Page 15 of Everything About You

I spend my weekend trying to maintain a sense of normalcy, though nothing is normal, and I can’t seem to pin down how I feel

about Rhodes.

On one hand, I want to believe he’s genuine. On the other, I should protect myself.

He definitely won this round by bringing Amalia Astor. She’s rarely been sighted for the last twenty years, which meant Rhodes

not only made the event a huge success, but he also made international headlines.

So, throughout the weekend, I avoid those, even though it seems everyone from back home wants to send them to me like I might

not have heard about it.

Celeste checks in on me, but I tell her everything is great. I don’t feel like there’s much to say about it all, and it’s

the last thing I should be complaining to her about right now. I let her know she can reach me anytime, and I say a prayer

to whoever is listening for Celeste and her family.

I decide to go to the Musée d’Orsay first thing in the morning on Sunday, desperate to get out and do something.

After going with Celeste that first time, it’s become one of my favorite spots—and it’s quite peaceful by myself—but I can’t seem to pay attention to anything.

I walk through the exhibits in silence at first, mind racing, but then I pop in my AirPods and put on old film scores and classical music.

Still, nothing seems to keep my thoughts from swirling around, and the more they swirl, the more I feel like it might be a hundred degrees.

I take photos as I wander the streets of the 9th Arrondissement, the Palais Garnier Opera House literally taking my breath

away when I first stumble upon it. I debate going in, but I just spent the money going to the Musée d’Orsay only to get dangerously

close to my first panic attack in Paris, so it seems fresh air is the move for the rest of the day.

Eventually, I pass a McDonald’s and, having not eaten all day, I decide it’s as good a time as any to try something new off

the French menu. I feel completely alone, but the salty fries provide a small amount of comfort, which makes me think maybe

Renard Florin really was on to something with all that malbouffe .

I send Celeste a photo of the Parisian McDonald’s spread, and she sends back a sticker of Kirsten Dunst as Marie Antoinette.

Celeste: Ooh la la!!

Celeste: J’adore malbouffe

Thinking about the malbouffe and the pop-up is such a gut punch. I thought I had it all in the bag. Yvette was so impressed and things were going so well—until

a giant Rhodes-sized shadow eclipsed everything.

I don’t sleep well, and when I wake up around four a.m., staring at the ceiling like I tend to do, I consider the fact that this next event at the Tuileries is actually the perfect opportunity to make a comeback.

To truly one-up Rhodes, I’m going to have to utilize the element of surprise. He can’t see it coming, so I’ll have to let

him think he’s defeated me. I can’t ham it up too much, or else he’ll see through it, but a subtle hint here and there that

I am intimidated by him? That should do the trick.

On and off the tennis court, one thing is consistent: Nothing holds an opponent back like complacency.

Sophie texts me to let me know she is now coming to Paris for the Tuileries event and the Louvre gala. I know she and I aren’t

exactly BFFs, but she’s the closest thing I am going to have to a friend over here, so this feels celebratory.

I scroll through some emails that came in over the weekend. Yvette doesn’t want us answering them unless she’s specifically

stated it’s a high-priority item, so I have had to just let them pile up. British Vogue is requesting a bunch of accessories, a stylist in New York has emailed and gotten intercepted by Sophie, and a few questions

have rolled in from the beauty division about upcoming events and photo shoots.

While I get ready to go into the office, I do everything I can to hype myself up.

Eyes on the prize.

I’m greeted by a grinning Rhodes, who is standing at one of the closets and sorting through looks.

“ Bonjour , Milo. I had a workout this morning and didn’t have anything to do, so I came in a bit early.”

Another way he’s a more model employee than me now, I’m sure.

“I’ve just gone through some of the media hits for the event,” he says. “It was a success all around.”

All around? It sounds like he means “Even your little café was well received!”

Am I overly sensitive? Or is there truly a condescension with a painfully cacophonous texture—like blades against my skin?

He’s riding this high of a win, getting in a workout, and showing up early to stay ahead?

Setting my coffee on the desk, I remind myself I have a plan. And breathing fire again isn’t going to accomplish what I want.

So, I do my best to sulk.

“I know it was all about Amalia,” I mumble, pulling out my chair and turning my attention to the computer.

Out of the corner of my eye, I think Rhodes makes a strange face before returning to the accessories he’s pulling.

“No, no. Café 57 was a total hit. Scroll through the campaign! There were so many hits. Especially considering Amalia—I think

it did as well as it possibly could have.”

Ha! Isn’t that generous?

I’m not a violent person at all. I’ve never gotten into a physical fight. Once, at a districts match, this kid Leroy thought

I had a thing for his boyfriend. It was completely untrue—he was taken, but he was also the furthest thing from my type. Leroy

had all these ideas, though, convinced he saw me making eyes at him. I guess at one point I accidentally watched the boyfriend’s

Instagram Story, though I still don’t think that’s even true, and this meant war.

Leroy absolutely pegged me with the ball every chance he got.

He was incredibly accurate and had a powerful swing.

I was getting bruised, and for the briefest moment, I wanted to lay him out on the court.

It was probably a nanosecond that I had that thought, but my dad and brother—also athletes—always taught me that violence isn’t the answer. Instead, we just win.

So I won, and when I saw Leroy at a party a couple months later, he apologized and admitted he was insecure and shouldn’t

have taken it out on me.

It was such a great feeling. I hadn’t resorted to pegging balls back at him or beating him up, I just played my best and won,

and in the end, I was validated.

This doesn’t feel like the fucking Leroy situation at all. I am not sure what is happening right now, but it doesn’t feel

like winning is going to be enough. I want to take away Rhodes’s win and any of his smugness.

“As well as it possibly could have!”

I calm myself down with the 4–4–4 breathing exercise my coach taught me while Rhodes stuffs a pair of strappy sandals into

a linen dust bag.

Rhodes has to believe I’ve lost my fire, so he won’t try as hard for the next event , I remind myself.

“It was just a silly café,” I mutter.

Yvette walks in, looking incredibly cool in striped tracksuit bottoms and a T-shirt with Maison Dauphine sneakers. I’ve never

seen her so casual, but it also still possesses her unique and powerful je ne sais quoi . I think Yvette could command the house in her bathrobe and nobody would question her authority.

Weird visual.

“Oh, good. You’re both here.”

She eyes me like I’m late because Rhodes decided to get in early.

“The pop-up was a total success,” she says. “Rhodes, thank you for sending over that recap. I’ve shared it with leadership.”

You’re not going to throw anything at him. You’re not going to throw anything at him.

“Milo, we can discuss how to pull the data and prepare the report after our next event.”

I nod. I would have done it if I’d known it was a thing we were even supposed to do. Never mind any of my amazing networking

or how I memorized those lists; it’s just all overshadowed, and now that I didn’t take the initiative to create a recap, I’m

back at square one with Yvette.

“Now, we have the Tuileries garden event in two days. Everything is mostly set; we just need you to show up and work your

magic. While the pop-up guest list included some influencers, that was a bit more elevated and exclusive. The Tuileries event

is more curated for content, is solely focused on influencers, and we have a wider range of creators attending. Some have

very, very large followings and some are a bit more micro. You should review the list in the creator portal as you have time.”

Rhodes clears his throat. “I actually was wondering if I could run an idea by you.”

Yvette looks beyond pleased, giving him a smile that’s all fromage . “Of course, Rhodes. What do you have?”

“Okay, so I was looking at the renderings for the event and noticed there are some areas where we might be able to maximize

content opportunities while also giving another very subtle clue for the L’or des Fous theme.”

Great, what is he up to now?

“I know we have two of the gardens around the Grand Bassin Rond reserved,” Rhodes says. “I thought we might be able to showcase

some of the gold accessories from the Enchanted Garden line Pierre Allard did in 2003. Placing them among the flowers like

art installations. Since those were a nod to L’or des Fous themselves . I mean, they are truly iconic pieces of Maison Dauphine history. That was the first time the latest Dauphine Monogram was

introduced. It set a precedent for the house.”

Yvette considers this, intrigued. “I love this idea.”

Fucking hell, Rhodes.

“But I am not certain where those samples are.” Yvette looks off. “They might be in our American archives, if I recall correctly.

We won’t have time to get them.”

I immediately want to jump out of my seat and gloat like a child.

Rhodes picks up one of the dust bags on his desk. “So, I did some research on it this weekend, just in case. They are actually

in a museum in New York.”

He’s so smug I almost groan. Where is he going with this?

“But my mother has five of the pieces—her own personal collection, you know—and she was happy to send them over. Just got

here this morning.” He pulls open the bag and reveals a couple of small boxes, and three more dust bags, which he goes on

to show us are protecting two small gold handbags and a pair of heels. The famous Maison Dauphine monogram is all over the

bags, and it is a bit wild to think that this was where that all started.

Yvette purses her lips. “Oh, Rhodes, I am not sure. I would hate if anything were to happen to them.”

Rhodes waves this off. “I think it’d be a brilliant addition to the event. These pieces are famous, and they’re so of the era that these influencers are capturing with their looks right now.”

“But your mother—”

“Mum has already said she’s happy to donate them if need be.” It almost seems like he’s exaggerating there, but I’m not sure. “She’s actually very excited to see them

get some use. They’re just sitting in her closet, after all.”

“They’re incredibly valuable collectors’ items,” Yvette says. “We’ll get display cases for them, at the very least. And we’ll

make up plaques to showcase the details and attribute them to your mother’s collection.”

When Yvette leaves, Rhodes is absolutely thrilled with himself. He packs up the stuff for the Tuilieries event in a few ivory

Maison Dauphine boxes, labeling them for Haydée, who is going to take them to be put in display cases. He then says he’s going

to make some calls, and when he leaves, I cannot believe I am going to lose to him again. And it’s just so easy for him.

I work through some requests and send some emails. It does excite me a little that I am going to meet Sophie in a couple of

days, but I’m still beyond annoyed with Rhodes.

I take inventory of some shirts and pants from a request, carefully putting them into garment bags. Then I make up labels

for a French magazine and I place them on the designated piece of plastic on each bag.

Haydée sends a message saying she will grab any boxes we have ready at the moment. I tell her we have a big British Vogue request to go along with the boxes for the Tuileries event.

And then it’s like a switch flips.

There are boxes addressed to British Vogue in Rhodes’s handwriting, and they’re just sitting right there in a neat little stack. Since these aren’t local, they won’t

be hand-delivered, which means the shipping company is going to deliver whatever boxes have those labels on them—nobody is

going to double-check the contents.

Nobody would notice if the gold accessories from Rosie Hamilton accidentally got swapped. Nobody would have any idea, realistically,

until it was much too late.

Anyway, it’s not like these pieces are going to be lost. The assistants at British Vogue will open the packages, realize they are the wrong ones, and send them back.

Maybe it isn’t worth it if I have to win this way.

But there’s so much to lose if I don’t.

At the end of the day, I don’t have the luxury of playing fair with Rhodes. So, before I can talk myself out of it, I peel

off the labels and switch the boxes.