Page 35 of All the Gossip from Paris (Royal Fashion #2)

“I’ll be back soon.” She turned to Camille. “I will let Papa know you are here. And that we will all be waiting for him when he wakes.”

Liam stepped into her path. “Whatever you need, Sophie, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m here for you.”

He was the spark of hope in the middle of the worst day of her life. Liam was here for her. It meant more than she could put into words.

His presence in the waiting room scattered any lingering doubts she might have still had about him. She had fallen hard for this man. Sophie rose up on her toes, and kissed Liam. “Thank you.”

When the time was right, she would tell him how she felt. If Liam ending up leaving, chasing his dreams. At least he would know that she loved him.

But first things first. Papa.

A sense of dread settled tightly in her chest. Sophie headed down the hallway to where her father waited. Reaching the third door on the right, she tapped gently on it. Then pushed it open.

The sight which greeted her shattered Sophie’s composure into a million pieces. Her hand went to her mouth. In the hospital bed, with a startling amount of tubes and wires hanging all around him, lay her father. His eyes were closed. For a moment she feared he was dead.

Oh fuck. I don’t know if I can do this.

“Sophie darling, I’m so glad you’re here.”

It was only then that she noticed her mother was in the room. Marina Royal rose from the chair on the other side of the bed, and rushed to embrace Sophie. In her mother’s arms she finally let the tears win.

“I know. I know, sweetheart. It’s a bit of a shock when you first see him. But your father is a stubborn man. He will get through this,” comforted Marina.

“Sophie?” croaked Francois. He sounded terrible. So tired. So broken.

She rallied, and turned to him. “Yes, Papa I’m here. Camille and éliott are in the waiting room. Camille sends her love.”

Her mother gave her a gentle pat on the arm, then moved toward the door. “I’ll go sit with your brother and sister while you and your father talk.”

That sounded ominous. Just how badly injured was Francois?

“Come and sit with me,” said her father. Sophie did as asked, pulling up the chair her mother had vacated.

“You wanted to speak to me Papa?”

He let out a long pained groan. “Yes. They doped me up nicely for the short flight from the medical center. I think the drugs might be starting to wear off though.”

“I’m listening.”

“Haute Couture Week is coming. We need to make some changes. As soon as you get back to Paris, you will call Patrice. He’ll take over managing the show until I return. You will help him in any way he asks.”

Patrice.

Patrice who was barely capable of managing anything, let alone a major fashion show was being put in charge. While she, who knew everything about fashion week, the models, the clothes everything it involved. She was being relegated to the role of assistant to her useless ex.

Her father had been seriously injured in the accident. He was about to go in for major surgery. There was no way he was going to be able to manage the biggest week in fashion while also trying to recover.

She could see the weeks ahead. The disaster which loomed if Patrice was left in charge.

It was too much to bear.

All those years of being treated as a second thought. Told she was not good enough, fused into blinding rage. Sophie shot to her feet.

“No. I will not play second fiddle to Patrice. You either give me Haute Couture Week to manage, or you cancel your show. If you leave him as our head of fashion week, he will bring La maison du Royal to its knees.”

“Sophie. Please. Now is not the time to push for a greater role for yourself,” groaned her father.

He’d fobbed her off in the atelier at home when he’d said he would think about giving her a greater role.

It was clear to her now. The time would never be right.

Francois wouldn’t ever hand over control to his daughter.

But he would willingly give it to a man who did the bare minimum.

Who took credit for other’s work. All because he was a man.

“I know you think you can do the show, but …”

“I can do the show, Papa. I’ve been working the stage at Haute Couture Week for years.”

The door opened, and a nurse popped her head inside. “The anesthetist has just arrived. She wants to get Monsieur Royal prepped for surgery. I will come back in five minutes. Then we will need to take him.”

Damn. This was terrible timing. Ok think. Decisions have to be made.

“Sophie, I need you to do this for me. When I am back in Paris, then we can talk about your role. I’m sure you and Patrice have discussed what will happen when you two eventually get back together.”

Her father couldn’t still be clinging onto the insane illusion that she and her ex were ever going to be a couple again. No. It had to be the pain killers addling his mind.

Please lord let it be the drugs talking.

If it wasn’t, she didn’t know what she would do.

Sophie sucked in a deep breath. She wasn’t going to win this argument. But she’d be damned if she walked out of here without at least one concession.

“Alright. But I want it known that I disagree with your decision.”

“Noted.”

“I also want to be in charge of the garments until you return. That is non-negotiable.”

“Sophie please.”

She met her father’s pain etched eyes. Pushing him when he was in such a terrible state was wrong. But if he expected her to shove her disappointment down, and work under Patrice then he had to compromise on something.

Francois slowly shook his head. “What you ask for is impossible.”

“What you are asking me to do is cruel.”

For the first time in her life she was standing up to him. Her father wasn’t used to dealing with this particular version of his daughter. He was accustomed to the Sophie who always did as told. Who immediately acceded to his demands.

The only other family member who’d defied him, Camille, had chosen not to bend the knee. Instead she’d quit.

“Alright, you can be in charge of the clothes. But you must answer to Patrice for the entire event. He will be the face of the house while I am gone. That is my final word on the matter.”

Liam had asked her what she thought victory looked like. Gaining control over the collection was a major win. She would take it.

“Thank you, Papa. I won’t let you down.”

“Now give me a kiss; and let me go under the surgeon’s knife knowing my January show will still be a success. Make sure you return to Paris tonight. Call Patrice first thing in the morning.”

Sophie bent and gave her father a kiss on the cheek. “Je t'aime, Papa.”

When she left the room a minute later a plan was already forming in Sophie’s mind. She wasn’t happy with the arrangements her father had made, but she would do as asked.

Patrice knew little about the garments, so her handling that side of things shouldn’t present too much of a problem. As long as he stayed out of her space, they should be able to make sure Haute Couture Week went off without a hitch.

But as she walked into the waiting room and offered her gathered family a hopeful smile, Sophie held no illusions. She already knew that the coming weeks would be a grueling challenge. Like it or not the success of the show would rest on her shoulders.

Liam stepped forward and drew Sophie into his arms.

Thank heavens for this man.