Dating isn't easy. Finding love is harder. But being a Delaney makes it all a thousand times worse because let's face it, with parents like theirs, the NextGen never stood a chance.
11 short stories following the disastrous love lives of:
Seraphina...
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As far as makeovers go, Madeline did a decent job turning Maely into someone who could plausibly pass as my girlfriend. Her mousy blonde hair is long gone, replaced by a chocolate shade and blunt fringe (bangs?) that is now styled in a messy wave style that added some much-needed volume and texture. Her eyes are still green but the makeup choice to frame them with thick eyebrows, dark lashes and ample dark shadows at the outer edge make them pop more than ever.
And her wardrobe, thanks to Doré and a shopping spree at Galleries Lafayette, is now crammed full of designer labels that Maely had never heard of before. At first, she baulked at the total price of her new wardrobe but my sister was adamant that all the Doré items (which made up 80% of the total) were a gift, and I quote, "If you're mad enough to do this and drag my brother into it all, then you're damned well going to look the part." I met the remaining cost of the wardrobe, which didn't come cheap when Madeline insisted that we needed some Italian labels to go with the French. According to her, if there was ever a country that could come second to France in the sartorial stakes, it was Italy, and never Britain or America.
Once the shopping trip was over, Maely insisted on coming back to my appartement so we could flesh out the plan again and coordinate our diaries. It's amusing that she thinks I have a social diary but her need to micromanage all this makes me curious enough that I agree she can not only come back up to my home but that she can keep some of her new wardrobe here, too.
"It is all part of the plan," she insists as I place my key in the front gate. I step aside and allow her to walk ahead, taking the first door on the left of the courtyard, and then climbing the stairs until she reaches my level. "If I take all this home with me, my father will know all about it and I cannot have that happen. I need our arrangement to be a surprise to him. I will keep some clothes here for a few days and then slowly start to move them back to the l'Élysée over the next week or so."
Entering the appartement I lead Maely into the bedroom, opening one of the wardrobes. It's been standing empty for a few months but it has enough space for Maely to store her clothes in the short term. She eyes me curiously but I shrug off the silent question she volleys at me and leave, going to the kitchen. Settling my phone and wallet on the counter, I hear a ping of a notification coming up on my screen.
Tu fais quoi ce soir ? Il y a une grosse teuf chez Alizée... T'es partant? Ou pas? (What are you doing tonight? There's a big party at Alizée's house. Are you in? Or not?)
Despite what others may think of me, I'm not a party animal and I don't live for the next debauched night out on the town but an invitation to a party at Alizée Fontaine's house isn't one I can turn down. Reading Laurant's text once again, I hesitate before responding.
"Maely, fancy a party at Alizée's place tonight?" I shout into the bedroom. Seconds later, Maely joins me in the cramped kitchen, reading the text message over my shoulder. I feel the sigh leaving her lips as her breath skims the skin of my bicep, sending a shiver down my spine. I shrug it off, narrowly missing hitting Maely's cheek with my arm as I do so. Hurriedly going to the kettle, I press the green button and wait for it to boil. "Well? It might be a good starting point for your master plan."
