French Coast (28 page)

“Nick probably needs some time,” Zoe replied. “Men are like puppies, they need to crawl into a corner and lick their wounds. He'll appear at the Carlton-InterContinental tomorrow with two dozen pink roses.”

“We said some terrible things.” Serena bit her lip. “And I never told him I loved him.”

“You need some distraction,” Zoe insisted. “Let's get out of these swimsuits and go buy our bridesmaids dresses.”

“Your mother said we could wear whatever we like,” Serena said, shrugging. “I thought I'd wear my Givenchy lace dress.”

“There will be photographers from every major newspaper,” Zoe said as she jumped up. “My father wants everyone in the fashion world to know he's not still slinking around with twentysomething models. You have to wear something fabulous, you're representing
Vogue
.”

Serena imagined Chelsea's expression when she heard that Serena was a bridesmaid at Malcolm and Laura Gladding's wedding. She pictured wearing a gorgeous silk Armani gown or an elegant Jacqueline Kennedy dress.

She slipped on her sunglasses and smiled. “All right, but I'm not wearing purple, it makes my skin look washed-out.”

*   *   *

Serena stepped into the Dior boutique and gazed at the mannequins wearing kelly-green slacks and cream-colored cashmere sweaters. The store was full of fall fashions: floor-length skirts in orange and magenta, close-toed shoes with jeweled heels and brightly colored pashminas. There were racks of long wool coats and cropped jackets and knit dresses.

“I love autumn fashions.” Zoe sighed, fingering a purple jersey dress. “You don't have to suck in your stomach all the time.”

Serena gazed at a pair of suede ankle boots and flashed on the
Vogue
offices in September. Everyone wore knee-length skirts and wool sweaters and the latest shoes and boots. There was a ripple of excitement, like the start of a new school year, and endless discussions about the new black and the perfect handbag and this year's fall coat.

“Fall is my favorite season in San Francisco.” Serena admired a burgundy dress with a wide black belt. “The fog disappears and the view is spectacular. You can see from Berkeley to the Farallon Islands.”

“I've always wanted to visit,” Zoe said, slipping her foot into a leather loafer. “San Francisco has the best sourdough bread and world-famous chocolate. You can teach me how to eat Chinese food and ride a cable car.”

Serena pictured the crowded streets of Chinatown and the stalls selling sticky noodles and wonton soup. She saw the tall buildings in the Financial District and men and women carrying Starbucks Frappuccinos and warm danishes. She pictured the lobby at
Vogue
full of women wearing sheer stockings and four-inch stilettos.

She saw her office with its narrow view of the bay and a shiver of excitement ran down her spine. She imagined being sent to New York for Fashion Week or to the runway shows in Milan. She pictured interviewing Anne Hathaway and Michelle Williams and Blake Lively. She saw herself going to gallery openings and industry galas and introducing herself as senior editor at
Vogue
.

Serena fingered a coral-pink cashmere sweater and recalled Yvette saying the best thing about being editor in chief was never having time to think about Bertrand. She remembered always seeing Chelsea's light on in her office when she went home at the end of the day.

She would throw herself into her work and not think about Nick. She would stay busy with production meetings and photo shoots and copy deadlines. She would pretend it was a holiday romance and let it fade like a summer tan.

“When I arrive in Sydney it will be spring,” Zoe said glumly. “I'll have to worry about tan lines and flabby arms all over again.”

“You look beautiful.” Serena gazed at Zoe's smooth brown hair and large hazel eyes. Zoe wore a white lace dress with a pleated skirt. She wore Prada sandals on her feet and small ruby earrings in her ears.

“At least I'm not wearing polka dots anymore.” Zoe grinned. “You've taught me some fashion sense.”

“I haven't done anything.” Serena shook her head. “You have an innate sense of style, you just had to stop listening to the wrong people.”

They entered Dior's bridal salon and gazed at the rows of ivory satin dresses and silk sheaths. The walls were covered in pale blue silk and the carpet was a thick white wool. Glass display cases held velvet slippers and diamond tiaras and long lace veils.

“Can I help you?” A tall saleswoman approached Zoe. She wore a navy dress and her blond hair was pulled into a tight bun. “You're going to be the most beautiful bride. You have the perfect figure for our new line of dresses and your hair would look fabulous with a princess tiara.”

“I'm not the bride,” Zoe replied, a blush spreading across her cheeks. “I was looking for bridesmaids dresses.”

“Your friend is lucky to have such a gorgeous bridesmaid.” The salesgirl nodded at Serena. “You'll both look stunning in the wedding photos.”

*   *   *

“The saleswoman said I was beautiful,” Zoe said as they left the boutique. She clutched a bag that held a teal-blue satin dress with spaghetti straps. She had selected silver sandals and a diamond choker. “That's the first time a salesgirl hasn't looked at me as if I'm chewing gum and don't belong in her store.”

“You're going to make your parents very proud,” Serena said, and nodded. She had sifted through racks of chiffon dresses but nothing excited her. Finally she settled on a pale pink dress with a satin bodice. She bought beige slingback sandals and an ivory satin clutch.

“I could have tried on dresses all day,” Zoe continued. “Did you sample the mini-éclairs and the puff pastries? And the champagne was heavenly; I felt like Victoria Beckham.”

Serena saw a man walking down the street and froze. He had Nick's wavy brown hair and wide shoulders. He turned around and Serena saw he had brown eyes and stubble on his chin. She dropped her bag and her purchases scattered on the sidewalk.

She didn't want to go back to nights alone with tear sheets and photo proofs. She wanted to drink white wine and eat mussels with Nick. She wanted to hold hands on the beach and smell his musk shampoo. She wanted to lie on his narrow mattress and taste the salty sweetness of his lips.

“Are you okay?” Zoe asked. “You look like a wax figure at Madame Tussauds.”

Serena crouched down and picked up her bag. She smoothed her hair and tried to smile. “I'm fine; I drank too much champagne.”

 

chapter twenty-nine

“I feel as nervous as I did when I was twenty-two,” Laura said, sitting on a stool in the small room at the back of the church. “We got married at Saint James Church in Sydney. Malcolm wore a gray morning coat and a yellow-and-white striped tie. I thought he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen.”

Serena gazed at Laura's smooth brown hair and immaculate makeup and smiled. It had been an intoxicating day and Serena felt caught up in the excitement of the wedding.

A white Bentley had picked Serena and Zoe up at the Carlton-InterContinental and delivered them to the Hôtel du Cap-Eden-Roc. Serena glanced around the lobby with its Louis XVI chairs and delicate tapestries and remembered Yvette's descriptions of the hotel. Every surface was filled with crystal vases, and tall French doors opened onto lush gardens. Serena smelled the scent of roses and bougainvillea and polished wood.

A uniformed valet escorted them to the Presidential Suite and drew back brocade curtains. The view stretched down the whole coastline and Serena could see Nice and Cannes and Monaco. She stood outside and heard birds chirping and watched fishing boats glide out to sea.

They spent the morning getting their makeup done and eating a brunch of fluffy egg-white omelets, buttered scones, and strawberries and mangoes and pomegranates. Laura kept flying to the door and exclaiming over the array of cards and blue Tiffany boxes.

“You look beautiful,” Serena said as she admired Laura's gray Oscar de la Renta dress with its small waist and flared skirt. She had paired it with jeweled Stuart Weitzman pumps and a satin Chanel evening bag. She wore an amethyst around her neck and diamond solitaires in her ears.

“I had forgotten weddings are so much fun,” Laura said as she sipped a crystal flute of champagne. “Zoe is taking things so seriously. She went to talk to the priest about his reading; I think he's actually afraid of her.”

Serena smiled. “Zoe is very excited.”

“She's becoming more like her father every day,” Laura replied, picking a piece of lint from her skirt. “She's turning into a wonderful young woman, I couldn't be more proud of her.”

“She's very happy the way things turned out,” Serena said slowly.

“You'd think at our age we'd get over the emotional drama and leave it to your generation.” Laura sighed, fluffing her hair. “Zoe told me about your parents, and I read it in
Paris Match;
I admire your mother.”

“You admire her?” Serena raised her eyebrow.

“It's wonderful to love someone so much you'd stand by them through anything.” Laura applied coral-pink lipstick. She glanced in the oval mirror and blotted her lips.

“I hadn't thought about it that way,” Serena said, frowning.

“Love is messy and painful, but once you find it you have to hang on to it.” Laura turned to Serena and smiled. “Because really, what else is there?”

*   *   *

Serena stood in the front of the church, gazing at the pews filled with men in linen suits and women wearing silk cocktail dresses. She felt Zoe poke her rib and suppressed a giggle.

The church was one tiny room with stained-glass windows and stone floors. The aisle was covered with a red carpet and strewn with yellow and white roses. Roses were everywhere: filling the entry in great tubs, packed in tight bunches on the altar. Zoe kept whispering there were so many flowers she felt like she was suffocating.

Serena glanced at Zoe and felt a warmth spread through her chest. She had never seen her friend look so radiant. The teal dress fit her perfectly and she wore a pink Cartier Panthère watch. Her cheeks were dusted with gold powder and she wore teal eye shadow and thick mascara.

“I saw Russell Crowe and Nicole Kidman,” Zoe whispered. “I'm going to faint.”

“You can't faint,” Serena hissed. “They're about to start the ceremony.”

Serena watched the priest appear from the vestry. Malcolm wore a gray morning coat with tails and a yellow tie. His salt-and-pepper hair was freshly cut and his gray eyes sparkled. Laura stood beside him clutching a bunch of yellow daisies. She wore white silk gloves and a small white hat.

Serena heard the church door open and saw a tall figure standing in the back. He wore a navy sports jacket and a white shirt and tan slacks. She looked more closely and recognized Nick's wavy dark hair. She put her hand to her mouth and gasped. Nick caught her eye and held it. Then he smiled and slid into a pew.

*   *   *

Serena walked outside and stood in the church garden. Guests milled around the steps, congratulating the bride and groom. Malcolm and Laura and Zoe posed for photographers and a flower girl littered the lawn with rose petals.

She leaned against the stone wall, gazing at the view. The church was high above Antibes and all Serena could see was blue. She glanced around, hoping to find Nick. He had left before the ceremony ended and she wondered if she had been hallucinating.

“I had to get out of there quickly,” a male voice said behind her. “I was about to be trampled by paparazzi trying to get a shot of Miranda Kerr.”

Serena turned and saw Nick walking toward her. His cheeks were smooth and his blue eyes sparkled.

“The Gladdings are well known in Australia,” Serena replied. “They have a lot of prominent friends.”

“It was a beautiful ceremony,” Nick said as he stood beside her. His hair was freshly washed and he smelled of musk shampoo. “I almost cried at the reading.”

“Why are you here?” Serena asked in shock.

“Zoe invited me.”

“Zoe invited you to her parents' wedding?” Serena raised her eyebrow.

“I was on the America's Cup team, I'm sort of a celebrity.” He slipped his hands in his pockets and his eyes flickered. “That's not why she invited me; she thought I'd want to see you.”

Serena's heart skipped a beat. Her stomach did little flips and her throat was dry. “Do you?”

Nick touched her chin. “More than anything.”

Serena felt his mouth on hers. He pressed against her, running his hands through her hair. He pulled her close and circled her waist with his hands.

“We have a lot to talk about.” Nick pulled away. “But my invitation said the ceremony is followed by a reception with a five-course dinner and the finest French wines. Why don't we celebrate the bride and groom and talk later. I've never been to a wedding that didn't serve dry chicken and warm beer.”

Serena saw Zoe motioning her to join her in the white Bentley. She grabbed Nick's hand and ran to the car. She leaned against him, listening to Zoe chatter about hymns, and felt Nick's hand curl around her palm. She wanted to say something but she sat perfectly still, afraid to break the spell.

*   *   *

Serena entered the Salon des Lérins and gasped. The ballroom had been transformed into a scene from
A Midsummer Night's Dream
. The walls were covered with pale green silk and the room was scattered with trees. Tables were covered with gold tablecloths and filled with ceramic bowls of peaches and grapes and berries. Ballet dancers dressed like fairies posed on marble pedestals and there was an ice sculpture of a fawn.

“How did they do this in three days?” Serena gazed at the green and blue pinpoint lighting, the tall urns of red and white and pink roses, the gold filigree chairs.