Chapter 167
“Are you two kidding me?” Lily hisses, glaring at her children. “McDonald’s? Seriously? Do you think I invited April so you could drag her along as you played hooky?”
Julian smirks and leans in. “I got you fries to go.”
She smacks his chest. “I swear you’re adopted.”
He snorts. “I would believe that, but you love telling the story of how you were in labor for twenty–four hours.”
She scoffs. “Little did I know that would be the easiest challenge I would face as your mother.” He cups her face and kisses her forehead. “Je t’aime, Maman,” he declares with a blinding smile.
His eyes flicker over her shoulder. “Oh, Jade came. I’m supposed to talk her into doing a feature for us.”
And just like that, he’s gone, blending into the sea of elites.
Lily rolls her eyes, but her expression holds affection. When she shifts her attention to Lara and me, Lara raises her hands in surrender. “Don’t look at me. We’re all just living in Julian’s world.”
Lily tsks. “You’re both lucky that you brought April back.”
She loops her arm through mine, and my heart skips a beat. She’s such a force, and I don’t think being in her presence will ever not be overwhelming.
“Come, dear,” she says, leading me away from Lara. “I have some people I want to introduce you to.”
She does?
Numb and a little panicky, I let her steer me through the velvet–draped corridor into the heart of the loft.
The space buzzes with quiet opulence. Models lounge like sculptures, all angles and cheekbones, dressed in pieces that defy logic and gravity.
Editors, designers, and stylists float between them in whispered conversations, their names probably recognizable to anyone who actually belongs in this world.
Lily belongs.
I do not.
But I try to walk like I do, lengthening my spine and softening my jaw like I’ve seen in photos.
As we weave through the crowd, I catch glimpses of who we’re approaching–a woman with a silver bob and wide–legged Céline trousers, a Vogue stylist I follow religiously on Instagram, and a man with a diamond ear cuff and the kind of aura that screams Creative Director. I feel my heartbeat tick up with each step.
“April, this is Celeste Noiret,” Lily says breezily. “She discovered Gala Saint–Clair back when she was modeling in grocery ads. And this is Etienne Morel–he just wrapped an exhibit in Milan. And of course, you know Yves.”
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Chapter 167
Do 1?
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Oh God. I think I do. He designed the sculptural jacket from the Met Gala that went viral last spring.
1 manage a smile, but most of my energy is diverted to trying not to faint in the presence of these people who might as well be gods.
“H–hi,” I say, waving.
Waving, April? What the fuck?
“It’s an honor,” I add, sounding like a robot.
Celeste gives me an approving once–over. “Is this the ‘diamond in the rough‘ you’ve been gushing about, Lily?”
Lily beams. “In the flesh. April’s brilliant. Quietly so. Which is rare—and, I find, much more enduring than the loud ones.”
My cheeks flame. Brilliant? Me?
I catch Yves studying me with narrowed eyes, not unkindly. “Are you self–taught?”
“Yes,” I say, my voice steadier now. “Mostly. I’ve been sewing since I was fifteen.”
“She made her own dress for the Ashford ball,” Lily adds, proudly. “And oh, you should see her sketches–truly inspired. She has raw talent, just waiting to be tapped.”
I want to melt into the hardwood floor. I can’t believe the Lily Ashford is bragging about me to giants in the fashion industry.
Celeste clucks her tongue thoughtfully. “Have you ever considered formal study?”
That’s when Lily’s grip on my arm tightens slightly. “Actually, we were just discussing that.”
I can’t keep the surprise off my face.
We were?
She turns to me, eyes bright with something that makes my stomach twist–anticipation or nerves, I’m not sure. “April, dear, I have a friend who sits on the board of Institut Français de la Mode in Paris. It’s the very best. I want to arrange an introduction.”
My breath catches. My eyes widen.
I blink at Lily, trying to understand if she just said what she just said or if I tripped on my heels, hit my head, and am now in a fever
dream.
“You said fashion was your dream,” Lily says, eyeing me expectantly. “Is that still true?”
“Yes,” the answer tears out of me like a gasp. “But
”
Paris? Me?
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Chapter 167
There are a hundred different reasons why this won’t work. Why it’s ridiculous and scary and-
A trickle of sweat rolls down my back.
But-
Parts. The place where fashion lives and breathes like a religion. A school where people like me–people with anxiety and no sedlygen- don’t just stroll in.
“…” I start, blinking fast. “That’s–wow. I don’t even know what to say.”
“Say you II think about it,” Lily says, gently now. “It would be a shame to let a gift like yours go to waste.”
The others have drifted away, and it’s just the two of us now.
“I meant it when I said I like you, April Farrah,” she adds. “I’m not doing this lightly.”
“But-
“I would, of course, bear all the financial responsibility if that’s what’s holding you back.”
My eyes widen. What the hell?
Is there a sign on my head? Some ancient voodoo I don’t know about that makes women like Lily and Penny want to throw money at me?
“This isn’t charity,” Lily says like she can read my mind. “It’s an investment. You’re going to be something, and I’m snatching you up before anyone else can.”
I’m still speechless. I have no words to explain the thumping feeling in my chest.
Lily smiles and squeezes my hand. “Say you’ll think about it. I know it’s a sudden offer; I know it’s a big change. But I also know what it’s like to feel like a guest in someone else’s world,” she adds, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. Hinting at a story I would love to hear. “But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a seat at the table.”
Paris.
Holy shit.
Je t’aime, Maman (French) I love you, Mom
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
