Page 81 of All the Gossip from Paris
She noted that her father didn’t bother to even glance in Liam’s direction. Not once. As if he hoped that by pretending the second of the Collin’s brothers didn’t exist, Liam’s presence in Sophie’s life wouldn’t be real.
Yet you fawn over Patrice.
Patrice made his demands quickly known to one of the hotel staff. As soon as the staff member had disappeared, he returned to François’ side. Ever the dutiful lieutenant.
The warmth of Liam’s hand as he threaded his fingers with hers, had Sophie on the verge of tears.
What sort of fool had she been to expect any word of acknowledgement from her father? She hated herself for craving his attention so much. Even anger would have been better than this cold indifference.
Patrice now stood behind François’ wheelchair, and pushing it forward, they slowly made their way toward the stage. The crowd parted like the proverbial Red Sea. Wealthy client after wealthy client bowed to the acclaimed haute couture designer. And after wishing her father a speedy recovery, they gushed over the wonderful runway show.
“Your choice of models was truly inspired.”
“Once again, you have excelled yourself François.”
“I can’t believe you organized the collection from your sick bed. Utter genius.”
Patrice shook the hand of one of the most influential magazine editors in the world. “My team and I did everything we could to make sure the show went smoothly. I’m just so glad that I was able to help bring François vision to life.”
Sophie gripped Liam’s hand. Betrayal bit deep.
“Your father knows you were handling the garments. It won’t take long for him to realize that you did the bulk of the work Sophie.”
Liam was a good man, one who understood the concept of fairness. But the world of high fashion had never been fair. Ego driven people like her father and Patrice were everywhere. People like Sophie didn’t matter to them.
“Yes, I’m sure he will,” she replied. But even she didn’t believe her own words.
If François had already made it to Paris in time for the afterparty, then there was every chance he’d been watching the live feed of the show. He had to have seen her gown. Known that Sophie had chosen one of the world’s most famous models to showcase her own work.
The triumph she’d enjoyed in the hours following the show ebbed away. In its place came the first buds of regret.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Mesdames et Messieurs. Thank you for coming to my little show today. It means so much to me and my staff for all of you to continue your wonderful support of la maison du Royal. Without…”
The speech droned on. But the longer François spoke, the less Sophie cared what her father said. By the time he’d finished she had clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached. He then did something he’d never done before—he thanked the entire atelier team personally. Every member of the workshop was named.
Everyone but Sophie.
When he started making special mention of Patrice, Liam slipped his arm around her waist. And it was a good thing he did. She wasn’t sure who she’d punch first if she had been able to make it to the stage.
At the end of François’ speech the applause was deafening. It echoed in the silence of Sophie’s disappointed heart.
“I will never get out from under him,” she whispered.
Camille had been right. If she didn’t make some hard life choices, she would eventually fade away to nothing.
Holding back tears, she stood and watched as Patrice wheeled her father from the stage and out the nearest exit door. François had granted his loyal subjects a Royal
appearance and was now leaving.
“Could we please go Liam? If I stay here any longer, I’m going to say something truly awful to my father, and people will hear.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere but here.”
While Liam went to collect his camera gear from the concierge, Sophie wandered aimlessly through the gathering. She knew many of the people present but as she passed them by, she noticed something odd about them. Something which had never occurred to her in all the many years she’d been coming to these after show events.
It was always the same faces. All having the same tired conversations. This runway show was over. They were already planning on getting ready to go to the next one. The art of haute couture didn’t really matter to them. It was about being seen in the right places.
