Love By Design

Chapter 32

It’s fast approaching 11 AM when I’m stumbling out of my suite, feet hobbling as I readjust the white knee-high boots I’m wearing. Sleeping through my alarms was not something I was expecting, forcing myself to prepare for the day in less than 30 minutes even more so.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to oversleep!” I skitter to a stop as I enter the living room, hoping that my heels haven’t scratched the hardwood flooring. “Those silken sheets have ruined me, that bed is quite positively the comfiest thing I’ve ever slept on.”

Granted that I don’t actually have a proper bed.

My hair is still slightly damp, having had no time to dry it, and August watches as I adjust the eggshell-coloured beret atop my unruly mop of hair. The extra accessory might be a bit much but it matched my off-white turtleneck and knee-high boots perfectly and I’m not about to miss the opportunity of a colour-coordinated outfit.

“Does one of us have to change?” He questions.

I turn to him, his comment momentarily confusing me before I realise.

We’re both dressed almost alike.

The tan-coloured co-ord I’m wearing, consisting of an oversized, checkered print blazer with a matching checkered mini skirt, is nearly identical to his taupe, two-piece suit.

We’re even matching turtlenecks underneath.

“I’m wearing this co-ord to test if it’s manageable in Toussaint’s weather,” I comment.

He eyes my outfit. “You made it?”

I nod.

“Gabardine is great.” I gesture towards his suit. “But it can sometimes be uncomfortable in warmer weather, especially with a thick lining. I think suits for every season will be ideal for the collection and I want to test the practicality of the fabric in the country’s climate.”

Linen, although not revolutionary, is lightweight and less stiff to navigate in. It’s ideal for spring and summer and can be designed without the need for extra lining.

August blinks at me before asking, “How did you know this suit is gabardine?”

I eye the diagonal ribbed texture, tight weave and slightly structured draping properties of the material he’s wearing.

“Lucky guess.” I shrug.

As I anticipated, the National Museum of Cionne is normally closed during the weekends. But as similarly expected, August somehow managed to book it open for the day, even arranging for the Head of Curation of the Textile Museum to give us a personal tour of the building and the current exhibitions in the gallery.

I’ve always been fascinated by the different techniques used in textile design so I couldn’t wait to learn more about Toussaint and how the culture has influenced their fashion. The museum is yet another ornately decorated building, much like all the architecture I’ve seen of Cionne so far. It featured colourful exhibits including fabrics, clothing and accessories that spanned over decades. I’m struck by the vibrant displays showcasing the country’s textile traditions.

August and I spend the next several hours under the guidance of Corrina, the museum’s Head of Curation. We explored numerous exhibits, taking in everything from intricate embroidery and delicate beadwork to stunning applique techniques used in creating the fabrics for the island’s traditional clothing. I quietly marvel at the interactive displays which allowed guests to touch and feel various textiles.

As someone with a slight fixation to textures, it was like a treasure trove of tactility.

Surprisingly, spending the day with August turned out to be quite enjoyable. I hadn’t anticipated him to be an active participant in the tour, half-expecting him to simply stand around whilst Corrina guided us around the museum. But to my surprise, he consistently engaged in every conversation, pointing out things he knew and asking Corrina questions about subjects he was unfamiliar with.

Throughout the entire tour, I was sketching and taking notes. Online research is one thing but seeing everything in person gave me a deeper understanding of the island’s textile history and I’m eager to incorporate some of the research I’ve found into the garments for the collection. My sketchpad is already halfway filled with design ideas and technical sketches by the time we reached the end of the tour.

After being granted permission to freely browse the museum, August and I were left to wander around by ourselves.

I’m standing on my tip toes and leaning over a glass display, straining to read the information when I hear a quiet chuckle and a shutter of a camera behind me.

Shuffling in my knee-high boots, I look over my shoulder. “Did you just take a photo of me without my consent?”

“I took a picture of the display that you just happened to be standing in front of, yes.” August nods, walking over to me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to…” I attempt to examine the notes before giving up entirely. “Can you read what it says?”

“Here.” He takes a photo of the display and shows me a zoomed image of it.

“Thank you, I think I have enough notes to—”

A loud clanking echoes throughout the building, followed by lights dimming, and I look up, confused. The only source of light filtering through is from the windows high above the ceiling as the entire floor we’re on is submerged in semi-darkness.

“Merde,” August mutters. “Not again.”

“Again?” I turn to him. “What’s going on?”

August looks up at the windows, eyes squinting slightly before glancing at his watch.

“They’re closing,” He explains, not the least bit surprised.

“Do you make a habit of getting locked in museums?” I eye him suspiciously as he gives me a somewhat sheepish look.

“We just need to get to the gallery entrance before the security guards lock each floor,” He responds, nonchalant. “Otherwise, we might end up being stuck here over the weekend.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” I search his face for any sign of humour. “August.”

“How quickly can you walk in heels?”

“We’re on the third floor.”

“A fast stroll it is then.” He winks.

Leaving me no chance to argue, he takes my tote bag and slings it over his shoulder before darting out of the room.

“August!” I exclaim.

I can hear the sound of his shoes against the concrete floor as he sprints down the corridor. Glancing at my knee-high boots, I shake my head before dashing after him.

“Catch up, Tinker-Talent!” He yells. “Or else you’ll get locked in!”

I watch as August rushes down the stairs, skipping steps to reach the landing below.

“I didn’t sign up for this!” I exclaim.

The sound of his laughter echoes throughout the second floor and I couldn’t help but smile at the deep and hearty resonance as it reverberates around me. I bolt past each exhibition room, laughing alongside him at the absurdity of our situation.

Two grown adults, racing through an empty museum like school children.

“I’m pretty sure we’re not allowed to run in here!” I call out.

Echoes of our shoes– my boots and his brogues– fill the museum halls, echoing after each flight of stairs and every dash across one end of the building to the other. The natural light from the windows provided just enough visibility for me to trail behind August as he led the way, a good few metres ahead of me.

He eventually slowed his pace, and I underestimate my own speed, stumbling to a stop right in front of him and colliding with his tall frame.

“Sorry!” I squeak, the air physically being knocked out of my lungs. “Sorry.”

August wraps an arm around me to prevent me from further faltering as I clumsily grab onto the lapels of his blazer.

“Mr. Vante?” Corrina questions, eyes widening. “Oh my goodness, we’re so sorry. We thought you and Miss Hartt left the museum a while ago.”

“No harm done, Corrina.” August replies, steadying me as I regain my balance. “We lost track of time whilst we were browsing.”

His hand is poised on my lower back, the lightest pressure of his fingers as it curls around my hip. The familiarity of his touch brings back memories of the night at the club and I shake my head to clear it.

“I can’t believe you made me run in platform boots,” I exhale, feeling the adrenaline rush still in my system.

“You run in heels better than you walk in them,” He chuckles, gently pressing me to him. “I’m impressed.”

“It’s a skill,” I laugh breathlessly.

Looking down at my boots, I mentally grimace at the ache beginning to form on my right foot.

“I might have re-sprained my ankle though.” I wrinkle my nose.

Behind us, the security guards are emerging after completing a thorough check of the museum, one of them holding a cream-coloured fabric in his hand.

“Oh, that’s mine.” I shuffle out of August’s grasp as he releases me, awkwardly hobbling towards the security guard to retrieve my beret. “Thank you.”

After expressing our gratitude for the tour and bidding Corrina and the security guards goodbye, August and I exit the building, me lagging slightly behind as I concentrate on avoiding putting too much pressure on my injured foot.

Trust me to injure myself, again.

We’re descending the stairs and I try not to wince at each step, pausing when August stops abruptly in front of me.

“On my back.”

I blink in surprise. “What?”

He turns around, assessing me quickly before removing his blazer and tying it around my waist. I realise he’s still carrying my tote bag when he turns back around and pats my pleather-covered calves.

“Up.” He instructs.

“No, it’s okay, I’ll just—”

“I’m not asking, Mahalia.” He says, bending down slightly. “You’re limping.”

Nervously, I shake my head.

“It’s fine, the walk to the car park isn’t that far, I can—”

“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder.”

I pause in an attempt to call his bluff.

“You wouldn’t.”

August immediately turns around, crouching to shoulder me up and I take a step back.

“Oh my god!” I exclaim. “Okay, I’ll get on your back.”

The corner of his mouth twitches up slightly before he turns back around.

“Good.”

I try to control the flush rising to my cheeks as he adjusts my tote bag on his shoulder and resumes his earlier position. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I’m attempting to figure out the least awkward way to climb onto him when his hands grip my thighs and he lifts me on his waist.

“August!” I squeak as he shifts to haul me up higher on his back. “I might be heavy—”

“You weigh next to nothing.” He tsks.

“Be careful!” My voice pitches higher than usual as he bounds down the stairs, a little too quick for my liking. “Slow down, you might trip and end up—!”

August jolts forward and I tighten my grip around his neck, preparing for us to stumble down the stairs.

“Just kidding.” His entire body shakes as he chuckles and straightens himself up. “You good?”

He turns his head to check on me and I tug on his ear to scold him.

“Not funny,” I huff.

“Do you really think I’d let us fall?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation, earning another chuckle from August.

Returning to our suite, I managed to organise the research I gathered along with additional materials from leaflets and books August bought from the museum. All of my notes as well as the initial rough sketches are on the coffee table when August appears from his room wearing grey sweatpants and a matching oversized grey hoodie.

“Trading your turtlenecks for hoodies,” I comment. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

I’m still in the same outfit as earlier sans my knee-high boots, choosing instead to wear thick socks and the fluffy white slippers that came with the suite to give comfort to my ankles.

“You’ve seen me wear athleisure before,” He replies.

I eye his hoodie, my fingers twitching at the urge to tug on the aglets to level the drawstrings.

“I think I just got used to you wearing turtlenecks every single day to work,” I laugh lightly.

He strolls over to the sofa, room service menu in one hand and his laptop in the other.

“London is bleak,” He sighs. “I don’t take kindly to cold weather.”

He places his laptop on the coffee table before sitting next to me.

“Are you okay with room service tonight instead of going out for dinner?” August asks, rifling through the hotel’s carte du jour. “I have extra work I need to cover this evening for Grayson that they sprung on me last minute.”

“Of course,” I nod. “It’ll give my feet a break too.”

We exchange small talk about the trip to the museum, August commenting on the notes I’ve taken and the quick sketches I’ve done before I head back to my room to change into something more comfortable since we’re staying in for the evening.

Dressed in a cosy fleece crop top, baggy sweatpants and an oversized fluffy cardigan, I step out of my room and back into the shared living space.

I expected August to retreat to his room to do work like he did last night so I’m surprised to find him still sitting on the sofa. This time, his laptop is in front of him, his eyebrows knotted in concentration as he talks to someone on the phone. Conscious of disturbing him, I quietly walk towards the coffee table and retrieve my research materials.

“Everything okay?” August glances up at me, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

I nod before gesturing towards his phone and whispering, “I don’t want to disturb you.”

“You’re fine,” He says with a shake of his head. “Come sit.”

I can still hear the voices over the phone as he takes my sketchpad from my hands and tugs me back down to sit on the sofa.

“Order us room service,” He signals towards the menu. “I trust your judgement.”

August gives me a small smile of encouragement, a comfortable silence settling between us before the voice on the phone started calling out his name.

“Hello?” He answers. “Yes, sorry, I’m still here.”