Free Prima Donna by Karen Swan

Prada.
    They took a car over to the Palazzo Hotel where the party was being held. Although it was only a five-hundred-yard stroll from the Black, the ride took a good twenty minutes, as the driver had
to wait for the bottleneck of Maybachs and Mercedes-McLarens to be valet-parked.
    Once inside, the luxury didn’t let up. Installations of Swarovski sculptures glittered from corners and niches, and an elaborate light show flickered across the domed ceilings. The grand
red-carpeted staircase had Cavalli-clad model-waiters, laden with trays of Krug, positioned on every other step, and Sophie grabbed them each a glass.
    They climbed the stairs slowly, like royalty – it was important that everyone should see Pia and clock her formidable legs. As they crested the top, rows of purple velvet banquettes and
low ebony tables were set in the middle of the room, with spotlit resin cocktail bars positioned all around them against the walls, hemming in the guests like Bacchanalian sentries.
    Pia and Sophie scanned the room, equally desperate to alight on someone the ballerina knew. The sooner Pia found herself a date, the sooner Sophie could get the hell out of this dress.
    Cosima Harlow – Valentino’s muse and a top-tier socialite – had set up her court in the centre of the room and was lying out on a banquette like Cleopatra. Pia recognized her
fuchsia dress as one she had rejected, and gave a small smile of satisfaction. Cosima, mistaking it for a smile of welcome, gestured for her to come over, but Pia was looking for another familiar
face. One in particular.
    She was determined to get that Argentinian back to her room. She’d be damned if she was going to spend another night alone. The fact that it would be one in the eye for Will Silk was also
an enticing prospect – seducing his infinitely more talented teammate would show him he was out of his league with her. She’d show him once and for all that money and power never came
into it when it came to bedding her.
    ‘Talk to me, Sophie,’ she commanded as she checked out the room – and the competition. There were a lot of cosmetically modified women in attendance. ‘Look interesting.
Don’t just stand there like a lemon.’
    ‘Oh . . . uh . . .’ Sophie stalled. Her command of the English language deserted her. ‘I, uh . . .’
    They continued to stand in silence.
    ‘Hurry up,’ Pia whispered through a gritted smile. ‘Say something. Make me laugh. Tell me the time. I don’t care. Just something.’
    ‘Uh . . . knock, knock.’
    Pia frowned, looking at her like she was crazy. ‘What are you doing?’
    ‘Telling you a joke,’ Sophie said, swivelling her eyes around shiftily and trying not to move her lips – as though someone might be lip-reading their conversation. ‘You
say: “Who’s there?”’ she prompted.
    Pia’s frown deepened. Sophie nodded encouragingly. ‘Who’s there?’ Pia said finally, and very suspiciously.
    ‘Dwayne.’
    Silence.
    ‘Now you say: “Dwayne who?”’ Sophie prompted again.
    Pia sighed, her eyes narrowed. ‘Dwayne who?’
    ‘Dwayne the bathtub, I’m dwowning.’
    More silence.
    ‘Now you laugh,’ Sophie said, dejected. That was her best joke.
    Pia was still staring at her, baffled, when Cosima came over. Clearly, if Mohammad wouldn’t go to the mountain . . .
    ‘Pia, you simply must come and sit with us,’ she smiled, kissing Pia airily. ‘I’ve got some friends who are
dying
to meet you. Bring your friend too.’
    Cosima smiled and offered a slim hand. ‘Hi, I’m Cosima.’
    Sophie went to take it. ‘I’m So—’
    ‘Oh no! Sophie’s not my friend,’ Pia shrieked, batting Sophie’s hand down and laughing shrilly at the mix-up. ‘She’s just my assistant.’
    ‘Oh,’ Cosima said, removing her offer of friendship and straightening up. ‘Come on, then. Have you met Luca d’Orsognio? His father’s the . . .’
    Sophie watched the international beauties drift into the centre of the social