lunch. He smiled as he sat back and looked at her. “It’s funny, Nadia, you seem so French to me. I forget you’re American. Are you part French too?”
“My mother is half English and half Italian, which is a bit of a conflict. She is incredibly organized, and at the same time very creative. I think I inherited it from her.”
“Is she an interior designer too?” He could tell from how efficient Nadia was that she had years of experience, despite the fact that she looked very young.
“My mother is the editor-in-chief of Mode Magazine,” she said with a hint of pride. “She’s incredibly good at what she does.” He smiled as her face lit up when she said it.
“So I’ve heard. I didn’t realize she’s British.”
“I’ve been here for all of my adult life, including college, so I guess a lot of that has rubbed off too. I have to admit, I don’t feel very American anymore. It’s kind of a disconnect for me. My husband was…is…French, and so are my daughters. I’m just very comfortable here. I always feel a little out of place now when I go back to the States.”
“Do you go back often?” He was interested in her, who she was, what she thought, and what made her so talented, because it was clear to him that she was.
“A few times a year,” she answered. “I have three sisters there. Two in New York and one in L.A. We’re very close, and as different as night and day, or ‘chalk and cheese’ as the British say. We don’t even look related. One of them is a fashion designer, Venetia Wade, my next oldest sister is a superior court judge, and my sister in L.A. is a TV chef and food guru.”
He was amused. “That’s quite a variety. It must have been fun at your house when you were growing up. What did your father do?”
“He was in finance, and grounded all of us. That’s a lot of female energy under one roof. He handled it very well and was very supportive of my mother’s work. We still have a great time when we get together. Two of them just came over for a week in August with