this will cheer you up. I’ve just made some calls to Dior,
Chanel and Dolce & Gabbana. There’s a party after the tournament today and there’s certainly nothing suitable for you in that bag I packed for Aspen, so they’re sending a
selection of dresses for you to choose from, plus some jackets for the tournament. Cartier has already sent up some necklaces and earrings for tonight – I’ve put them in the safe for
you. And there’re a couple of diamond watches there too.’
‘No. I can’t go to the tournament,’ Pia said dismissively. ‘That dreadful man will probably be there. He’ll think I’m encouraging him if I go to watch. He
owns this hotel, did you know that?’
‘No way!’ Sophie replied, shocked. She’d assumed he was a banker. ‘But . . . well, forget about him. You can’t have come all the way here to just sit in a hotel
room?’ she continued, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. Look at all this decadence – jewels, furs – being thrown at her, and she was fretting about some guy who had
made the mortal mistake of assuming he could buy her dinner! ‘And anyway, there will be thousands of people out there. He won’t be able to pick you out from among them all.’
She bit her lip at the gaffe. Of course Pia believed she would stand out in a crowd of thousands. She was an uncommon beauty.
Pia pulled off her damp clothes and walked into the bathroom for a shower, with the same nonchalance as Adam the day before. Sophie watched her retreat, that perfect butt without a trace of
cellulite or jiggle. Not that she should be jealous. She knew better than anyone what it took to hone a figure like Pia’s. Sophie saw how Pia moved like a geriatric in the mornings, how two
of her toenails were black and dead-looking, how she gasped with pain as the sports masseuse tried to ease and soothe her bruised muscles, how her bloodied feet meant she got through five pairs of
shoes each performance. No, Sophie knew she had no right to be jealous of Pia’s stupendous physique. The most she sacrificed her body to pain was the occasional spinning class, trying to pump
some volume into her butt. She deserved the droop.
There was a knock at the door. ‘Housekeeping.’
The door opened and a stream of women in black skinny trousers and black shirts filed in, carrying towers of pillows and blankets. They were the most glamorous housekeepers she’d ever
seen; surely they were spies sent in by Gucci?
‘Actually we’re fine, thanks,’ Sophie said getting up. ‘The bed’s already been done.’
‘Is special request of Monsieur Silk,’ the first woman replied, pulling the perfectly plumped and creaseless pillows off the bed with a look of disgust, as though muddy dogs had
slept on them rather than the exquisitely perfumed Pia Soto. The other two women took their positions at the bottom corners of the bed and expertly, seamlessly, silently stripped it down,
synchronizing their movements and origami folds.
My God, they’re like a housekeeping SWAT team, Sophie thought to herself as they speedily redressed the bed in gossamer-fine cashmere blankets finished with hospital corners, flat pillows,
and a white fur throw lovingly draped across the foot.
The first housekeeper fished an envelope out of her pocket and laid it gently on the pillow, while another sprinkled white rose petals across the bed. A plate of cupcakes covered in white
chocolate curls, and a bottle of Cristal were placed on the bedside table. Then, nodding briefly, the women filed out silently again, leaving behind them a soft and inviting snowy scene. What, no
albino reindeer? Sophie wanted to ask, as she sighed at the pristine sight. It would be a damn shame to wreck the perfection by actually
sleeping
in the bed.
The bathroom door opened and Pia emerged from the steamy haze.
‘Who was that?’ she asked, wrapped in a towel. ‘I heard the door.’
‘Uh, housekeeping,’ Sophie replied.
‘Oh.’ She saw the
Chanel and Dolce & Gabbana. There’s a party after the tournament today and there’s certainly nothing suitable for you in that bag I packed for Aspen, so they’re sending a
selection of dresses for you to choose from, plus some jackets for the tournament. Cartier has already sent up some necklaces and earrings for tonight – I’ve put them in the safe for
you. And there’re a couple of diamond watches there too.’
‘No. I can’t go to the tournament,’ Pia said dismissively. ‘That dreadful man will probably be there. He’ll think I’m encouraging him if I go to watch. He
owns this hotel, did you know that?’
‘No way!’ Sophie replied, shocked. She’d assumed he was a banker. ‘But . . . well, forget about him. You can’t have come all the way here to just sit in a hotel
room?’ she continued, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. Look at all this decadence – jewels, furs – being thrown at her, and she was fretting about some guy who had
made the mortal mistake of assuming he could buy her dinner! ‘And anyway, there will be thousands of people out there. He won’t be able to pick you out from among them all.’
She bit her lip at the gaffe. Of course Pia believed she would stand out in a crowd of thousands. She was an uncommon beauty.
Pia pulled off her damp clothes and walked into the bathroom for a shower, with the same nonchalance as Adam the day before. Sophie watched her retreat, that perfect butt without a trace of
cellulite or jiggle. Not that she should be jealous. She knew better than anyone what it took to hone a figure like Pia’s. Sophie saw how Pia moved like a geriatric in the mornings, how two
of her toenails were black and dead-looking, how she gasped with pain as the sports masseuse tried to ease and soothe her bruised muscles, how her bloodied feet meant she got through five pairs of
shoes each performance. No, Sophie knew she had no right to be jealous of Pia’s stupendous physique. The most she sacrificed her body to pain was the occasional spinning class, trying to pump
some volume into her butt. She deserved the droop.
There was a knock at the door. ‘Housekeeping.’
The door opened and a stream of women in black skinny trousers and black shirts filed in, carrying towers of pillows and blankets. They were the most glamorous housekeepers she’d ever
seen; surely they were spies sent in by Gucci?
‘Actually we’re fine, thanks,’ Sophie said getting up. ‘The bed’s already been done.’
‘Is special request of Monsieur Silk,’ the first woman replied, pulling the perfectly plumped and creaseless pillows off the bed with a look of disgust, as though muddy dogs had
slept on them rather than the exquisitely perfumed Pia Soto. The other two women took their positions at the bottom corners of the bed and expertly, seamlessly, silently stripped it down,
synchronizing their movements and origami folds.
My God, they’re like a housekeeping SWAT team, Sophie thought to herself as they speedily redressed the bed in gossamer-fine cashmere blankets finished with hospital corners, flat pillows,
and a white fur throw lovingly draped across the foot.
The first housekeeper fished an envelope out of her pocket and laid it gently on the pillow, while another sprinkled white rose petals across the bed. A plate of cupcakes covered in white
chocolate curls, and a bottle of Cristal were placed on the bedside table. Then, nodding briefly, the women filed out silently again, leaving behind them a soft and inviting snowy scene. What, no
albino reindeer? Sophie wanted to ask, as she sighed at the pristine sight. It would be a damn shame to wreck the perfection by actually
sleeping
in the bed.
The bathroom door opened and Pia emerged from the steamy haze.
‘Who was that?’ she asked, wrapped in a towel. ‘I heard the door.’
‘Uh, housekeeping,’ Sophie replied.
‘Oh.’ She saw the
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