(Untitled)
I want to do a D*C post but it's like I can't even wrap my brain around the amazing weekend I had so it's still all settling in my mind. I will tease you with this: the highlight of my weekend was Tricia Helfer, model extraordinaire and quite literally the most beautiful woman on the planet, told me I was prettyInstead, I am shamelessly stealing
( Read more... )
Meeting her sister for lunch was always a pleasure, Sydney thought to herself, but less so when the paparazzi crowded around the door awaiting their every move.
"So sorry I'm late," Nadia said as she slid into her seat across the table, cameras flashing outside the window. Sydney would prefer to sit further inside the restaurant, but Nadia had pointed out that it was free publicity for everyone and that was nothing to turn down. "Mom wanted me to bring her the final copy before she leaves, but of course nothing's done because everyone's en route to London. It's going to be a lovely afternoon."
"What time is your flight?" Sydney asked, spearing a leaf of lettuce and eyeing her sister's perfect peach cropped leather jacket. It was February, but her sister never dressed for the weather.
"Eight tonight," Nadia said, and then ordered only a water and lemon. Nadia had never done runway work, but she had all the sense of someone raised in the fashion industry. "Can you give me any scoop on the new line?"
"You'll see it with everyone else," Sydney said in case anyone was listening, but anyone who knew anything about fashion knew that Front Row always had exclusives on the Bristow line. Sydney's father Jack had become the head designer and creative director for the fashion house Donovan only five years before her mother had become the editor-in-chief of Front Row, and while their divorce had been slightly acrimonious at the time, it had mellowed into an understanding that their line of work required them to tolerate one another- especially when Sydney joined Donovan as a designer after retiring from modelling at twenty-five. Nadia, who had more experience in high fashion print-work in one year than most models had in five, had quit in order to work as an fashion news director with their mother. Of course, had she wanted to walk in shows for the house her father designed and directed, Rambaldi, she could have, the same as she could have joined the ranks as a creative designer there, but Nadia enjoyed editing far more than sketching.
"Of course," Nadia replied. "How do you think it will go tomorrow?"
She meant at the opening parties for London Fashion Week, where both their fathers and mother would be in attendance. There hadn't yet been anything embarrassing, but there was always the chance. Jack Bristow and Arvin Sloane had been the closest of friends and sometimes still were, especially when their mother was on another continent, but Irina Derevko was often present, and the press ached for a chance to see sparks fly.
"I hope it will go well." If it didn't it would fall to them to make peace, and neither wanted that. "Are you planning on bringing the purple suede Louboutins?"
"Hadn't planned on it," Nadia said, accepting her water from the waitress with the same heartbreaking smile that had graced so many ad campaigns, "Do you want me to?"
Sydney nodded. “I think they’ll look great with the white dress.”
Nadia smiled knowingly. “You want to look especially good because Michael Vaughn is going to be at the Paris shows.”
“Shut up,” Sydney said, immediately blushing at the mention of the head of Front Row’s Paris public relations office. “He’ll be there, I’ll be there. It’s not a big deal.”
“Oh no. Not at all.”
“Don’t you have a magazine to write or something?”
“What time is your plane?” Nadia asked, squeezing the lemon into her water.
“Eleven tonight. Late meeting.”
“Well, I can send the shoes over to your office if you want-” Nadia was interrupted when a particularly bold photographer came to the table.
“Just one shot,” Sark, the fashion and celebrity gossip blogger pleaded, and Sydney was wondering how hard it would be to injure him without scuffing the patent leather of her heels when Nadia cooed an acquiescence.
“It’s just business,” Nadia said to her as they put their heads together to smile. “Better to have him as a friend than an enemy.”
It could be that her sister was right.
Reply
Leave a comment