Zee plonked her champagne on the table, flashing the group a dazzling smile. The model grinned, throwing her hands in the air and trilling in a French accent, “Zee! I’m so glad you’re here. You look amazing, as usual.” She wore a tiny, beaded white dress, so delicate that it reminded Ursula of dew drops on a spider web. The woman draped a thin, tan arm over Hugo’s shoulders.

She knows Zee. Zee didn’t mention that.

The bodyguard turned his head. “Good to see you again, Zee. I was hoping we’d see you tonight.”

And the bodyguard, too? Ursula frowned, staring at her companion. If Zee was a regular here, maybe she’d know the doorman, the coat man, and the bartender. But what were the chances she would happen to be close friends with a French lingerie model and Hugo Mode’s bouncer?

Is this magic, too?

Chapter 15

Only Hugo seemed immune to Zee’s spell. Over a pale green cocktail, he narrowed his eyes. Up close, his features were less plastic than they appeared in the music videos, and his dark blue irises glittered in the dim club’s lights.

The model twirled the stem of her Manhattan glass. “Please. Join us, Zemfira.”

Zee scooted in next to the model, while Ursula took a spot next to Hugo. Yanking a thin straw from his drink, he flicked tiny droplets over the table. “I was in the middle of a story.”

Zee took a sip of her cocktail. “Don’t let us stop you, Hugo.”

Hugo shifted in his seat, looking around the table. “I was explaining why I had to dump Madison. I’m sure you saw it in the papers.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “So my PR guy sent me Virginie here. We’re supposed to go to the opera tomorrow. Like, to be seen together.”

Virginie smiled.

“Oh?” Zee cocked her head, feigning sympathy. “What happened with Madison?”

Hugo frowned. “She bought a one-piece for our vacation in Saint Kitts. And there were going to be paparazzi there, obviously.” His clipped accent and soft Rs suggested he had some history in a British boarding school, but also that he’d lived in the US long enough to give his voice a nasal quality. He sounded a bit like a 1920s radio announcer. Hugo turned to Ursula, dark eyebrows raised. “Do I look like the kind of guy who would date a girl with a one-piece?”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“A one-piece bathing suit. A swimming costume.” He spoke slowly, like she might have a head injury. “Like, not a bikini.”

“Yeah, I get the bathing suit concept. I just didn’t know there was a recognizable type of man whose girlfriend—”

Zee kicked her hard under the table and Hugo glared at her. Shit. I’m supposed to be charming.