Page 41 of All the Gossip from Paris (Royal Fashion #2)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

The Royal Resorts Hotel Paris.

Later that evening

The rest of the runway show and the hour or so after it passed by Sophie in a blur. The synapses in her brain were firing at a huge rate. She’d achieved so much today. It was hard to take it all in.

Someone had handed Sophie’s coat to her. She’d been ushered out of the Petit Palais and into the back of a waiting car. The next thing she knew she was walking into the crowded grand ballroom of the Royal Resorts Hotel Paris.

Alone.

Stuffing her hands into her coat pockets Sophie kept moving through the gathering. Her hands hadn’t stopped trembling since the moment Adeya had set foot on the runway wearing Sophie’s couture gown.

The roar of the gathered crowd still rung in her ears. All the years she’d been attending fashion week, she had never heard such a reception to a single garment.

And it wasn’t just the gown. She’d proven that with help from the right people, people who believed in her, she could showcase her family’s haute couture on her own terms.

She didn’t even mind that Patrice had been the one to walk the runway at the end of the show to acknowledge the guests. He could smile and bow all he wished. This day belonged to her.

Her cell phone continued to gently ping with notifications from the House of Royal sales and marketing team.

The collection had been well received. The regular clients were already placing orders.

And there were one or two new names who had reached out and asked to be considered for the client list.

Excitement bubbled in her belly at reading the contents of the last note. Five clients had enquired about the blue and white gown. Real clients were interested in collecting her work.

But as much as all of that was so amazing, all she wanted was to find Liam. To have him wrap his arms around her. To tell her he wouldn’t ever leave.

“Where are you?” she whispered.

A hand touched the small of her back and it was all Sophie could do not to let out a huge sigh of relief. She knew that touch.

Thank god. Where have you been?

“I’m not sure if you look like you need a drink, or if you’re about to set off on a lap of honor,” said Liam.

Sophie gladly took the glass of champagne he offered her. “Thank you. I think this space is a bit crowded for running, but I could certainly do with burning off some of the adrenaline,” she replied.

They clinked glasses. “Congratulations you pulled it off,” said Liam.

“We pulled it off. I couldn’t have done it without a huge amount of help. And your support.”

As he stood alongside her, Liam gave Sophie a playful nudge with his elbow.

“You put your blue and white gown in the show. I can’t believe you did it. But I’m so damn proud that you did.”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t say anything to you before the show. The less people who knew about it the better.”

“It’s fine. I got some amazing photos of the collection, and your gown. Ryan is putting some of the pieces up on social media. We agreed to wait until you had given approval to include any pictures of your gown.”

Wow. They were going to ask for her permission? It was so refreshing to work with people who actually valued her opinion. Who didn’t just assume.

I could get used to that sort of thing. To being seen. Being valued.

Her gaze settled on the door. More and more people continued to file into the ballroom. The social media and press teams of the various fashion platforms and magazines were making their presence known.

“If guests keep coming in at this rate, we will soon be at capacity,” said Liam.

Sophie sipped her champagne. She was relieved that the task of getting up in front of all these people and making a speech, in both French and English, would fall to Patrice.

She could stand back in the safety of the crowd and accept any platitudes he thought to offer.

While it was Haute Couture Week tradition for the designer to thank the members of their atelier team, she’d never once rated a mention from her father.

I wonder what Patrice thought of the gown being included.

For a brief moment she almost felt sorry for her ex. He was well and truly stuck in the middle of any possible fallout that might come from Francois. But any pity she might have felt for him, was tempered by the memories of the pain Patrice had caused her over the years.

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, and fired off a message to Ryan. The media team could send the photos and video of her gown out into the world. There was no point in starting a rebellion if you weren’t prepared to follow up on the first shot.

“I’ve just let Ryan know that I approve of your photos of my gown. I trust you Liam. I don’t need to see them before they go out. I think my gown should be credited as Sophie Royal for the House of Royal.” People could make of that what they wished.

Adeya had something close to twenty million followers on Instagram. Once they tagged her, the supermodel’s social media juggernaut would do the rest.

Putting her phone away, Sophie turned to Liam. He’d been by her side almost every minute for the past week. Working with her to help present the show, then sharing her bed each night.

He’d even sat up with her at four am this morning, when her brain refused to switch off. They could now officially tick Notting Hill off their to-watch list.

I need this man.

“Would you come and stand closer to the front with me when Patrice makes his speech?” she asked.

“Nervous?”

Sophie gave a half-shrug. “Sort of, but I want to make sure he sees you. I want to remind him to acknowledge you for the work you’ve done.”

While Patrice mightn’t like Liam, there was no doubting the amazing effort Liam had put into the collection lookbook and runway photos. That sort of contribution demanded recognition.

A commotion at the entrance to the ballroom halted their conversation. Sophie tried to look over the heads of the other nearby guests, but couldn’t see clearly.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

Liam, who due to his height was afforded a better view, took a quick look. He turned back to her. “You’re not going to believe this, but your parents are here. They’re with Patrice.”

How on earth had her father managed to get to the hotel? The last time she’d spoken to Francois he was still in hospital. In Switzerland. He wasn’t meant to be able to fly until tomorrow at the earliest.

Quickly offloading her unfinished glass of champagne onto the nearest table, Sophie made her way through the gathering. Liam followed close behind. When they reached her parents, Sophie let out a sob. “Papa.”

Her father was seated in a wheelchair, his broken leg supported in a brace. He wore a neck collar. While he was immaculately dressed, the bags under his eyes and his drawn face betrayed him. She couldn’t imagine how much effort it must be taking for him to be here.

Knowing the sort of man Francois was, he would probably have checked himself out of hospital against doctors’ orders. He’d have flown back to Paris to be in attendance at the after party. He had to be in a world of pain. Sophie met her mother’s worried gaze, but Marina simply shook her head.

Stubborn man.

Francois looked at Sophie, he gave her the barest of nods before he summoned Patrice, to his side. “I must make my speech from the stage. Get someone to have a ramp put in place for my wheelchair. Thank you, Patrice. I know I can always count on your loyalty.”

She noted that her father didn’t bother to even glance in Liam’s direction. Not once. As if he hoped that by pretending the second of the Collin’s brothers didn’t exist, Liam’s presence in Sophie’s life wouldn’t be real.

Yet you fawn over Patrice.

Patrice made his demands quickly known to one of the hotel staff. As soon as the staff member had disappeared, he returned to Francois’ side. Ever the dutiful lieutenant.

The warmth of Liam’s hand as he threaded his fingers with hers, had Sophie on the verge of tears.

What sort of fool had she been to expect any word of acknowledgement from her father? She hated herself for craving his attention so much. Even anger would have been better than this cold indifference.

Patrice now stood behind Francois’ wheelchair, and pushing it forward, they slowly made their way toward the stage.

The crowd parted like the proverbial Red Sea.

Wealthy client after wealthy client bowed to the acclaimed haute couture designer.

And after wishing her father a speedy recovery, they gushed over the wonderful runway show.

“Your choice of models was truly inspired.”

“Once again, you have excelled yourself Francois.”

“I can’t believe you organized the collection from your sick bed. Utter genius.”

Patrice shook the hand of one of the most influential magazine editors in the world. “My team and I did everything we could to make sure the show went smoothly. I’m just so glad that I was able to help bring Francois vision to life.”

Sophie gripped Liam’s hand. Betrayal bit deep.

“Your father knows you were handling the garments. It won’t take long for him to realize that you did the bulk of the work Sophie.”

Liam was a good man, one who understood the concept of fairness. But the world of high fashion had never been fair. Ego driven people like her father and Patrice were everywhere. People like Sophie didn’t matter to them.

“Yes, I’m sure he will,” she replied. But even she didn’t believe her own words.

If Francois had already made it to Paris in time for the afterparty, then there was every chance he’d been watching the live feed of the show. He had to have seen her gown. Known that Sophie had chosen one of the world’s most famous models to showcase her own work.

The triumph she’d enjoyed in the hours following the show ebbed away. In its place came the first buds of regret.

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