Colette was introduced all around, and she couldn’t help but scrutinize every inch of Astrid. So this was the couture-wearing cousin that Rachel had told her about. Astrid’s sexy gold sandals she recognized as being handmade in Capri by Da Costanzo. Her white patent-leather clutch was vintage Courrèges. Her gold Etruscan-style cuff bracelet with the facing lion heads were Lalaounis. But that little white pleated dress she just couldn’t place. My God, it was perfection, the way the linen skimmed her body, just tight enough to drive all the men wild but not so tight it looked vulgar. And those sundial pleats at the neckline to accentuate the sensuality of the collarbone—pure genius. She just HAD to know who designed it.

“I am a fashion blogger—would you mind if I took a picture of you?” she asked.

“Colette’s being modest. She is THE most popular fashion blogger in China,” Nick bragged.

“Um, of course,” Astrid replied in surprise.

“Roxanne!” Colette yelled. Her trusty assistant came running over and snapped a few pictures of Colette and Astrid posing together. Then Roxanne began to take notes as Colette quizzed Astrid on everything she was wearing.

“Now, I just need some caption info. I recognize your shoes and your handbag, of course, and the bracelets are Lalaounis—”

“Actually, they’re not,” Astrid interrupted.

“Oh. Who did them?”

“They’re Etruscan.”

“I know, but who designed them?”

“I have no idea. They were made in 650 BC.”

Colette stared in wonder at the museum artifacts dangling so casually on Astrid’s wrists. Now she wanted some herself. “Okay then, most important, tell me which genius designed your fabulous dress. It’s Josep Font, isn’t it?”

“Oh, this? I bought it today at Zara.”

For the rest of her life, Roxanne would never forget the look on Colette’s face.

• • •

A few hours later, Rachel and Nick found themselves having a late supper with Astrid and Mehmet at Monsieur Bleu, the brasserie tucked away at the back of the Palais de Tokyo. As Rachel took the first bite of her sole meunière, she looked around the room, taking in the intriguing light fixtures, the marble-backed banquettes, and the shimmering bronze bas-reliefs. “Astrid, we’ve been eating at super-fancy places all week, but this is by far my favorite meal. Thanks for bringing us here.”

Mehmet chimed in. “I quite agree! There’s something about this place that manages to be simple and yet envelopingly luxurious at the same time. It doesn’t compete with the food, but one does feel more special just being here.”

Astrid smiled. “I’m so happy you all like it. I wanted to come here because I’m thinking of commissioning the architect of this space—Joseph Dirand—to build our next house. It’s actually why I came to Paris.”

“I can’t wait to see what he does for you,” Mehmet said.

“Didn’t you just move into a new house last year?” Nick asked.

“We did, but we’re quickly outgrowing it. We almost bought a historic Frank Brewer house on Cluny Park Road, but it fell through at the last minute. So we’ve decided to build on a piece of land I have in Bukit Timah.”