Page 13 of The Next Mrs. Parrish

“What good is that going to do? No one can figure out why the Wi-Fi is down. This is a disaster.”

Amber calmly explained. “I can stream the race on my phone using data and connect my phone to the television, which is already connected to the large screen.”

“You know how to do that?”

Amber smiled at her. “Yes, I’ve run a few events myself.” She couldn’t help adding, “One must always be prepared for every contingency.” After that Helene magically remembered her name andceased publicly snubbing her. Of course, the friendship was superficial at best, but having Helene as a bosom buddy was of no interest to Amber. She was interested only in being seen with her. And the thorn in Meredith’s side was an added bonus.

Amber strolled through the crowd greeting guests and stopping briefly to speak with the caterer when she spotted Remi Whitlock talking with a group of people. Remi’s husband, Norris, was in Paris on business tonight. Amber picked up her pace and walked over to her.

“Remi, I’m so glad to see you. I thought you would be in Paris with Norris,” Amber said, giving her a quick hug.

“I’m leaving next week.”

“You changed your plans to be here tonight?”

“But of course. Norris could not change his plans, unfortunately, but I wouldn’t have missed Jackson’s homecoming,” Remi said.

“He’s happy to be home.”

“And you,mon petit oiseau,look quitemagnifique.You are happy too, I see.” Remi’s eyes twinkled with merriment.

“Mais naturellement.” Amber smiled.

Remi Whitlock, the woman who’d referred Amber to her lawyer, was the epitome of unstudied elegance and chic. From the moment Amber met her, she’d been a bit in awe of Remi’s relaxed self-assurance and her captivating charm. It wasn’t even that she was beautiful, because she wasn’t, but she had a certain allure that was intriguing, and her French accent only added to it. Remi was enormously wealthy with dwellings in Paris, New York, London, and Saint Bart’s, in addition to her Bishops Harbor home. The woman was self-made, although the details of how she’d amassed such a fortune were hazy. There was talk of art deals and a goods broker in Belgium, but Amber never probed too closely. She sensed an element of danger, and her instincts told her she’d be better off not knowing too much about Remi’s past.

She was the closest thing Amber had to a friend, but Amber didn’t really need friends and never had. She’d never understoodhow her sisters could spend hours on the phone with their besties, spilling all their secrets.

Amber had never felt judged by the Frenchwoman, unlike the vibe she got from most other women in Bishops Harbor. A painter of fine arts, Remi appreciated Amber’s interest in and knowledge of art, and together they made frequent trips to the Met, MoMA, and other New York museums and galleries. Being with Remi had improved Amber’s French to the point where she could now proudly scanLe Mondeand discuss news stories with Remi fluently. The funny thing was that from the beginning Amber recognized a look in Remi’s eyes that said,I see what you are, and I find you interesting.There was something Amber respected in that. And if the relationship between the two women wasn’t exactly what Amber would call a friendship, it filled something inside of Amber that she couldn’t quite name.

Tonight, Remi wore a simple white sheath that looked as if it had been custom made for her, and her chestnut hair, parted in the middle, was pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her graceful neck. But it was the exquisite necklace around that neck that grabbed Amber’s attention. Row after row of delicate gold leaves shimmered against Remi’s skin, like foliage tumbling from an aspen tree. Amber loved the striking originality ofit.

“Remi, your necklace is stunning. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Isn’t it wonderful? A White Orchid design. They have quite marvelous things.”

“White Orchid. Who carries the line?” Amber filed away the name in her head.

“No one. One buys directly.”

“You’re being very mysterious, Remi. Now tell me how I can see their designs.”

“You are in luck, my dear. There is a trunk show in New York on the eleventh. Very exclusive invitation list, but if you’d like, you can come with me.”

“Oh, yes, I would love that. The eleventh. It’s a date.” As they parted, Amber smiled to herself, anticipating the event. She would reward herself with a scrumptious little present. After all, she was a multimillionaire now.

Over the next half hour, the outdoors was buzzing with chatter, loud laughter, the clinking of glasses. After she’d made her rounds, Amber stood back, away from the crowd, and watched. She observed these people who would never be real friends to her, the women comparing and appraising one another, their bodies put through rigorous workouts, polished and buffed, never an ounce of fat. It was hard work to stay ahead of the game, but it was worth every hour of sweat at the gym, every skipped meal. Amber, however, would always be more than a pretty, but vacuous, face. An unfortunate incident in Texas had taught her that good looks and cunning were not enough. The key to this world was knowledge, the more the better. Amber never stopped studying, from fine literature and history to financial markets and investing. The subjects were diverse, often difficult, and she dug into each one with purpose and commitment. She would never let herself be taken off guard again.

She took a sip of her sparkling water, her eyes following Jackson who moved from group to group. She had to admit that he looked great, and judging by the looks he was getting, most of the women here agreed with her. If they only knew what a shit he was. Not that it was a problem for her any longer. She smiled, picturing all those lovely little gems that had magically filled her bank account with millions. Except, of course, for the three she’d kept for emergencies.

“Amber!” Bunny’s loud voice made Amber turn. She came rushing over, her husband trailing behind her. “You look amazing,” Bunny said.

“Thanks. Good to see you both,” Amber said.

“That dress. Fabulous,” Bunny went on. “Doesn’t she look fabulous, March?” Her collagen-infused lips, a bright velvet red, parted in a wide grin.

“Yes indeed. Nice party, Amber,” March said.

March was aging, Amber thought, and standing next to his much younger wife made it that much more apparent, the hot pink dress hugging her sculpted body making him look old and frail next to her. She supposed there was something to be said for men who stuck with their original spouses and aged together with them. Poor March looked like his succession of young wives had taken its toll.

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