One Summer in Paris

“Not yet. Where’s your makeup case?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Don’t move.” Audrey was back in a flash, makeup case in her hand. “You have expensive makeup.”

“David gives it to me for Christmas and birthdays.”

“He buys your makeup?”

“No. I buy it.”

“Oh, right. I get it. You buy it, and he wraps it.”

“I usually wrap it, too.”

“Shit, Grace—I mean double darn—” Audrey selected a tinted moisturizer. “Do you hand it to yourself and wish yourself happy birthday, too? How about sex? Do you do that yourself or does he help out?”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

“Is he the only guy you’ve ever slept with?”

“You can’t ask me questions like that.”

“I just did. So was David the only one?”

Grace hesitated. “No.”

Audrey grinned and nudged her. “You minx, you. Who else? No, don’t tell me. It’s Philippe, isn’t it? That’s why you’re nervous about seeing him. You cared about him. So who else?”

“No one else.”

“That’s it? Two men? Crap, Grace, you’re practically a virgin.” Audrey swept a tiny sponge across Grace’s cheeks. “Why do you buy your own gifts?”

“Birthdays and Christmases were unpredictable when I was growing up. It’s important to me to know I’m going to like what I open so I generally choose it myself.”

So she wasn’t the only one whose childhood had been unpredictable.

What exactly had happened to Grace?

She kept her response neutral. If Grace wanted to talk about it, she’d talk about it. “That sucks, Grace.”

“I know it sucks. A lot of things in life suck.”

“Tell me about it.” She deftly applied highlighter and blusher. “You have good bones.”

“Did your mother teach you to apply makeup?”

“Kind of.” Did learning to cover the outward signs of a night of drinking count? “Your lipsticks are all too dark.” Audrey removed them one by one, twisted them up, checked the color and rejected them. “You need something paler. Nude, with maybe a hint of pink. And gloss. It’s summer. But don’t worry. We can fix that later.” She stood back. “Go and look in the mirror.”

Grace stood up and walked to the bedroom.

Audrey heard her gasp.

Good gasp? Horrified gasp? What-have-you-done gasp?

“Oh, Audrey—” Grace appeared in the doorway, her eyes shining. “I love it. You are so clever.”

No one had ever told her she was clever before. Audrey felt a couple of inches taller. “I’m glad you like it.”