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Gilt

Jamie Brenner
Chapters (82)
  1. Cover
  2. ALSO BY JAMIE BRENNER
  3. PART ONE
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. PART TWO
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. PART THREE
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. 63
  69. 64
  70. 65
  71. 66
  72. 67
  73. 68
  74. 69
  75. 70
  76. 71
  77. 72
  78. 73
  79. 74
  80. Acknowledgments
  81. About the Author
  82. What’s next onyour reading list?

Cover

Cover for Gilt, Author, Jamie Brenner

ALSO BY JAMIE BRENNER

Blush

Summer Longing

Drawing Home

The Husband Hour

The Forever Summer

The Wedding Sisters

PART ONE

diamond ornament

One empire falls, another empire rises, all because of the inherent human weakness for pretty things.

—AJA RADEN,
STONED: JEWELRY, OBSESSION, AND HOW DESIRE SHAPES THE WORLD

1

New York City, 2004

She reached for her mother’s hand, excited and just a little bit afraid. The sun was beginning to set on Fifth Avenue, and cars were at a standstill. Reporters crowded the sidewalk and onlookers pressed against metal security barriers.

“Over here, over here,” photographers called out, and her parents stopped for a moment, her mother leaning down to whisper to her, Smile for the camera.

“Paulina, show us the ring,” someone called, and her mother flashed her left hand. A woman stepped forward holding a copy of a magazine and asked for an autograph.

It seemed to take forever to reach the jewelry store on the corner of Fifty-Third Street, a seven-story limestone and granite building her grandfather called a “monument to love.” The entranceway was engraved with her family name. Tonight, display windows were filled with black-and-white photographs of legendary couples: Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, Marilyn Monroe and Joe DiMaggio, Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier. And in front of each photo, a Pavlin & Co diamond engagement ring, just waiting to be bought by a customer with a love story of their own.

It was the tenth anniversary of Pavlin & Co’s most famous diamond of all, a thirty-carat pink stone called the Electric Rose. Her grandfather Alan gifted the treasure to the first of his three daughters to get engaged: her mother.

That afternoon, her mother had let her try it on. It was so beautiful she couldn’t take her eyes off it, the color of a pale rose petal but also clear like a drop of water. Gemma had to clamp her small fingers tightly together to keep the ring from tilting over.

“One day it will be yours,” her mother said.

The thing was, while everyone in the family loved talking about the ring, no one seemed to ever want to talk about her parents’ actual engagement. Or wedding. Or anything about her parents at all. Gemma was too afraid to press with questions. Sometimes she worried things were too perfect. That it could somehow all disappear.

Gemma and her mother spent all day getting ready for the party. A stylist visited their apartment, piling her mother’s blond hair into an updo and blow-drying Gemma’s until it hung down her back like a golden sheet. Both of their gowns were white and embroidered with butterflies, each delicate wing hand-sewn by another visitor to the apartment earlier that week, a man with a white ponytail and dark glasses and an accent, who her mother called “Mr. Lagerfeld.”

“We’re twins tonight,” her mother said with a wink. “No one will be able to tell us apart.”