Adrien St. Paul, Fashion King
“You have no idea how long it’s been since I wore a real t-shirt,” Adrien groaned, pressing the soft fabric into his skin. “And jeans! Just feel the denim!”
Vicky raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Uh-huh. And the last time you’ve been in a department store, and the last time you’ve had money…”
“Well, all those, too, of course,” he said, but it still looked like he was in 100% cotton heaven. “What color did you say it was?”
Vicky gave a critical eye. “Sort of a distressed light blue…I’d never had thought you looked good in blue, but whatever.”
Adrien shrugged, trusting her judgement. Presently, he heard the familiar pattern of Greg’s footsteps among the hundred others.
“That’s certainly a change,” Greg observed. “Especially from the hospital gown.”
Adrien grimaced. “Don’t remind me.”
“Any news?” Vicky asked.
“I called Mug—Ben, and he’s on his way from Venice.”
Adrien sighed with relief. “Soon Finn’ll be here too, right?”
Greg nodded, then caught himself. “Right.”