“I’d like you to consider offering Gemma a job at Pavlin & Co. Designing.”

Elodie felt like she’d swallowed a mouthful of dust and coughed loudly before managing a brisk, “Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“What makes you think she’s even interested?”

“Well, it’s arguably the most prestigious design job in the industry. Who wouldn’t want to be a part of it? And I have a feeling that this whole issue of the diamond ring isn’t so much about the ring as it is about her own legitimacy as a Pavlin. There are other pieces of jewelry she could ask for, pieces Paulina wore. She’s just fixated on that diamond because it represents so much.”

“Well, I can’t hire her just to appease her over a lost ring,” Elodie said.

“She’s talented, you know.”

Even Elodie couldn’t argue with that. There hadn’t been a designer in the family since Isaac Pavlin, the founder, back in 1919. After his death, the company had always hired outside talent and prided itself on finding the Next Big Thing.

But what if the Next Big Thing happened to be part of the family?

Elodie thought about the mob scene outside of Queen Anne’s Revenge the other day, tourists and locals alike lined up for Gemma’s chunky necklace chains and one-of-a-kind charms. There certainly hadn’t been organic, grassroots excitement like that for Pavlin & Co in a very long time.

“Her work appeals to the new generation,” Celeste said. “Think about it—for me?”

With a start, Elodie realized she had thought about it. She’d thought about it deep down in places she wasn’t brave enough to fully visit. She’d thought about it when she read the New York Times feature, and she thought about it when she saw the half-empty display at Celeste’s store. She thought about it when she saw the necklace around Gemma’s neck, and when she looked at the continuing decline in numbers on the weekly sales spreadsheets.

“Oh my goodness!” Celeste said. “A Bellville Sassoon!”

She pulled out an ivory-colored gown with long billowing sleeves and an overskirt. The neckline was quilted and the gathered bodice gave way to an ankle-length, waterfall skirt.

“That’s . . . interesting.”

Celeste, clearly reading her lack of enthusiasm, said, “Bellville Sassoon is a great British fashion house. It was founded in the 1950s by a woman named Belinda Bellville. She became one of Princess Diana’s earliest dress designers. They dressed absolutely everyone, from Jackie Kennedy to Madonna.”

Maybe so. She still thought her sister would look best in a custom Vera Wang or Monique Lhuillier gown, but if she insisted on looking like a medieval flower-child bride, who was she to argue?

“Let me buy it for you. As an engagement gift,” Elodie said.

“What? Oh, no. Thanks but that’s completely unnecessary . . .”