The Sweetest Summer

Epilogue - Collide

"How does it feel to officially be the baddest bitch in fashion?"

"Like Vogue should've picked someone other than you to conduct this interview..." I laughed a little, taking a sip of my steaming hot vanilla latte.

France always knew how to make a fucking coffee. I wasn't sure if it was the cream or the workers, but somehow it just tasted better.

The quaint Paresian cafe with the lavender and silver swirling wallpaper and tiny white China, was only a block and a half from Chantel's flat. Still, we garnered more than a few stares on our way over from Paris' most snobby elite.

"Whatever, you know you wouldn't have half as much fun with some typical douche bag reporter..." Chantel tapped her cigarette into her fine China, despite the no smoking sign posted in her native language...three feet to her left.

"That's true." I smirked, watching as the shop owner glared, but ultimately said nothing. The kind of foot traffic Chantel could provide this place, with one social media post, was insane.

Over the past three years, since my birthday party at The Santa Monica Pier, Chantel's career had boomed. She was the face of Louis Vuitton Haute Couture, and had dated her way through most of the Ligue de Football Proffesional.

"So...tell me, how does it feel to be so incredible?"

"You first." I grinned around my coffee.

"Please, chienne." She ashed her cigarette again, her French accent thicker when she cursed. "I'm nowhere near your level. What did Forbes just call you? The next big fashion icon? Billionaire body image?"

"That was just to sell magazines..."

"So you're really not worth a billion dollars?!"

I glanced down at the blinking red light between us. As much as I would like to think of this as just a casual chat between friends, we were being recorded to sell even more magazines.

Truth be told, I didn't really know how much money was in my various bank accounts. That shit never really mattered to me. My happiness was dictated by myself, and my health, and my family and friends. Not a stack...or several million stacks, of paper.

"All I'll say is that I've been extremely lucky." I replied carefully. "Between my family and friends, I've never had to go without."

"Is Katrina Park involved in that friend group?" Chantel raised a challenging eyebrow, ashing her cigarette directly onto the recorder.

I eyed the flashing red light, my mind replaying months and months of turmoil. Years of tears, and inadvertent trashing one another in the media. Tearing apart our empire. The empire we built together, starting with that park bench in the heart of Paris over ten years ago. The one twenty blocks south of the cafe Chantel and I were currently parked in.

"There's a lot of history there." I allowed slowly. My mind flashed to the way she let me go after Ethan died. 'Giving me my space' while she grew her own name on the back of my image. There had been years of litigation and hurt feelings, most of which had been on my end. I felt like she'd used my own sorrow and personal drama to publicize her less than exciting fall line. The leggings and the over-sized sweaters didn't quite hit right, something she later blamed on my lack of involvement. My deepest apologies for grieving my dead fiancé. So sorry it inconvenienced your line...

"Katrina Park and I are...in a different space now. Lots has happened, but we've both agreed to bury the hatchet."

"At your solo show tonight?" Chantel winked as she lit another cigarette. She knew for a fact that Katrina would be in attendance. We'd been talking a lot these past few weeks, deciding it was time to move forward. Women supporting women and all of that.