Page 47 of All the Gossip from Paris
Liam shifted in his chair, and sat back. He picked up his own cocktail. After touching his lips to the rim of the glass, he set it down again.
“Do you know what that final victory looks like?”
It was painful listening to his words, but Liam wasn’t wrong. She could rattle the chains all she liked, but no one would take her seriously. Not until she had decided what she wanted for herself, and then went after it.
“I don’t really know what I want. But I do know it’s well past time I stopped being a grunt.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Château de la forêt
Later that afternoon.
Liam’s words still rang in Sophie’s ears long after they’d finished their lunch. Long after she’d returned home, wrapped her gifts, and put them under the Christmas tree.
What does victory look like?
With her hand on the door of her father’s atelier, Sophie paused for a moment to take a deep breath. This was not going to be easy. François was a stubborn, intractable man at the best of times. Asking to have a small amount of say in the business mightn’t seem such a big deal, but she wasn’t a fool—her father guarded his power like a dragon protected its jewels.
This couldn’t wait. She had to raise the subject with her father now. Before he left for Switzerland. If she waited, then by the time he returned to Paris in the new year, Haute Couture Week would be almost upon them, and it would be too late.
“Papa!” she called out.
“In here,” he replied.
She found him in the fabric room, hunched over a roll of green silk. He’d used that material for a gown in the upcoming January show. Sophie hadn’t liked the design, but she’d learned over the years to keep her opinions about François’ work to herself.
He righted himself but kept his gaze on the fabric. “I can’t figure out what is wrong with that piece, but it just doesn’t work.”
Her tongue settled between her teeth. Other people’s opinions were not what her father ever wanted to hear.
“When are you and Mama leaving for Switzerland?” she asked. An innocuous enough question. Something to shift his thoughts away from the alleged failure of the gown.
“Later this afternoon. The jet is still being serviced for your brothers to take it to the Caribbean. We are using a helicopter instead. We’ll fly to Sion Airport, and our driver will take us by road the rest of the way.”
Her parents would be gone shortly. It was now or never.
Sophie cleared her throat. “I’ve been wondering about what you might say if I took on some more responsibilities, starting with the upcoming Haute Couture Week. I wouldn’t tread on any toes, but I think it’s time I stepped up.”
She bit down hard on her bottom lip, then added. “Unless of course you think it’s not a good idea.”
Why don’t I just lay down and let him walk all over me? I’m so pathetic.
She hated the way she sounded. So meek. So powerless.
If she’d had time, she’d have spent days practicing this speech in order to get it right. To ask her father for a chance at being more than a glorified seamstress.
In Liam’s words, to stop being just a grunt.
François sighed. “Not right now, my dear. Stay with the pieces I need you to finish and let that be enough of your contribution to my show.”
Tears pricked at the back of her eyes. “I am ready. Please, Papa, you must give me a chance. I know all the garments. I could help with the layout of the collection.”
The weakness in her voice tore at her soul. She was all but begging. It reminded her too much of those nights she’d spent pleading with Patrice to be with her and no one else. To give their relationship the attention and care it deserved.
Her future as a designer rested in the secret hope that if her father saw how capable she was, in time he’d come to view her as a worthy successor. One day he might agree to let her show her creations in his collections. But that would only happen if she could prove herself.
Or I could just pray for a miracle. At least they have been known to happen.
