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Allison got a text listing an incoming flight to DeGaulle. It was followed by a list of stores in Paris. The third text was a hotel room reservation. The fourth text just said "put down your bow and pick up your credit card."
"Hey, Dad," Allison said. "Who was that fashion person that Mom always invited over for dinner when we lived in San Francisco?"
"You mean Phillip," Chris replied.
"Yeah," said Allison. "Do you think if we went to Paris he would tell us the best places to shop?"
"Who is this we?" Chris said.
"Me and Lydia," Allison said.
It turned out that Phillip could do much more than that. He got them into a show for some label Allison had never heard of. Allison had never understood the point of an entire show devoted to clothes but Lydia was beyond excited when Allison showed Lydia the tickets.
Lydia was lounging in their king sized bed in the Hotel Verneuil. They had spent two days sightseeing and doing the tourist thing.
"Oh my god," Lydia said. "Are those fashion show tickets? Are those Kenzo tickets? How did you get them? Wait, don't tell me. I don't care."
"They're for tomorrow," Allison said. "I figured you wanted some time to get ready."
"Some time to get us ready," Lydia said.
Lydia started opening garment bags until she found a little black dress. She thrust it toward Allison.
"Here, try this on."
Allison took off her shirt as Lydia stood there holding the dress out for her. Allison fought the urge to turn around. She'd undressed in front of Lydia plenty of times - in her room, in Lydia's room, in the locker room at school - but here in this hotel room with the view of the Eiffel Tower, it felt different.
"I can't wear this," Allison said looking at herself in the mirror. "It doesn't have pockets."
"That is what little purses were invented for," Lydia said. "Now take the dress off so it doesn't get wrinkled."
That night Allison and Lydia lay in bed. The curtains were closed but the lights of Paris meant that Allison and Lydia could still see each other as they lay facing each other on the bed. Allison could smell the toothpaste that Lydia had used every time Lydia breathed.
"Thanks for this," Allison said.
"What are friends for?" Lydia said.
"How…how is Scott doing?" Allison said.
"He and Stiles are being idiots," Lydia said.
"So, he's okay then," Allison said.
Lydia smiled and propped her head up on her hand.
"Hey," Lydia said. "You did the right thing. You love him and he knows that. Everyone knows that. He has Stiles. You have me. We'll all get through this."
"No pouting before my fashion show. It will give you lines." Lydia smiled and Allison started to laugh.
Allison ended up wearing the dress while Lydia wore a white collared blouse and something she called a "Celine skirt". Allison wasn't sure exactly what that meant but Allison did know she couldn't stop noticing how Lydia's legs looked in it.
The fashion show was kind of boring for Allison, especially the part where it started 45 minutes late. If she ever ran that late, her father would give her the "being late cost lives" lecture for however long she was late. Once she was an hour late, and he lectured for a whole hour. Then he took her out for ice cream because "I need to celebrate making it through that with a straight face."
But Lydia looked excited the whole time. She tilted her head toward the celebrities in the front row and pointed out to Allison the photographers fighting for position in "the pit". Allison wondered if any of them would make good hunters because they certainly had fighting instincts. When the lights went down she emitted a small squeak, and Allison grabbed her hand and squeezed it briefly.
They came out of the show and Lydia grabbed on to Allison's hand.
"I don't want you to get lost," Lydia said.
Allison had been worried that Lydia would unable to form full sentences in English or in French but it seemed like Lydia's language abilities were still intact.
Allison wasn't looking where they were going and that's when she ran straight into one of the models from the show. She had brown hair and was taller than Isaac was.
"Sorry, excuse me" she said. "My girlfriend's waiting for me."
The model looked down at where Lydia and Allison were holding hands and winked. Then she ran off into a waiting car.
Allison squeezed Lydia's hand and the two of them navigated their way through the editors and photographers and models. With their hands still clasped, Lydia led them to a cafe not too far away.
"Reservation for Argent," Lydia said.
Allison and Lydia were lead into a private room in the back.
"How did you find this place?" Allison asked.
"I have my ways," Lydia said.
The server approached them.
"Which one of you is the Argent?" he said.
"She is," Lydia pointed at Allison.
"Is there anything I can get for you, Mademoiselle Argent," he said.
"Um, an espresso?", Allison said.
"Something from the private menu?" he said.
Allison looked confused. She looked across the table at Lydia.
"Hunter cafe," Lydia mouthed.
"You brought me to a hunter cafe?" Allison said. "I didn't know there were hunter cafes."
Lydia shrugged and smiled at Allison.
"When in France, do as the Argents do," Lydia said.
"How did you even find out about this place?" Allison asked.
Lydia smiled.
"Are you doubting my research abilities?" Lydia asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Never." Allison reached over and ran her fingers over Lydia's still raised eyebrow.
"You don't want wrinkles in Paris, do you?" Allison said.
Lydia took a deep breath and something passed over her face.
"There isn't a lot I wouldn't do for you, Allison Argent," Lydia said.
Allison looked at Lydia and Lydia returned her gaze before dropping her eyes and starting to play with her napkin.
It was at that moment that the server returned with their espressos.
Lydia carefully squeezed lemon into her espresso, not meeting Allison's gaze.
"Lydia," Allison said.
Lydia looked up at Allison.
Allison leaned over and kissed Lydia. She pulled back from the kiss and looked steadily at Lydia. Lydia held her gaze this time. Allison waited, not sure what to say or do. Lydia leaned across the table, and then they were kissing over the table with their espressos cooling between them.