Page 48 of Everything About You

My mother is standing in the press room.

My mother is in Paris. At the Maison Dauphine resort show.

We’ve got the same earthy tones, the same nose, and the same resting bitch face, which she immediately corrects with a huge

grin once we’ve locked eyes.

“Milo!”

She’s wearing a stunning green cocktail dress, and her dark brown hair is done up to show off large diamond earrings and an

emerald hanging from a silver clasp on her neck.

Instinctively, I rush over to hug her, though I have no idea what the fuck is happening right now. Still, it’s nice to be

wrapped in her arms and in her signature Tom Ford scent.

Once we’ve broken apart, I blink a few times. And then I wonder if someone can be so stressed they hallucinate.

“How are you here?” I ask, taking a step back.

“Well, a very determined young man with a very charming English accent called the store and was apparently endlessly persistent

about speaking to me,” she says.

Rhodes? Why would he do that? When did he do that?

“He invited me to the show, and said he wanted to buy every single item for the silent auction so that we could cancel the event.”

My jaw falls open. “He bought everything?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t let him do that.” She laughs, narrowing her eyes like I’m just as absurd as Rhodes. “They’re holding

the fundraiser without me.”

“What? But you... are you sure? Who’s going to make sure the hydrangeas aren’t wilting? Who’s going to check that the Sonos

is on the perfect volume? What if someone tries to make chalk signs?”

“I hire good people; I should let them do their jobs.”

I almost audibly gasp. She did hear me.

“Rhodes invited you.”

It’s overwhelming—my mother being here and finding out that Rhodes did this. I’m not sure when or how he could possibly have

made this happen.

She nods, and her thumb traces the stitching of her clutch as presses her lips together tightly before exhaling. “As a mother,

it’s humbling for your son’s boyfriend to make it sound like the only way to get your attention is to buy it.”

“Well, he’s not my boyfriend. And I’m sure he didn’t mean to—”

“He didn’t,” she agrees, frowning. “But it still stands. I should have been here with Celeste like I first planned. I just...”

“Want to control everything,” I say with a smile.

“You come by it honestly.”

“I understand why you work so hard,” I say. “I appreciate it, even. This summer I thought I could make Maison Dauphine work and I’d finally be successful. I’d finally win. I’d finally be like you.”

Mom lifts her chin. “Oh, Milo. You’re going to be so much better than me.”

“There’s no such thing.”

She pulls me in for a hug, and for the first time in so, so long, I feel like I can take a deep breath. And then she looks

around, lip quivering and grip tightening around her bag.

“I see you here.... You’re a young man now. You really are. You’ve always been so independent and driven. You had a busy

social life, signed yourself up for tennis camps, booked your own SAT tutors, and then one day you were packing your bags

and going to France all on your own. And look at what you’re a part of. Look what you’ve accomplished.”

“I know this all seems so glamorous, but you know what they say—all that glitters.” I blink back tears. “After everything,

I still failed in the end. I’m not going to get a job after this.”

“That’s okay, dear. You haven’t failed. You’re eighteen.”

“But then what was all this for?”

She smiles. “You have time to find out.”

My shoulders drop. “I just wanted to make you proud, and I tried so hard, but...”

“Listen to me. I am so proud of you. No matter what you do. And the fact that you don’t know that is my fault, not yours.

I am going to do much better about making sure it’s clear how proud I am of you, Milo.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“And I should have known that just because you are independent doesn’t mean you don’t need me. Doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be there.”

She pauses and gives me a very serious look.

“And what do you mean he’s not your boyfriend?”

I laugh, a kind of gross, snotty laugh, which I’m grateful nobody else seems to notice apart from her.

“It’s a whole thing.”

Across the room Haydée waves at me, pointing at an imaginary watch on her wrist.

“We’ll catch up tonight,” Mom says. “I’m sitting with Rosie Hamilton—can you believe that? I’m actually a little nervous.”

“Don’t be! You two will have plenty to talk about. Okay, suis- moi .”

“Ooh, oui .”

The room is buzzing. The guest list is incredibly prestigious, the traffic flow has been mastered with no hiccups, and the

ambience and decor are flawless. Angèle’s “Les Matins” is thumping as everything falls perfectly into place.

I walk my mother over to her seat and say hello to Rosie, who (in the twenty seconds I have with her) is as radiant and kind

as every clip I’ve ever seen of her.

Once everyone is seated, I hurry back to Zoe, who is doing final checks on the models, impeccably lined up. They’re all so

tall, even the ones in flat Maison Dauphine resort sandals, and it’s like a walking parade of shimmering gold with lush ivories

and thick cream fabrics. None of the opulence or luxury is overstated—all refined and tasteful and true to Renard Florin’s

vision for the house, while also speaking to contemporary fashion.

I find Rhodes next, standing beside him backstage.

“You just love to make phone calls, don’t you?”

He glances down at me. “She made it.”

“She did.” I nod. “Thank you, Rhodes. That was an incredibly thoughtful thing to do. Something I’m not sure I deserve.”

Rhodes shrugs. “I think you might deserve more than you give yourself credit for sometimes.” Then, without missing a beat,

he smiles. “Sometimes.”

“Right.” I fight a laugh. “But really, it means a lot.”

“You went to bat for me with Yvette and Pascal.”

“That was me fixing my own mess,” I remind him. “Just doing the right thing.”

Rhodes nods. “I appreciate it, nonetheless. We might have had a bit of a bumpy road, but I do know you’re a good person. And

I can’t say it hasn’t been fun.”

“Nearly time,” Zoe says.

“Catch up after,” Rhodes whispers.

Adrenaline rushes through my entire body.

The show opens to “Summer 3” from Vivaldi’s Four Seasons , with a projection onto the falling water. Maison Dauphine hired a production company to do a short video: it’s shot on film,

and starts out black-and-white, with a woman in a flowing white gown and opulent gold jewelry running through an orangery.

As she stops, hiding between the trees and believing she’s in the clear, she takes a deep breath. Her lover catches up to

her, though. We see a close-up of him nearly grabbing her hand before she pulls away, and we see the desperation in her face

as she does.

He moves closer, but she urges him not to before she reaches out to touch one of the orange trees.

As the tree slowly turns to gold, color gradually fades onto the projection.

Her lover smiles, shaking his head—he already knew.

He reaches out to a nearby orange tree, and when his fingers brush a branch, which also turns to gold, she realizes they suffer from the same affliction.

They’re the same, after all.

Watching the lovers causes a deep, sinking feeling. My throat constricts, and I quickly glance over at Rhodes, who is watching

intently.

They reach out and cautiously press their palms and fingers together. As they embrace and kiss, both become gilded, but neither

heart stops beating. They smile into their kiss before they begin to turn the orangery to gold, making it clear they are creating

their own paradise as the sun sets over the horizon.

The music then remixes to have synth and some bass as the first models start to walk out in their gold resort wear. We watch

the livestream backstage on a large monitor, and everything looks truly perfect. As the models continue, the music transitions

to a slow-tempo classical song with a bit of a beat and hints of the Vivaldi.

When the show ends, Rhodes and I watch from the wings as Pascal emerges in a tailored tuxedo, greeted by rampant applause.

Unexpectedly, I even get a bit emotional watching him take his bow. This is the culmination of all the hard work he’s put

into this. All the hard work so many people have put into this—I’ve watched it come to life over the span of my short time

here at Maison Dauphine, and I know it has all been in motion for much, much longer.

There’s an odd sense of graduation now as Pascal bows to close out the show.

For the first time since I’ve been here, I really and truly feel like I have accomplished what I wanted to. Maybe this is all I was meant to do after all. Maybe it’s not about staying on at Maison Dauphine or in Paris, but about this once-in-a-lifetime

opportunity. An odd sensation washes over me that is a bit like relief, but could also be described as a warmer version of

grief—not quite full mourning, but something like a gratitude and appreciation for a wonderful thing that I don’t think I’ll

ever experience again.

Rhodes is clapping too, and he pats me on the back. There’s an immense sense of pride in his eyes... because we did it.

The show went off without a hitch.

“Well done, Milo.”

Beaming, I nod. “You too, Rhodes.”

He will continue to shine, because that’s what he does.

I’ve come to Paris, and I’ve had the most incredible, hectic, exhilarating summer. I worked amazing events and met beyond-talented

people. I found romance and lost it.

But this... everything happening right now—the glamour and the fantasy of this Maison Dauphine fashion show... this

isn’t my life, and I think it’s time for me to accept that I just can’t force everything, no matter how much I want to.

Just like with tennis, I’m second best, but that’s okay.

Mom is right: I have time to figure it out.

After everything, Rhodes will get the job with Maison Dauphine. Yvette will forget all about what happened this summer—especially

with me out of the picture.

It’s bittersweet, but this is it. It’s time to go home.