Free Unraveled by Her by Wendy Leigh

a giggle, she crams the last two back into the case again.
    Then she bustles around preparing lunch while Tamara and Georgiana watch a rerun of Scandal in the living room.
    When she’s done, she sets the table. “ Musique, ” she says. “We must have musique !” She fishes an iPod out of her black crocodile Kelly bag.
    â€œShall we let her have lunch with us?” Tamara asks, nodding her head in my direction.
    Georgiana fixes her with a fierce look.
    â€œUse your head, Tammy. She won’t be much good to us if we starve her to death . . .” she says.
    â€œAnd I’m so very looking forward to seeing the little salope put in her place and on her knees to us, and not to him anymore . . .” Gigi says.
    Just give me time, bitch. He’ll be here, it will be over for the lot of you, and I’ll be free!
    I watch the clock and stealthily count the minutes since I first sent the text to Robert.
    Careful not to betray my tension, I take my place at the table and wish that I were anywhere else but here. But I still can’t help but perk up a fraction when Gigi serves us escargots in an herb and garlic sauce.
    Until now, though, she hasn’t said a word to me directly, hasn’t even acknowledged that we’ve met before, never mind that she deliberately tried to turn Robert against me in Geneva.
    At the memory of that purple wreath, an escargot sticks in my throat.
    I manage to gulp it down, then turn to her.
    â€œSo did they force you to send it? Or did you come up with the idea of destroying my life all on your own?” I boil with anger.
    Gigi narrows her eyes at me.
    â€œ Ma chérie, you underestimate me. Ten seconds with you and Robaire in the boutique, and the way in which he ate you up with his eyes, I knew that you had him by—what do they call it—ah, yes, his essentials. And that you were in danger to derail all our plans.
    â€œI knew tout de suite to call Georgiana, even while you were still in the shop and making the show like some Hollywood movie star. So I followed her commands immédiatement ; I arranged to bug the hotel suite that very night, then had the wreath delivered there. Et voilà ! The fairy tale est fini, ” she says, and before I have a chance to react, she turns up her iPod as high as it goes to drown me out.
    Through the rest of lunch I sit there and face Georgiana and Tamara, with Gigi next to me, as the iPod plays romantic song after romantic song.
    â€œI recorded a playlist just for you, Georgiana, chérie, ” she says, “and one specially for you, Tamara,” she adds.
    Tamara’s playlist, as it turns out, tells a story:
    â€œNative New Yorker.”
    â€œIt’s Only Make Believe.”
    â€œLove for Sale.”
    â€œBig Spender.”
    â€œMilord.”
    And a series of French and Italian songs, none of which I recognize. Periodically Gigi dashes back into the kitchen to present yet another French delicacy to us.
    â€œAnd now for you, Milady Georgiana,” Gigi says, with a mock curtsy, after she has flambéed the last crêpe suzette and served one to each of us in turn.
    Georgiana’s playlist opens with “She,” then is followed by “All in Love Is Fair,” “You’re a Lady,” “Where Do You Go To My Lovely?” then a long series of songs in praise of beautiful women, and ends with “I Am What I Am.”
    â€œSo full of courage, so full of defiance, so very you, my Georgiana,” Gigi says with a loving smile.
    Then she turns to me.
    â€œAnd now a special song for you, ma chérie !”
    Then the first words of the song ring out.
    â€œ Le ciel bleu  . . .”
    And I turn chalk white.
    â€œSo your instincts were correct, Gigi! ‘Hymne à L’Amour’ was some kind of a love pact between Miranda and Robert. And her reaction just now proves it!” Georgiana says. “Robert knows she