?? Friday, 7 September 1984

  9:00 AM – 12:00 PM — Photo Shoot: Delphine Moreau + Rico Stel

  Location: A converted industrial studio with dramatic natural light

  Publication: L’Uomo Vogue/Vogue Italia

  Theme: “Icons in Silhouette”

  3:00 PM — Runway Show: Versace

  Bold, sensual, full of energy

  Evening — Versace After party

  High-energy, gmorous crowd

  It was an early morning for everyone involved. Fortunately it had been an early evening for Delphine and Aric. A rare evening of peace and quiet. Just the two of them. A romantic rooftop dinner that afforded beautiful views of Min at night. A slow love making afterward. Delphine felt as if every molecule of her body had finally unwound. All the stress she’d been carrying in her back and shoulders, her hips and thighs, had melted away.

  They had finally connected. On that level that very few had shared with Aric. It had overwhelmed her at first. She’d cried like a baby out of pure joy. But after a moment it became something else. Another part of her. A part of them. She luxuriated in it. Basked in it. It wasn’t physical. It was something else, something she didn’t have words to describe.

  She noticed the lines in the morning as she was brushing her teeth.

  She’d seen simir lines on Edith. Hers were faded now, but still noticeable when Edith chose to wear short sleeves. The pain they’d caused Delphine had faded as well—a dull ache where before they had torn her heart.

  Did the two of you exchange vows? she asked after seeing the matching pair of arms, Edith’s and Aric’s. What would Edith say when she saw the lines Delphine bore now?

  God, the photo shoot, she thought suddenly.

  “You’re trying to kill me, right?” Luca said as he pced his hands on his head. Aric thought the man was about to pull his hair out as he looked at the lines on Delphine’s arm. “That’s it, isn’t it? You hate me, you want me dead, and you’re trying to give me a heart attack.”

  “The Oscars aren’t for another six months, Luca” Arianna replied. “Save it for ter.”

  “No one hates you, Luca,” Delphine said in her most pcating voice.

  “This is really intricate,” Arianna said as she looked at the fine pattern of lines. “Is this Henna? It doesn’t look like regur ink.”

  “It’s special,” Delphine answered. “They’ll fade in time.”

  “Not in time for your photo shoot with Vogue,” Gianluca said as he took out a series of color cards and found one that matched her arm. He returned again with a jar of makeup and handed it to his assistant. “Here, you do it. I need to lie down.”

  An hour ter they were ready.

  Friday, 7 September 1984 — Surrey, Engnd

  Edith should have been focusing on the rge sheet of computer printout paper in front of her. At the top she’d drawn a plot of overpressure versus time. At the bottom was a drawing of a Mach cone for something—in this case, Aric—traveling faster than the speed of sound. Between the two were a series of calcutions meant to model peak overpressure, shock cone size at various speeds and altitudes, and primary, secondary, and tertiary shock waves generated at various points on any theoretical aircraft.

  It was an interesting problem. As an aircraft increases speed, the shock cone gets tighter around it and becomes weaker—to the point that at very high speeds and altitudes, no boom is heard. The length of the boom from front to back depends on the length of the aircraft to a power of 3/2. Longer aircraft therefore spread out their booms more than smaller ones, which leads to a less powerful boom.

  Secondary and tertiary shock waves travel faster than the primary ones, and all three combine some distance from the aircraft. This maximizes both the magnitude and the rise time of the shock, which makes the boom seem louder. On most aircraft that distance is forty thousand feet. The lower a craft is flying, the softer the boom. But with lower altitudes comes denser air, increased drag, and serious turbulence.

  But Aric wasn’t most aircraft. He certainly wasn’t shaped like one. No leading wing edges. No air inlets. Virtually no secondary or tertiary shock waves. But his length was much shorter than even the smallest fighter jet—which bunched up his booms and made them louder. His main advantage was that he flew much lower than most aircraft—and much faster at that low altitude.

  It seemed that the main problem was length. That was something they would need to discuss.

  That was what she should have been focusing on.

  But her mind was consumed by something else.

  She’d felt it when it happened. Last night.

  Her connection with Aric suddenly came to life. Like a light switch being flipped, off to on. It had been unexpected. She hadn’t wanted to intrude on their—not vacation, Edith knew Delphine was working. Her other work. But that was how she thought of it. Edith knew Delphine had been pnning it for many months. And she had said pinly to Aric that she didn’t need anyone checking in on her as if she were a child on her own for the first time.

  Have fun. I’ll survive on my own until you get back.

  She’d meant it—mostly.

  But when it happened—as the warmth began to flow into her—she’d been overjoyed. She breathed it in like sweet spring air.

  But there was something different about it now. Something new.

  Someone new.

  And it took her no time at all in that ephemeral space to recognize who.

  Delphine’s emotions poured into her through Aric, and Edith had to resist the temptation to sm her puny barriers closed. Aric had spent time teaching her to protect herself. But up until now the only one who could intrude on her like that was him, and she had no desire to cut herself off from him. Now there was a second person—another woman—who had reached the inner sanctum, the furthest reaches of the bond that, until then, Edith hadn’t shared with anyone. She wasn’t na?ve enough to believe she’d been the first. But she’d never had to share him in that way.

  But it had been her idea—her suggestion—that he let their friend in. That he give her that measure of happiness that she so desperately wanted. And it seemed that he’d finally done it, though not in the way she’d proposed.

  Feelings, images, emotions combined to weave a tapestry in her mind. She felt Aric’s arms around her. And Delphine’s. She felt her heart overflow with the sensation of pure connection. Delphine’s tears were her tears. Edith’s sobs echoed her friend’s as Aric’s heart and soul opened fully to her. It all felt familiar to her. As real as when she had first experienced it. Real, but different.

  She realized in that moment that for Aric every time—every person—was special. Unique. It wasn’t as simple as repcing her with Delphine. The equation of state changed because the variables were different. Edith and Delphine were different; their lives had made them so. It was that realization that made any idea of hurt feelings a moot point. He hadn’t repced her with Delphine. She still had a pce in his heart. Her pce. It was just that now Delphine had her own pce.

  Like she already had, Edith thought, as Delphine’s emotions continued to flow through her.

  She felt them together as Aric held her—them—in his arms. They were naked, but what they shared wasn’t physical. It was spiritual.

  They—Edith and Delphine—heard his voice, in their ears and in their minds—as if they were one entity, one mind—telling them it was OK. They were OK. It was just a lot to take in.

  They found a pce to stand eventually. An equilibrium between physical existence and transcendental bliss. They wept together. Laughed together. Felt his hands move across their skin together.

  They slept eventually, their head against his chest.

  When Edith woke in the morning, she was alone.

  Friday, 7 September 1984 — Min, Italy

  The walls were red brick. The floor was yellow pine. No one had made any attempt to make them look better. The ceiling was industrial. Large, rough wooden cross-members supported white-painted 8x12s—whatever the European version of them was—about a foot apart. Compact spotlights hung down and added to the natural light entering from the windows on the far wall. A red sofa sat in the center of the space facing a collection of photography equipment. Lights. Reflecting panels. Tripods. People.

  A lot of people, Aric thought. How many people does it take to snap a picture?

  The answer seemed to be a lot.

  Delphine wore a floor-length bck column dress made from matte silk crepe. Long sleeves (Luca could have spared himself the drama). High, simple neckline. No embellishment, no slit. It was a dress designed to eliminate detail, emphasize verticality—to turn Delphine’s body into line and presence. In silhouette, she read as: statue. Authority. Inevitability.

  Bck pointed stilettos with a narrow heel and minimal profile were never visible unless she stepped forward. Arianna had pulled her hair back cleanly into a low chignon and applied a minimal amount of makeup, accenting her strong brow, her natural skin, and muted lips. When she turned toward the lights, her face seemed to emerge like the sun through clouds. Aric thought it was a face that could unch ships.

  Aric wore bck tailored trousers. High waist. Ft front. Long, uninterrupted leg lines. The bck fine-gauge cashmere turtleneck was close-fitting but not tight and bore no visible branding or texture. Thin bck leather shoes completed the ensemble.

  In silhouette, he read as an athlete. Or a philosopher, depending on whether it was your body or your mind that was most attracted to him. The turtleneck made his head and shoulders iconic—almost architectural. Like something that should be stamped on coinage. Luca had left his hair natural. No styling products. It moved slightly when he turned.

  They arrived on time. The photographer was walking the space while his assistant went through lighting tests with two stand-ins. Aric had no idea what to expect. Everything was new to him. He’d assumed they would arrive, sit down, and the photographer would do his thing. He hadn’t understood why Delphine had blocked three hours for a simple set of pictures.

  “Because there’s nothing simple about them,” she replied.

  His bnk stare was rewarded with another snort of ughter. She’d held it in as long as possible, for his sake.

  “You’ll see,” was all she added.

  And see he did.

  He saw Nadine Vallon drinking something from a small cup and talking to a man who was a complete stranger to him. Delphine noticed where he was looking.

  “That’s Giovanni Rinaldi,” she said. “He set this up. These are his clothes we’re wearing.”

  Aric nodded. He should have known. The man was wearing a suit that looked like it was made of chrome. Everything about him said money. Fashion. Authority.

  “Should I go up and say thank you?” he asked her in a whisper.

  “No,” she said simply.

  The woman who had been talking to the stand-ins walked over to them.

  “Can we get the two of you for five minutes?”

  Aric looked at Delphine.

  “They need to fine-tune the lighting to our clothes. We’re not starting yet.”

  She held out her hand to him. He took it.

  “I am entirely at your mercy,” he said.

  She moved her face closer to his so she could whisper one sensuous word.

  “Good.”

  It took an hour to get six poses. Standing. Minimal movement.

  “That’s Marco Belndi,” Delphine said. “He works for Condé Nast Italia. His whole team does. Giovanni got us the best.”

  Marco’s instructions up to that point had been simple.

  “Just stand and talk naturally. I need to get a sense of the rhythm between the two of you.”

  “It’s normal when two models who don’t know each other are posing together,” Delphine expined. “He’s trying to get us to loosen up.”

  “He thinks we don’t know each other?”

  “He thinks we’re two professional models, not that we’re a couple. He thinks we know each other professionally, not personally.”

  Aric gnced at the man who hadn’t taken his eyes off the viewfinder as he moved around the room, watching them through his lens.

  Aric reached out and took her hand. It was a marvelous hand, in his opinion. The intricate pattern of lines on the back of it was—for the moment—hidden. As were his. He brought it up and kissed her palm gently.

  “But he's taken pictures of couples, right?”

  She knew what he was doing. He was making a statement to everyone watching. He could afford it, being the amateur. She would not have started it.

  But she had no intention of stopping it.

  He released her hand, and she brought it up to his cheek. He could feel the electric charge of her skin as it hovered a millimeter away from his.

  “Marco did the Vittorio and Elena spread,” she said, moving her lips sensuously as she pronounced each word.

  Her perfect composure failed her again when he stared at her like she’d spoken the nguage of Martians.

  At least she didn’t snort this time, he thought, as she ughed.

  “The star of Italian football and the most famous singer in the country? Ring any bells?”

  He blushed, though he didn’t know why. “It appears that my public school education has once again failed me.”

  When she finally colpsed against him, the snort she let out was muffled by his shoulder.

  Lucia Ferri had been watching the pair the whole time while Marco prowled the room. He seemed to have a sixth sense that kept him from tripping or running into anything while a camera was pressed to his face. When he finally returned, she could see the glee on his face.

  “This is not a normal couple,” he said.

  He sounded like a boy on Christmas morning, looking at a wrapped present with his name on it, knowing by its shape and size that it was something special.

  They held hands each time they moved to a new location. Lucia recognized Delphine Moreau, but the man was a mystery to her. A few times Delphine had to remind him to keep his profile to the camera—or to look at it when Marco requested it. He was obviously new. New to fashion. Not new to Delphine Moreau.

  Lucia would have bet money that they were lovers.

  There was a warmth between them. And something else. A sense of—unity. Like they were in this together. Not just the session, but life.

  Marco was humming to himself, which Lucia knew was a good sign. He was feeling it. He had what he needed. He was ready to get to work.

  “OK, can I have the couple on the couch, please?” he announced to everyone.

  Showtime.