The Designer Dilemma

nne believed

ent, like an unspoken word sewn into silk. Her studio in Paris existed in that silence. Tall ceilings, black velvet drapes,

itors in three years.

Fabric swatches. Even his knock had been reduced to a soft tap-barely there. Celeste had

ast, it

omething

equin she'd been pinning-a slow, crawling sense of dis

uzzer

't answer. It would g

eard it again.

vo

eep. To

rned s

ing glass doors, a man stood still-framed in sha

ste

wasn't fear. It

in black. The light caught just enough of his face to make

was

eone li

i

over a decade. The muse she nev

blin

idn't di

, every muscle wound tight with disbelief. Her hand tou

th a soft click. C

dn't

his voice smooth, British, wi

ightened. "W

he said. "We h

"I don't sche

e replied. "You

ing new capital for months.

" she said, already begi

ot a c

ngers

. "You designed me. Years before this

r remai

-

ity. His eyes roamed the studio-resting on the mannequins draped in charc

in ivory suiting, faceless, barefoot, untitled

irst one, wasn'

didn't

med him

thudded in

member standing here before? Not in dreams. Not in theory.

n exhaled like it hurt

calmly. "But that

-

g in her hands. The tension between them wasn't sexual

atter. He simply watched her like someone

unconscious memory?

r head. "I believ

cien said. "No changes. No variation. Just different

ncid

s

ow close it sounded to the one she'd

of the coffee cup. "What happened to you, Celest

denly. "You n

aid it, she didn'

slow, d

eyes l

ck tomorrow

dn't s

y anythin

an she though

studio like he rememb

art o

fied he w