Free Revenge Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger Page A

felt like she hadn’t slept in weeks. “We ended up coming back to the city because I feel like hell. Headache, puking, fever. I don’t know if it’s food poisoning or the flu or just some sort of twenty-four-hour thing. Besides, Max didn’t want to miss Yacht Party tonight, which I have to swing by. So we bailed.” Andy glanced down at her atrocious outfit and reminded herself to leave enough time to run home and change.
    “Yacht Party’s tonight? Why wasn’t I invited?”
    “You weren’t invited because I wasn’t going to go. And now that we’re back, I’m planning to be there for exactly an hour before going home to bathe myself in Vicks VapoRub and watch a Toddlers and Tiaras marathon.”
    “Whose boat is it this year?”
    “I can’t remember his name. The usual hedge fund billionaire. More homes than we have shoes. Probably more wives, too. Apparently he used to be friends with Max’s father, but Barbara thought he was such a bad influence, she forbade her husband from socializing with him. I think he owns casinos, too.”
    “Sounds like a guy who knows how to throw a party . . .”
    “He won’t even be there. He’s just lending his yacht as a favor to Max. Don’t worry, you’re not missing anything.”
    “Uh-huh. That’s what you said last year and then the entire SNL cast showed up.”
    Yacht Life magazine hadn’t made a single dime in profits during its ten years in existence, but that didn’t stop Max from declaring it one of the most valuable holdings in all of Harrison Media. It gave them prestige and panache; everyone who was anyone wanted their boat featured in the magazine. Every October Yacht Life threw Yacht Party to celebrate their Yacht of the Year award, and every year the event drew an impressive stable of celebrities to roam the deck of some totally over-the-top yacht as it sailed around Manhattan and allowed its guests to slurp Cristal, nibble truffle-infused whatevers, and overlook the fact they were on the polluted Hudson in late fall instead of the warm waters of Cap d’Antibes.
    “That was kind of fun, wasn’t it?” Andy asked.
    Emily was quiet for a moment. “Is that all? You’re sick? And Yacht Party? Or is something else going on?”
    Say what you will about Emily—she could be brash, aggressive, often downright rude—but she was more perceptive than anyone Andy had ever met.
    “Something else? Like what?” Andy’s voice pitched higher, the way it always did when she was lying or uncomfortable.
    “I don’t know. That’s why I was calling. You put on a pretty good show all weekend, but I think you’re freaking about something. Is it just some perfectly normal buyer’s remorse? I’ll tell you, I had panic attacks the week after Miles and I got married. Cried for days. I just couldn’t believe he’d theoretically be the last man I’d ever sleep with. The last one I’d ever kiss ! But it gets better, Andy, I promise.”
    Andy’s heart started to beat a little faster. In the two days since she’d found the note, she hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone.
    “I found a note from Max’s mother in his bag. She basically told him he was making a huge mistake marrying me— if he decided to go through with it.”
    There was silence on the other end.
    “My god, I thought it was something way worse than that,” Emily said.
    “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
    “Seriously, Andy, what do you expect? The Harrisons are so old-school. And really, whose mother-in-law likes them? No girl is ever good enough.”
    “Apparently Katherine’s good enough. Did Miles ever tell you Max saw her in Bermuda?”
    “What?” Emily sounded surprised.
    “Barbara wrote how Katherine had been so great and didn’t Max think it was a sign they’d bumped into each other in Bermuda! How delighted he’d been to see her.”
    “Katherine? Oh please. You can’t possibly be worried about Katherine. She used to send him links to her favorite pieces of jewelry