Page 42 of All the Gossip from Paris (Royal Fashion #2)

“Ladies and gentlemen. Mesdames et Messieurs. Thank you for coming to my little show today. It means so much to me and my staff for all of you to continue your wonderful support of la maison du Royal. Without…”

The speech droned on. But the longer Francois spoke, the less Sophie cared what her father said.

By the time he’d finished she had clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached.

He then did something he’d never done before—he thanked the entire atelier team personally. Every member of the workshop was named.

Everyone but Sophie.

When he started making special mention of Patrice, Liam slipped his arm around her waist. And it was a good thing he did. She wasn’t sure who she’d punch first if she had been able to make it to the stage.

At the end of Francois’ speech the applause was deafening. It echoed in the silence of Sophie’s disappointed heart.

“I will never get out from under him,” she whispered.

Camille had been right. If she didn’t make some hard life choices, she would eventually fade away to nothing.

Holding back tears, she stood and watched as Patrice wheeled her father from the stage and out the nearest exit door. Francois had granted his loyal subjects a Royal

appearance and was now leaving.

“Could we please go Liam? If I stay here any longer, I’m going to say something truly awful to my father, and people will hear.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere but here.”

* * *

While Liam went to collect his camera gear from the concierge, Sophie wandered aimlessly through the gathering.

She knew many of the people present but as she passed them by, she noticed something odd about them.

Something which had never occurred to her in all the many years she’d been coming to these after show events.

It was always the same faces. All having the same tired conversations. This runway show was over. They were already planning on getting ready to go to the next one. The art of haute couture didn’t really matter to them. It was about being seen in the right places.

A familiar face appeared in front of her. “Your father wishes to speak to you. He is upstairs in the Presidential Suite,” said Patrice.

“How is he?” she asked.

“In a good deal of pain. Your mother said he left the hospital against doctors’ advice. The helicopter flight from Lausanne was a nightmare.”

As she went to move past him, and head toward the elevator, Patrice took a hold of Sophie’s arm. “I should warn you. He’s livid about your gown. Though I’m not sure what part irks him the most. The fact that you put your own work into his show or that you used someone famous like Adeya to do it.”

He gave her one of his rare smiles. “That was a brave thing you did. I’m impressed.”

But if Patrice thought that by offering her this tiny amount of support, he might win her back, he was sadly mistaken.

“Thank you for the warning.”

When she reached the Presidential Suite, Sophie knocked on the door and waited.

Her mother answered it. She gave Sophie a brief hug, and said.

“It’s good to see you. Try not to take everything he says at face value.

The trip back to Paris was beyond awful.

Your father refused to take his pain meds so he could keep a clear head. ”

Great. Not only was she going to have to face the bear, but he would be wounded. Sophie braced herself for what was to come.

Her father was resting on a long couch, his broken leg propped up on a chair. Behind him was stuffed several large pillows. He looked about as comfortable as someone who’d been in a serious ski accident mere weeks before would look. The lines on his face were deep.

“Sit,” he commanded.

Sophie grabbed a chair and took a seat. She rested her hands on her knees and took a slow deep breath.

“The fashion industry is one of egos, and jealousy. I’ve lost count of the designers who’ve attempted to steal my work. Take my glory and claim it for themselves,” said Francois.

Sophie sat silent in the chair. Her gaze traced the patterns of the expensive red, gray, and white, Turkish rug.

“I just never thought that one of my own children would ever seek to do what you did today. You took what was mine and snipped off a piece for yourself.”

As if explaining something to a simpleton, he made a cutting motion in the air. Sophie caught the move out of the corner of her eye, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Only a fool tried to stare Francois down when he was in one of his furies.

“My own daughter. Someone I trusted. Betrayed me for her own selfish needs.”

Sophie’s head shot up. She opened her mouth ready to refute his accusations, then decided against it. It was better to take her punishment than engage in open warfare.

“Patrice worked so hard to bring this collection together. It’s time you finally accepted that if you want to be a part of my atelier, you are going to have to march in step with him.”

I’ve got to get out of here.

In times past she would have sat here and let him berate her. Instead, Sophie rose. She carefully placed the chair back in its place. Then with quiet purpose walked toward the door.

“Your mother and I will be back at the chateau later tonight. Arrangements are underway for a hospital bed to be set up in the sunroom for me. I need somewhere to work while I rest and recuperate.”

Sophie opened the door. Her fathers last words followed her out into the elevator lobby. “I’ve enough to deal with, but now I have to find a way to handle clients who want to order a gown which I didn’t design.”