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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?

He kissed her, enveloping her in his arms. The rest of the party—the rest of the world—receded. The music changed again, something slow and moody, a song she didn’t recognize but knew would stay with her. In that moment, she felt—for the first time in a very long time—like the pieces of her life had come together. Like it was whole.

74

New York City, Three Years Later

The line of eager customers and press stretched an entire city block. The sun was just beginning to set on the late spring evening, and the barricades on East Fifty-Third Street had been in place since noon. Gemma stepped out of the Lincoln Town Car and was immediately met by a security guard in a dark suit and wearing an earpiece. The entrance to Pavlin & Co was a yard away. With the swarm of photographers it seemed unreachable.

She pulled up the hem of her long white dress, keeping it from sweeping the ground. It was asymmetrical and wrapped over her left shoulder, with an embroidered butterfly above her heart. It had been designed by her intern, a current NYSD student. The dress was her award-winning final project.

“Gemma!” Elodie called, stepping out of her own car, followed by Tito. “What a spectacle,” she said. She looked flustered, a sheen of perspiration on her forehead, her pale blue St. John shift dress rumpled from the short drive from Park Avenue. The sight of Tito in a suit put a smile on her face despite the frenzy around her; he hadn’t even worn a suit at their beach wedding last summer.

“I’m honored you got so dressed up for the occasion,” Gemma said to him.

“It’s your big night,” he said. “Both of yours.”

Elodie gave her a wink. She was one of the few people who knew it was only the second biggest night Gemma was having that week.

Security hustled them to the front of the store, past the windows with the deep green awnings, under the limestone archway engraved with the family name.

Inside, the vast showroom had been arranged with seating for the press, where her NYSD friend Mae Yang, now an editor at New York magazine, sat in the front row. Gemma gave her a wave, thinking about the borrowed press credentials that set everything in motion.

Displays of jewelry open on tables flanked the speaker’s podium. In a break from custom, they weren’t encased in glass. Gemma wanted people to be able to touch and feel and connect with the pieces—her first for Pavlin & Co as the lead designer.