Almost three hours later I'm standing before a full-length mirror in Kitty's magnificent walk-in wardrobe, admiring the stunning forest green dress she convinced me to try on. It's the fifth dress I've tried on so far, and the first one that actually fits properly - Kitty's almost half a foot taller and has a bigger cup size than me, so most of her dresses are too loose or too long on my slightly smaller frame.
This dress however fits me like a glove. The bodycon mini hugs me in all the right places, and the flattering ruched sweetheart neckline miraculously gives me cleavage and makes it look like I have a C cup, instead of my paltry B. Best of all, the soft velvety fabric is the colour of pine needles or dark dew-drenched moss. It brings back happy memories of days spent deep in the heart of Forest Park with Kitty and the boys.
"You like it?" Kitty asks, casting her eyes over me in admiration as I nod my approval. "It's Chanel. Let me get you some Jimmy Choos to go with that. Oooh, and the Kelly green Birkin, I'm thinking crocodile..."
She gets to rummaging around in her massive collection. Unsurprisingly, there is a lot of Chanel, Bulgari and Hermès inside Kitty's wardrobe, and her accessories closet alone is probably worth more than the annual GDP of a small country. She says it's a work in progress, although there's barely any space left on the impressive display shelves, brightly lit with an impressive array of rare shoes and handbags.
"Perfect!" Kitty exclaims, placing a pair of sparkly stiletto high heels in front of me. "I bought these last year at a Sotheby's auction even though they're two sizes too small for me, so they should fit you. They're Christian Dior 1959. I just had to have them, even if I knew I'd never wear the damn things. They'll look amazing with that dress. Try them on."
"Can't I just wear my sneakers?" I ask, warily eyeing the spindly chopstick-thin excuse for a heel on each stiletto.
Kitty's look of absolute horror and dismay is all it takes for me to get the message. Sighing, I slip the sparkly heels on, surprised to find them fairly comfortable and easy to walk in.
Kitty hands me a dark green clutch handbag, and smiles mischievously.
"Just wait until Felix sees you..." she says, grinning from ear-to-ear. "There's nothing I enjoy more than torturing my baby brother. I might touch up your eyeliner before we go upstairs..."
"No more makeup!" I interject before she gets too carried away. We spent over an hour in front of her vanity earlier while she did my hair and makeup with the ease of a seasoned professional.
Overall, I like the look - dark smokey eyes and a dusty rose matte lip, with my long pale blonde hair swept up in an elegant french braid bun. I feel mature and sexy - something I could get used to.
Kitty's look is equally stunning but quite different. Her elegant black bob of hair is adorned with a thin, simple golden headband, and her eyeshadow is a brilliant metallic gold to match the glamorous golden-sequined mini dress she's wearing.
"Ready?" Kitty asks.
"Ready," I answer.
Kitty smiles, clasping her hands together enthusiastically.
"Let's go upstairs."
*****
Alastaire is already waiting for us as we walk through the massive oak-wood front doors of the boys' loft apartment on the top level of Witchwood Manor.
He's dressed casually in a knitted cream mohair sweater, beige slacks (possibly pyjama pants, from the looks of them) and house slippers, his tousled golden-blonde hair swept back from his face.
"About time," he says airily, waving us in through the door with a sigh. "I've been waiting for you girls forever."
Kitty's standing slightly in front of me, and when I step out from behind her, Alastaire's bright blue eyes widen for the briefest of moments. He does a quick double-take, blinking dumbly at me.
"Cupcake..." he murmurs. "You look extra tasty tonight. Did I just say that out loud? Hmmm."
"Keep your dirty paws off her, perv," Kitty says in a too-cheerful voice. "Or I'll knee you in the crown jewels on the dance floor later. Anyway, that's not what you're wearing tonight, right?"
She looks him up and down with disapproval.
"To that silly club?" Alastaire says nonchalantly. "It's probably not worth getting dressed up for, Kit. Trust me. It's going to be a let down."
"Oh my god," Kitty sighs, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Are you STILL salty about Felix getting a VIP invite? I'm sorry yours got lost in the mail, but tonight's not about you. It's about me and 'Cupcake' having some fun."
"Leave my Cup-Cup alone," Alastaire says playfully, sticking his tongue out at Kitty as he links an arm through mine. "Anyway, come inside, Cups. Welcome to Witchwood Manor, the humble abode of People Magazine's Hottest Man Alive three years running, plus four other idiots not worth mentioning."
We're standing in a large living area, a perfect blend of modern elements with the charm and elegance of classical architecture. The central focal point of the sleek interior design is a glass and steel spiral staircase that connects the main living space and the floor above - the boys' bedrooms, I'm guessing.
There are three dove grey sofas arranged around a wide-screen TV, where Lyall and Ben are sprawled out watching an anime, and a separate dining area, plus an open-plan kitchen.
The colour scheme is entirely shades of whites and greys - creamy vanilla, bone, ivory, and cold hues of steel and charcoal. It's a far cry from the cosy pine wood interior and boho-inspired bright jewel colours of the cabin I shared with the boys - and a hundred times bigger, too.
"It's huge," I murmur, more to myself than anything.
"Huge?" Alastaire asks, aghast. "You must be joking. You could fit the entire square footage of this hovel into the Great Hall at Kensy three times over."
He sighs wearily, worn down by the daily struggle and humiliation of living in this multi million pound luxury penthouse apartment in one of the poshest areas of London.
"What's Kensy?" I ask, wondering if I'm already meant to know.
"Oh, that's my name for Kensington Hall," he explains. "My family seat."
"His ancestral home," Kitty clarifies. "One of England's grandest stately homes, actually. Although, as I recall, it's not the very grandest of them all... remind me Alastaire, was it Kensington Hall or Lockhart Manor which was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site earlier this year?"
"Who cares about UNESCO," Alastaire says with an eye roll. "Besides, I'm far more interested in whatever's going on in that show of Benji and Lyall's. Good lord!"
The three of us traverse the massive living room until we're standing behind one of the grey sofas, just a few feet from the giant TV screen.
"Hey Ash!" Ben and Lyall chime in unison.
"SHHHHH!" Alastaire shushes them impatiently. "I'm trying to listen."
He's staring at the TV screen with a rapt expression, and I understand why the moment I recognise the anime they're watching.
This is an episode from one of my favourite animes ever - Bleach.
Soul Reaper Rangiku Matsumoto is on screen, her long strawberry blonde hair spilling over her insanely ample bosom, where it peeks out from under her black robes and pale pink scarf as she runs on the battlefield. She must be a J cup at least, her impossibly large watermelon rack bouncing with every step.
"Goodness," Alastaire exclaims breathlessly. "Her breasts cannot be real".
"Uh, no shit," Ben says. "It's an anime, Al. She's literally animated."
"You know what I mean, Benji boy," Alastaire says airily, his eyes still glued to the screen.
"Felix up in his room?" Kitty asks the boys, and Lyall nods.
"Takin' a shower, I think," he says.
"K, I'll go and light a fire under his ass," Kitty says. "I wanna get to the club before nine. You two - go get dressed! And where's Elliot?"
"He'll meet us at the club," Ben says. "He's at Sim- uh...someone's house."
"Cool, cool," Kitty says. "Ash, wanna come with? You might get to see Felix half naked as he gets out of the shower."
She wiggles her eyebrow playfully, giggling as my face turns bright red.
"Cupsy's coming with me, actually," Alastaire says, grabbing my hand and practically dragging me towards the glass spiral staircase. "I need help deciding what to wear tonight. And besides, Ms. Cuppington - I want to show you my boudoir."
"Ms. Cuppington?" I giggle, loving the ridiculous new variations on my old 'Cupcake' nickname. He's getting very inventive.
"Yes, just changing it up, keeping things fresh," Alastaire says as he steers me up the stairs.
Honestly, I'm curious to see his bedroom, so I don't mind how pushy he's being.
Up on the second level, the boys' bedrooms are all along a wide corridor. There is another set of stairs at the end of the passageway, which I'm assuming leads up to Felix's loft. Kitty, walking alongside us, carries on that way and shouts "keep your hands to yourself, Casanova!" behind her at Alastaire as she disappears up the stairs.
Alastaire opens the door to his massive bedroom and we step inside, closing the door behind us. His bedroom is exactly as I pictured it - lots of creamy white velvet and silks, and ornate gold detailing everywhere. There's a four poster bed in the centre of the room and a small lounge area, with plush ivory-upholstered armchairs and a chaise longue arranged around a glass coffee table. Next to the four poster bed is another four poster bed, a perfect replica of the first but a fraction of the size - a dog bed, I think.
The only thing that isn't as I pictured is the colour of the walls and the ceiling. They are painted a vivid, intense sky blue - giving the entire room a celestial feel in combination with the cloudy whites and angelic golds.
My eyes are drawn to a giant framed photograph above the Victorian fireplace. I remember seeing this photo online a few years ago - back when Mia was alive, I think.
It's from a photoshoot Alastaire did for the September issue of some big magazine, maybe Vogue or Rolling Stone. He's in a luxurious, airy room bathing in a claw-footed bathtub overflowing with champagne and foamy bubble bath, surrounded by a bevvy of supermodels in tiny gold bikinis, one of whom is pouring the bubbly golden liquid into the tub from a huge champagne bottle. It's impossible to tell if Alastaire's actually wearing anything under the mountain of foam spilling over the edge of the tub, but knowing him, he might not have been.
"Arguably, it's Annie Leibovitz's best work to date," Alastaire says, admiring the photograph.
I laugh at that, and then out of nowhere there's a sudden patch of wetness and warmth pressed hard against my left ankle. I jump into Alastaire's arms in dismay, shrieking as I knock into him. It takes me a moment to realise that Alastaire has scooped me up entirely off the floor, and my arms are around his neck, my body held up against his in bridal style. He blinks at me in a sort of dazed confusion, obviously as taken aback by my sudden outburst as I was.
"Good god woman!" He says breathlessly. "It's only Charlie."
I look down at the floor and take in the ridiculous sight of Charlie - Alastaire's famous cheese-loving pug - sticking out his little pink tongue and wagging his tail enthusiastically, staring up at me with bulging brown eyes.
"Oh..." I say, and start to laugh.
As Alastaire lowers me to the floor, his bedroom door swings open.
And in barges Felix - wearing nothing but a too-small fluffy white bath towel around his waist, his face already twisted in fury as he takes in the sight of me in Alastaire's arms.
Dammit.
*****
Update for readers: I have decided to end this series - I know that the story is not yet finished, but I'm no longer able to do the story justice. Please check out the longer message on my Author's Notes for a full explanation of my decision. I'm sincerely sorry for the disappointment, but want to thank you for reading my work ❤️