Thérèse took a seat and handed the bag to me. “My love, I will be flying back to Paris for the summer, and I’m not sure I’ll be home in time for your birthday.”
Cold dread trickled through me, and my throat constricted.
My thirtieth birthday was two months away, in September.
“Chanel has invited me for a residency at their fashion house.” Thérèse paused and tapped her chin with narrowed eyes. “Or perhaps it was Yves St. Laurent.” She tilted her head. “Gaultier? Mon dieu. I cannot remember.” She laughed at herself. “So many haute couture designers call my agent, I can’t keep them all straight.” She gestured at the bag. “Open it.”
I slid a white box from the bag and placed it on my lap. “What’s a residency?”
She waved a manicured hand with a sigh. “I sit around and they create couture d
