Page 12 of The Muse (Beautiful Magic 1)
“Happy birthday,” Lucy says to Remy after I make the introductions, and then to Sophie, “I’m loving the shirt.”
“Merci.” They exchange grins. “Your skirt is magnificent.”
Remy guides us through the courtyard, and Simon comes right out and asks, “What’s the story with the goat and sheep?”
“They ward away bad spirits,” Remy answers, entirely serious.
Lucy asks with an intrigued hum, “What sort of bad spirits?”
Remy throws open the door from the courtyard to the house, and I’m glad to be heading closer to my goals for the party. “Anything that threatens to ruin a good party,” he says.
Sophie slips inside first, walking backward toward the stairs leading to the balcony. “In fact, it’s my job to tend to the flock,” she says as she excuses herself. “But I wanted to meet you first. I didn’t believe Remy when he said there would be guests younger than middle-aged.”
He moves like he was going to poke her in the ribs if she didn’t dodge. “I will make you eat those words when you turn twenty-nine.”
She dances away with a laugh. “I’m not worried. You’ll be nearly forty then and too old and decrepit to catch me.”
Remy shakes his head as she disappears. “I don’t know where she gets such cheek.”
I turn a laugh into a cough.
He grins then waves the whole matter away as he closes the door. “Enough of that. Come and enjoy the party.”
He escorts us farther in, and Simon and Lucy marvel at the decor. I find my gaze drawn to the end of the hallway and force my focus onto the living room, a vivid swirl of party guests honoring Remy’s dress code of bright colors, save himself. His friends are decked out in swirling pinks and deep scarlets and swaths of blues and greens that mirror the sea. There’s no phonograph playing carnival music tonight; instead, a high-tech sound system plays upbeat songs from pop superstars in America and England.
As Simon goes to grab drinks for us, Lucy takes the chance to pull me aside and ask, “What happened with Emilie? Did you not like her?”
Talk about straightforward. My eyebrows climb. For as long as I’ve lived in Paris, I’m still rather English sometimes. “She’s lovely. I liked her just fine.”
Lucy narrows her eyes, obviously unsatisfied with my answer. “From Simon’s description of you, I thought you and she would be perfect for each other. You’re very cultured, he said. You know—ballet, art, and such.”
“Right.” I draw out the word as I imagine how Simon might have said that.
“So maybe we can all go out again?”
“Of course. But you know, Emilie’s pretty focused on that whole ballet thing.” I’d like to go out again as a group—a friend group—but I don’t want to lead anyone on. I lighten it up with a teasing. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”
Lucy rolls her eyes, but with affection. “That’s where you come in. I want her to have a life too. Get out of the studio sometimes. Have fun!”
“Sure. But maybe dancing is her life.” Immediately, I want to take that back or amend it to something less cliched and . . . cheesy. But it’s the truth—and I can understand it. Art requires sacrifice, whether it’s comfort or riches or a social life.
Simon rejoins us at the same time as a woman in dark eyeliner and slinky jeans brings around a tray of what look like pillowy pastel shish kebabs. I look from the candy to the woman and raise a brow. “Rafe has been busy in the kitchen, I take it?”
“Who else would he allow in there?” she asks with a smile.
I take a soft raspberry-colored cube and pop it into my mouth, and as it melts, each individual sugar crystal seems to sparkle on my tongue.
Rafe appears from the kitchen and greets me warmly, as he and Remy make the rounds, pointing out the spread of confections laid out on the table. I spot Sophie by the beverages, making sure everyone has a drink. The hosts are busy, the party is getting lively, and I may not get a better chance to satisfy my twin curiosities.
I tug Simon and Lucy around the corner into the hallway. “I need your help,” I whisper as I make my way to the room with the painting, but as I suspected the door doesn’t budge when I turn the handle.
“Breaking and entering? You are an excellent social coordinator,” Simon says approvingly.
“Indeed. And now can you two coordinate lookout for me?”
Lucy’s smile takes on epic proportions. “Yes. What do you need?”
Quietly I pad back to the door to the media room. I turn that handle, and breathe a sigh of relief when it gives.
“I have some recon to do. Keep watch, OK?”
Simon shrugs a yes. “Should we have a secret knock in case someone comes this way?”
