With Love from London(68)

“To the Book Garden,” I say, raising my glass. “May it live on.”

“To the best of friends,” Millie says.

“And to new romances,” Liza adds, winking at us both as we clink our glasses and gather our handbags.

I give myself one last sideways glance in the mirror. While I’d packed for an indefinite stay in London, I hadn’t anticipated dressing up, much less going on a second date with a man I’d discovered in a book. Thankfully, Liza’s initial tour of Primrose Hill had included the little boutique down the street. Just as I’m hoping my fellow local business owners will support the Book Garden, I’m doing my part for them. I found a few options, eventually settling on a simple but flattering black cocktail dress with a tie at the waist.

“You need a necklace,” Liza says.

I shrug. “I’m afraid I’m out of options on that front.”

“Your mother had quite a jewelry collection,” Millie says. “Come with me.”

I follow her upstairs, and it’s clear she knows Mummy’s flat like the back of her hand. “In here,” she says, pointing to an enormous jewelry box in the bedroom. I’d noticed it the day I arrived, and yet, somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to inspect its contents.

But Millie does it for me. I watch as she opens each drawer, carefully examining every piece until she finds just the one. “Here,” she says, clasping a chunky crystal necklace around my throat. “It’s a gorgeous dress, but you need a statement piece to jazz it up.”

I touch my collarbone as I glance at my reflection. I’d never, in a million years, think to wear something like this, but just like a bit of lemon zest heightens the flavor in a dish, she’s right—a splash of color amplifies the cut of my dress.

“Naturally, it suits you,” Liza adds, standing in the doorway.

“This one was special to your mum,” Millie explains. “One of the 1930s Trifari pieces she collected at estate sales in California.”

I place my fingers on the necklace again, then reach for my champagne.

As I do, Millie clears her throat. “Val, Liza,” she says. “Come close.”

She raises her glass. “One more toast is due—the most important of them all. To Eloise.”

“To Mummy,” I say under my breath, the words filled with years of pent-up emotion.

“Isn’t it just like her to make everyone she loves more beautiful simply by having known her?”

I smile, letting her words sink in. Millie is right, beauty followed my mother—but so did pain. Tonight, however, I will myself not to focus on the latter.

“Listen, you two,” I say to Liza and Millie. “No matter what happens tonight, if our efforts are successful or not, let’s take comfort in knowing that we did our best.”

Millie smiles, raising her champagne glass again. “To Valentina,” she says. “Our fearless leader.”

I prayed she didn’t see the fear in my eyes as we set out for the event, and this great unknown.



* * *



—

Liza and I follow behind Millie and Fernando as we walk the three blocks to Café Flora together. He’d arrived at the bookstore precisely when he said he would in a freshly pressed suit and holding a bouquet of pastel-colored roses for Millie, who was so stunned, Liza had to coax her to take them from his outstretched arms. All she could do was smile, and oh what a smile as they walked ahead together—Millie adorably towering above him.

We arrive at Café Flora to find that, not surprisingly, Jan and her husband have truly outdone themselves. Not only does each table feature gorgeous cut flowers and linens, but there are also clever literary touches everywhere, like classic book covers for table tags and cocktail menus that double as bookmarks. All around the perimeter are the donated items for the silent auction.

“It’s just perfect,” I say to Jan as the jazz trio in the corner begins warming up. “Thank you ever so much.”

Before long, guests begin filtering in, and I wave at a few of our regular customers as Millie greets them.

“When’s Daniel coming?” Liza asks, reaching for a drink from a passing waiter’s tray.

“He should be here soon,” I say, glancing at the clock on the wall, a little disappointed to notice that he’s already fifteen minutes late.

Another twenty minutes pass, however, and as everyone takes to their tables for dinner, the chair beside me remains empty.

“He’s probably just stuck in traffic,” Liza says, appeasing me.

I nod, checking my phone to find a text from Daniel. “Val, I’m so very sorry. We’ve had a production crisis, and I’m stuck here working tonight. I feel terrible and pray that you can forgive me. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“He’s not coming,” I say to Liza with a sigh, tucking my phone into my purse.

“Not coming?” Liza asks, clearly infuriated on my behalf.

“Some work crisis, I guess.”

“Ugh,” she says, motioning to a waiter, who hands me another glass of champagne. “I don’t like that at all. Does he have any idea how important this night is to you? It’s like he’s—”

“Excuse me, ladies, is this seat taken?”

We both look up to see Eric standing tall behind us, and I smile.