Page 78 of All the Gossip from Paris
Yes of course. Schmoozing was part of the job she’d given Patrice.
“Did you check that Maria’s shoes were tightened properly?” she asked. Maria was a fabulous runway model who’d walked for most of the major fashion houses, but she had a habit of tripping over her own feet. The last thing they needed was for one of the models to go down on the hard marble floor.
“Yes, I have checked. And Lara’s corset was too tight, so we loosened that a little. Sophie, the stylists and I have got this—you just need to be at the front of the staging area to run your eye over the garments before they go out.”
She envied his eye for detail, and calmness under pressure. Then she remembered that Ryan worked for Camille. Her sister had impossibly high standards.
The team and models were all professionals. The clothes were amazing. Late yesterday she’d checked every single garment one last time, before finally allowing them to be packed.
“Every piece, including the gown Camille brought with her this morning is ready. It’s almost showtime,” said Ryan.
The guests were all here, including several hundred wealthy clients. Women who were ready to spend. They would be the ones who decided if this collection was a success. If the sales team started taking orders within hours, then she could relax.
Ryan took Sophie by the hand and led her to the side of the staging area. “Your palms are sweaty.” He handed her a small towel. “Here—tuck this into the front of your pants and use it to keep them clean. Don’t forget to take it out before you leave at the end of the show.”
Clever man.
“I don’t know how you manage to keep your cool so easily,” replied Sophie.
“Actually this is easier than Camille’s first show in New York. At least it doesn’t have a theme. Cinderella in the City was nuts. We had Prince Charming and all those NYC cab motifs everywhere. I like how the garments do all the work here.”
She didn’t have the heart to tell Ryan that just one of her father’s jackets was worth more than Camille’s entire runway collection.
Ok. Haute Couture Week. Bring it on.
The film crew at the Petit Palais was easily one of the best teams, Liam had ever worked with in the business. They knew exactly what they were doing. They had covered all the best spots to film from, and they had a great sense of lighting. He’d worked on the reality TV series which Ryan had featured in some five years ago. This team was on par with that level of professionalism.
The only disappointing thing was that Sophie was working with the models somewhere behind the staging. He wouldn’t get a chance to see her until this was all over. He sent her a silent wish ‘good luck.’
After rolling his shoulders to loosen up, Liam picked up his camera and fired off some test shots. He was in his element. Behind the camera. Capturing the action. This was the place he was born to be.
The light strains of orchestral music soon reached his ears. Sophie had explained that her father had strict guidelines about music and lighting. This was the maison du Royal, one of the finest Haute Couture houses in the world. It didn’t lower itself to loud pop music, or anything remotely avant-garde. The delicate touch of background music was meant to set the mood. The glittering chandeliers hanging overhead helped showcase the clothes.
It all served to explain the distinct lack of celebrities seated in the front row of the audience. This was the serious business of fashion. Instagram influencers, famous faces, and mass cultural icons didn’t stand a chance in getting past the front door. The House of Royal collections were for the true believers in the art form that was Haute Couture.
Liam settled over his camera. They had timed the start of the show. From the first beat of music to the first model was exactly six minutes. This was the House of Royal’s polite way of informing those in attendance that they had better take their seats, put their cell phones away, and be ready to take in François’ artistic brilliance.
When the first model appeared at the start of the runway, Liam stifled a grin. Sophie had moved the white blouse up to the beginning. The jacket couldn’t be too far behind.
His camera went to work.
It was a steady production line of models and clothes. The stylists dressed each woman. Sophie got to run her eye over the final polished piece before handing over to Ryan. He would give the model a brief word of encouragement, then hold them back until it was time to step out onto the runway.
Sophie watched on the monitor backstage as each girl walked the runway. The garments shimmered under the lights. The intricate beadwork and flowing fabrics caught everyone’s attention.
Her gaze settled on the most important of her father’s clients. The make-or-break crowd as she had long ago dubbed them. If they were smiling, the collection would sell. If there were frowns or furrowed brows, then there was cause for concern.
“They are smiling,” she whispered. Most of the women had little blue notebooks and matching pens in their hands. A personal gift from François. A little something for them to write their thoughts and ideas in. And their possible orders.
Twenty minutes later and the number of garments that were still to come out was down to a mere handful. The moment she’d been waiting for, and dreading, was upon her. At the end of the line of models stood Camille, but it wasn’t her sister who caught Sophie’s eye. It was the tall leggy model, Adeya.
Adeya was wearing the gown. Sophie’s gown.
All thoughts she might have had of not showing her design fled in an instant. Adeya’s beautiful dark ebony skin transformed the blue and white gown from high fashion to ethereal. The Nigerian supermodel’s long goddess braids added the final touch of perfection.
Sophie swallowed deep. “Thank you for agreeing to wear this gown, Adeya. I can’t begin to tell you how much it means to me.”
Taking Sophie’s hand, Adeya gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m loving this moment of female empowerment. Your act of defiance is going to be the talk of the fashion world tomorrow.”
