Page 27 of All the Gossip from Paris (Royal Fashion #2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Liam stopped by his room and grabbed his camera before following Sophie up to the top floor of the chateau, and into the atelier.

As with his first visit, the workshop was empty.

The tailors, seamstresses, and dressmakers were all gone for the Christmas holidays.

Sophie’s parents would soon be leaving for Switzerland.

One day he hoped to experience the atelier when all the employees were here. It would be great to see how this place looked and felt when there was a team of people buzzing about.

Sophie opened a large, tall cupboard and wheeled out a tailors mannequin. A long cotton garment bag was draped over it.

Liam had seen the stationary mannequins in Camille’s workshop but never one on wheels. She caught him checking out the model. “This is what is known as a dress form. Some people call it a mobile dummy. Papa hates the term. He says it sounds childish, and I would have to agree.”

Righting herself, she brushed her long dark hair away from her face. Liam’s teeth worried his bottom lip. If Sophie had the slightest idea what that move did to him, she didn’t show it.

Memories of the night they’d spent in one another’s arms in New York, came flooding back. The tactile pleasure of tangling his hands in her silken hair as he kissed her was something Liam longed to savor once more.

So damn beautiful.

How anyone could treat this woman as less than a goddess was beyond him.

Given half the chance he’d be on his knees before her, begging for Sophie to accept his eager worship.

Liam was still grappling with his lustful thoughts as Sophie slipped the light cover off the mannequin and revealed the gown.

And what a gown.

It was colored blue and white—that much he could manage to describe. There was beading, and lace. After that, the only words he could manage were absolutely exquisite. Nothing could do justice to the sheer splendor of the gown.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Would you say you liked the Sistine Chapel? Or Botticelli’s Birth of Venus?”

Sophie’s brows knitted together in confusion. “I don’t think I would dare compare my gown to either of them.”

Liam moved closer, taking in the intricate beading on the bodice of the dress. “Magnificent seems the wrong word. Do I like it? I’m not sure. I think I might actually be humbled by it. If that makes any sort of sense.”

He was stumbling over his words afraid that he might say the wrong thing. But when a bright smile lit Sophie’s face, he understood the truth. She’d got his meaning.

“Well that is high praise indeed. Thank you, Liam. I really needed to hear that today,” said Sophie.

He didn’t understand haute couture. Couldn’t even begin to profess the tiniest knowledge of the art. But anyone could see that Sophie’s work was outstanding.

So why wouldn’t Francois let his daughter, who clearly had mad talent, become a leader in his atelier?

This gown alone deserved its own runway show.

“Is it finished?” he asked.

“Yes. I did the last of the beading on the bodice over the summer. It’s been a completed garment for some time now. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’d like to see you in it. Would you wear it for me?”

* * *

Would she put the gown on? Sophie found Liam’s request a bit strange. Not the request itself, but the fact that until this very minute no one else had ever asked. Perhaps her father was right. Her work wasn’t good enough.

I’ve shown the design to other people. Maybe they didn’t want to tell me the truth.

“Designers don’t wear their garments.”

“Why not?” He looked her up and down, then turned to the model. “I don’t know much about women’s clothes but I’ve a good eye for their bodies. Apologies if that comes across as a bit creepy. I think you’d look amazing in it, Sophie.”

Liam knew her better than he likely realized he did. Most haute couture runway sample sizes were a European thirty-six, but Sophie was closer to a thirty-nine.

She’d used her own measurements for the gown. Cutting the fabric and hand sewing it in her bedroom. When she finally needed to work with the sewing machines and overlockers in the atelier Sophie had brought the unfinished garment upstairs.

Dare she put the gown on and show him how it looked on her? Was she that brave?

Sophie was still in two minds about whether to say yes, when Liam moved to stand in front of her.

He offered her one of his panty dropping smiles.

“There is the matter of the photographs I still owe you. So how about we make a deal. You put the dress on, and I’ll take some photos.

They will be for your exclusive use only. No one else will ever know about them.”

She’d always had a problem saying no to people. With Liam she found it damn near impossible. He just had that way about him. When he slipped the lens cap off his camera, she sensed the conversation was already over.

“Ok. But this stays between you and me. I don’t want you going and telling Ryan or Cami that I showed you this.” She held out a hand. “Is that a deal?”

He took her hand, and they shook. “Deal,” replied Liam.

Now came the tricky part. Undressing and putting the gown on.

Liam had already seen her naked, but this was somehow different. More intimate. They’d agreed New York was a one-time thing. A mistake. It was supposed to mean nothing to either of them.

Yes. Yes. A mistake. That night stays in America. Damn.

Why did he have to be so handsome? And nice? Not to mention, amazing in bed. And supportive of her career.

Liam Collins ticked all of her boxes.

But her sister was now married to his brother and that added a whole layer of complexity to things.

The gown. She had to focus on the gown.

“Ok. Please turn around. I’ll get undressed, and into the gown,” said Sophie. He gave her a nod, then spun on his heel and faced toward the window.

“There were a lot of semi naked models wandering around back stage at Camille’s fashion show in New York. Is that the same during all the fashion shows?” he asked.

Sophie shrugged out of her coat, and toed off her boots. “Yeah, the titty parade is pretty much standard fair. But after a while I think one nipple becomes like all the others. You get to a point where you don’t even see them.”

When Liam cleared his throat, Sophie gave a dirty laugh. “You’re the one with the pierced cock, so you can’t tell me that nipples make you blush Mister Collins.”

She went for her sweater and pulled it over her head. Her long sleeved shirt followed, then finally her thermal undershirt. Paris in December was chilly. Sophie never liked being cold. Her jeans went next. For some silly reason she decided to keep her thick woolen socks on.

Now for the gown.

“Do you need any help?” he asked.

“In a minute,” replied Sophie, slowly unzipping the gown. It was a completed garment, and she’d a lifetime’s worth of experience in handling delicate fabrics. A torn dress could cost the House of Royal thousands of euros. With great care she lifted the gown away from the dressmakers model.

This design was sleeveless. She’d toyed with that part of the dress for many weeks, going back and forth with her sketches to see what worked. In the end no sleeves made sense. If the client wanted to cover up, Sophie would offer to make them a matching shawl.

The top of the dress was wide open, but she couldn’t see how she could get into it. She would need his assistance. “Liam, could you please come over here?”

She was still in her bra and panties, so it wasn’t as if he was going to catch an eyeful of anything. He certainly wouldn’t be getting the titty parade.

Liam turned and took a step or two closer. His gaze rested on her feet for a moment, and he chuckled. “Nice socks. Do they come with the gown?”

“No they don’t but they keep my feet warm. Here’s what I need you to do. If you could please hold that side of the top of the gown for me, I’ll hold the other side. Then I can make a clean move to get in.”

He did as she asked, and what had looked to be a problem was quickly solved. Sophie stepped into the gown, and between the two of them they lifted the heavily beaded bodice. She glanced down at her bra. She wasn’t going to be able to do the bodice up with it still on.

“We’re going to have to take the bra off. Otherwise I won’t get good photos,” said Liam.

Yes, he’d seen her naked. And his hands, lips, and tongue had been all over her breasts, but Sophie was still uncomfortable about letting Liam touch her body. This was her father’s atelier—not a luxury hotel suite many thousands of kilometers away.

“How do you want to handle this?” he asked.

The next time she saw Brenda Collins, she’d say thank you for having raised such a thoughtful son. She’d seen Patrice practically manhandle a model into a gown. So, Liam’s gentle concern was a refreshing change to the norm.

“If I hold the front of the gown, could you undo the back? How good are you with unhooking bras?”

Liam’s silence was enough of an answer. He didn’t live the life of a monk. The thought of him with anyone else, made Sophie a little sad.

While she held the gown to her chest, Liam made quick work of the hooks. Slipping her arms out of the bra one by one, she freed her breasts. After tossing the bra to one side, Sophie fitted the bodice to her body.

“I’ll do the zipper if you like,” he kindly offered.

With great care, Liam slowly closed the gown. When he was finished, he stood silently behind her for a moment. The air was suddenly thick with unresolved tension. Sophie swallowed. If he touched her again, she might just go up in flames.

His warm breath had goosebumps forming on her skin.

“Do you ever think about New York?” he whispered.

She hadn’t ever stopped thinking about that night. It would be so easy to simply say no. But the way they were with one another she sensed he would know it was a lie.

He might not have realized what he’d been doing, but during their shopping trip earlier in the day, Liam had touched his hands to her body at least a half dozen times. Sophie had kept count.

A gentle brush against her arm. His hand in the small of her back as they stepped onto the escalator. And she wouldn’t ever forget the moment he’d brushed her hair back from her face as she bent to look at a display case of Montblanc pens.

“Yeah, I do think about New York. You are always on my mind, Liam. And I’m not sure what I should make of that.”

He turned her gently to face him. She met those warm, tender eyes. Then her gaze dropped to his lips. Sophie’s heart began to race.

“Maybe it’s because we decided it was a mistake, but we both knew deep down that it wasn’t. I don’t want things to be awkward between us Sophie. If you want me to go, just say so.”

She didn’t hesitate giving him her own reply. “I want you to stay. I need you to stay.”

Please kiss me. Please.

He leaned forward, taking great care not to step on the gown’s train. “You look like a fairytale princess. Are you ready for me to take some photos?”

She’d been aching for him to kiss her. To hold her in his arms. The dull ache of disappointment settled heavily in her heart.

Liam only wanted to take her picture. He didn’t want her.