Olivia's gaze shifted like a laser-guided missile toward Théo—the French fashion designer lounging nearby, delicately sipping some suspiciously green herbal tea. He didn't so much as flinch.
"And you," Olivia snapped, "didn't you say you liked Charlotte? Then why are you not in that pool already? This is your moment! Go dive in, do a somersault,I don't care—just do something!"
Théo raised both hands in mock surrender, the picture of refined indifference.
"I never said I was required to swim. Besides, those two are already putting on quite the show. The stage is clearly full."
He leaned back with a dramatic sigh, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I was never very athletic, anyway. But—" he paused, a dangerous gleam forming, "if you'd like me to design a swimsuit for Charlotte? That I can do. Yes. A marvelous idea. I do have talents, you know. Stop looking at me like I'm a useless decorative houseplant."
