Page 80 of All the Gossip from Paris
As he stood alongside her, Liam gave Sophie a playful nudge with his elbow.
“You put your blue and white gown in the show. I can’t believe you did it. But I’m so damn proud that you did.”
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t say anything to you before the show. The less people who knew about it the better.”
“It’s fine. I got some amazing photos of the collection, and your gown. Ryan is putting some of the pieces up on social media. We agreed to wait until you had given approval to include any pictures of your gown.”
Wow. They were going to ask for her permission? It was so refreshing to work with people who actually valued her opinion. Who didn’t just assume.
I could get used to that sort of thing. To being seen. Being valued.
Her gaze settled on the door. More and more people continued to file into the ballroom. The social media and press teams of the various fashion platforms and magazines were making their presence known.
“If guests keep coming in at this rate, we will soon be at capacity,” said Liam.
Sophie sipped her champagne. She was relieved that the task of getting up in front of all these people and making a speech, in both French and English, would fall to Patrice. She could stand back in the safety of the crowd and accept any platitudes he thought to offer. While it was Haute Couture Week tradition for the designer to thank the members of their atelier team, she’d never once rated a mention from her father.
I wonder what Patrice thought of the gown being included.
For a brief moment she almost felt sorry for her ex. He was well and truly stuck in the middle of any possible fallout that might come from François. But any pity she might have felt for him, was tempered by the memories of the pain Patrice had caused her over the years.
She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket, and fired off a message to Ryan. The media team could send the photos and video of her gown out into the world. There was no point in starting a rebellion if you weren’t prepared to follow up on the first shot.
“I’ve just let Ryan know that I approve of your photos of my gown. I trust you Liam. I don’t need to see them before they go out. I think my gown should be credited as Sophie Royal for the House of Royal.” People could make of that what they wished.
Adeya had something close to twenty million followers on Instagram. Once they tagged her, the supermodel’s social media juggernaut would do the rest.
Putting her phone away, Sophie turned to Liam. He’d been by her side almost every minute for the past week. Working with her to help present the show, then sharing her bed each night.
He’d even sat up with her at four am this morning, when her brain refused to switch off. They could now officially tick Notting Hill off their to-watch list.
I need this man.
“Would you come and stand closer to the front with me when Patrice makes his speech?” she asked.
“Nervous?”
Sophie gave a half-shrug. “Sort of, but I want to make sure he sees you. I want to remind him to acknowledge you for the work you’ve done.”
While Patrice mightn’t like Liam, there was no doubting the amazing effort Liam had put into the collection lookbook and runway photos. That sort of contribution demanded recognition.
A commotion at the entrance to the ballroom halted their conversation. Sophie tried to look over the heads of the other nearby guests, but couldn’t see clearly.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
Liam, who due to his height was afforded a better view, took a quick look. He turned back to her. “You’re not going to believe this, but your parents are here. They’re with Patrice.”
How on earth had her father managed to get to the hotel? The last time she’d spoken to François he was still in hospital. In Switzerland. He wasn’t meant to be able to fly until tomorrow at the earliest.
Quickly offloading her unfinished glass of champagne onto the nearest table, Sophie made her way through the gathering. Liam followed close behind. When they reached her parents, Sophie let out a sob. “Papa.”
Her father was seated in a wheelchair, his broken leg supported in a brace. He wore a neck collar. While he was immaculately dressed, the bags under his eyes and his drawn face betrayed him. She couldn’t imagine how much effort it must be taking for him to be here.
Knowing the sort of man François was, he would probably have checked himself out of hospital against doctors’ orders. He’d have flown back to Paris to be in attendance at the after party. He had to be in a world of pain. Sophie met her mother’s worried gaze, but Marina simply shook her head.
Stubborn man.
François looked at Sophie, he gave her the barest of nods before he summoned Patrice, to his side. “I must make my speech from the stage. Get someone to have a ramp put in place for my wheelchair. Thank you, Patrice. I know I can always count on your loyalty.”
