Free The Conspiracy of Us by Maggie Hall

enjoyed
Lolita
for the lollipops.”
    I finally turned and shoved his boots off the seat. We drove by what must have been a government building. High, arched windows were ringed by carved stone garlands, and a row of statues kept watch from the roof. But then again, nearly every place we’d driven by looked like that. It would make a good game. Buildings in Paris: significant national monument or apartment complex?
    â€œWhat about history?” Stellan said. “How much do you know about Alexander the Great?”
    â€œWhat does that have to do with anything?” He made me so combative. As hard as I’d tried to ignore him, and even though I knew he was doing it on purpose, he still annoyed me.
    I gestured to the outline of the knife hilt on his side. “So, why the concealed weapons? What is there to be afraid of on a weekend of famous people going to balls and meetings?”
    He tilted his head to the side. “Even a girl from small-town Minnesota should not be that naive.”
    â€œWhat’s the Order?” I said. Two could play at this game. He’d deflect my questions, and I’d ignore his deflection.
    The smile slid off Stellan’s face. “They’re nothing you need to worry about,
kuklachka.
” He cocked his head to one side. “Unless, of course, you know something I don’t.”
    The car rolled to a stop, cutting off any more conversation. We were on a wide street, lined by trees in full bloom. Shops paraded down either side, and the Eiffel Tower loomed much closer than I’d realized. The annoyance dropped away and a thrill shivered through me.
    Yesterday, I’d never left the United States. Today, I was shopping in Paris. I opened my own door before the driver got there, and followed Stellan out of the car and down the street.
    And then we turned up the walk to one of the shops and I stopped, my foot halfway up a step. The tasteful gold lettering on the cream-colored building said PRADA .

CHAPTER 11
    A young man opened the doors, his deep-set eyes dark and shadowed behind wire-rimmed glasses. His shoes clicked a staccato beat as he led us past the mannequins standing guard in the front window, across a black-and-white checkerboard floor, and into a foyer thick with the perfume of stargazer lilies and wealth.
    â€œWhere is everybody?” I whispered to Stellan. No one browsed the racks of buttery leather gloves, and not a single bored boyfriend read magazines on the white leather couches.
    â€œMadame Dauphin prefers to shop alone,” Stellan said. “She has the store closed for her guests as well.”
    I took a deep breath. Prada, in Paris, was closed. For me. To choose a ball gown. It was ridiculous. And extravagant. And . . . amazing. My father’s family and the rest of the Circle were by far the most interesting thing that had ever happened to me.
    A few minutes later, Stellan had left to do errands and I stood in an opulent dressing room, all snowy white with splashes of gold and magenta and a whole wall of mirrors. I held my arms out to the sides while a tall girl named Aimee, who had shockingly red hair, cinched a measuring tape around my hips. I remembered buying my purple prom dress off the sale rack at Macy’s, and almost laughed out loud.
    â€œDoes Madame Dauphin come here a lot?” I asked, pretending to be capable of normal conversation.
    Elisa, who was tiny with a dark pixie cut, nodded, and held swatches of colored fabrics up to my skin. “Every week.”
    â€œHas she sent other guests in this weekend?” I asked.
    Aimee unzipped my sundress and gestured for me to take it off.
    â€œYes. You are the last appointment of the day. And the only one under the age of fifty,” Elisa said, and Aimee swatted her with the tape measure. “It’s true! The fashion sense of the other younger ladies must already meet Madame’s approval. I don’t mean to offend,” she said to