Page 32 of Shout Out To My Ex

‘You would still be beautiful.’ He turns me around, his hands resting on the small of my back, and I snake my arms around his neck, letting the list dangle from my fingertips.

He dips his head and presses his mouth to mine and I give in to the feeling of his (oh-so-gorgeous) lips, parting mine, our breaths mingling. Our tongues touch lightly and fireworks start exploding between my legs. I never knew until being with Tristan that akisscould set my entire body alight.

The list flutters to the floor but I won’t even notice until I find it on the lounge room floor in the morning.

10

ELLE

It’s the night before my first showing in Paris and surprise, surprise I cannot sleep.

Cass and I are sharing a hotel room to economise and not five minutes after we turned out the lights, her distinct sleep noise, a sort of snuffling, filled the room. If I didn’t love her so much, I would hate my sister for how easily she can fall asleep. Isn’t it enough that she got the height, the boobs,andthe dimples?

I stare at the ornate ceiling, tracing the curves and shadows of the cornices with my eyes, as snapshots from the past few days fly through my mind. It’s been a blur of cab rides and fittings and consults and run-throughs. The show coordinator we hired has been brilliant, answering every one of my zillion (probably stupid) questions and ensuring that we’ve been exactly where we’ve needed to be at any given moment.

They even cast our models for us, absolutely smashing it, and we have the mostgorgeouslineup. The final look – my not-quite-bridal look – will be worn by Juju, a stunning non-binary model with dark-brown skin and a shaved head. They look magnificent in that off-white ensemble.

And Zara is with us, literally my right-hand woman. She’s been working tirelessly to ensure each piece is fitted perfectly to our models. You can fit all you want onto a dress form but until you put your clothes onto a live model, you won’t know exactly how a piece will fall or move. Now I do. And if it’s possible, I love this collection even more.

Cass is convinced we’re going to be swamped with orders from department stores and if we are, she has a manufacturer on stand-by. She’s been silent about Leo this past week. Which, of course, makes me all the more convinced she’s up to something.

And we have an interloper in our entourage, a fashion journalist called Poppy. She seems nice enough and I am sure the coverage inNouveauwill be beneficial – no such thing as bad publicity, right? – but having her around is just another thing to worry about. What if she writes about my obsession with perfect stitching, even on a garment’s lining, and I come off as a pedant or a perfectionist? I mean, I am both those things when it comes to my designs, but I’m not sure I wantNouveaureaders thinking ill of me. I want them – and every other fashion devotee – to love me and love my clothes.

Cassie farts in her sleep, which makes me laugh. I can’t help it. Farts are funny – they just are – and when you are exhausted, nervous,andexcited, they become hilarious. I snigger into my hand but pretty soon, a hand is not enough to contain the hilarity. Even when I smush my face into my pillow to smother the sound, it’s loud enough to wake Cassie.

‘What?’ she moans grumpily.

‘Nothing,’ I say through my laughter. ‘Go back to sleep.’

‘I can’t. My sister is laughing maniacally only four feet away.’ She rolls towards me and in the light seeping into the room from the gap in the curtains, I make out her frown.

‘Soz – it’s just… You know when you’re so exhausted, you’re too tired to sleep?’

‘No.’ Her eyes drift shut and she snuggles further under the duvet.

‘Goodnight, Cass.’

‘Goodnight, sis,’ she murmurs. ‘Now go to sleep. Big day tomorrow.’

As if I need reminding. Still, laughing released a lot of the tension I’ve been holding onto and it’s not long before I feel the tug of sleep and drift off.

Poppy

‘So, how is it? You’ve left me hanging here,’ says Shaz. I clap a hand over my mouth to save her from seeing a close-up of my dental work. ‘Oh my god, it’s barely gone ten there, you nana.’

‘Hey. It’s been flat tack since we got to Paris. Twelve- and thirteen-hour days, a whirlwind of meetings and people and venues.’

‘Ah, the glamour…’

‘Exactly. I don’t know how fashion designers do it. All this work – hundreds, if not thousands of hours – just for a fifteen-minute show.’

‘But it’s less about the fifteen minutes and more about the exposure, though, right?’ she asks.

‘Yeah, probably.’

‘And how’s Elle? You know, about you being there?’

‘Yeah, good – chatty sometimes, quiet others. But Cassie seems to have fudged how much coverage she’ll get in the magazine. I hope she won’t be too disappointed. She’s such a darling – and herclothes, Shaz! Love, love, love.’

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