Love By Design

Chapter 33

Getting up the next morning was surprisingly easy as I found myself naturally woken up by the sunlight streaming through my window. The schedule for today included a visit to the actual textile factories to see the manufacturing practices and the production of the fabrics firsthand.

Today, I’ve decided to wear a soft baby pink maxi slip dress complemented by a cream-coloured cropped cardigan. My ensemble prioritises comfort and practicality this time, with lightweight and breathable fabrics ideal for Toussaint’s warmer climate and the environment of a textile factory.

I make my way to the living room, matching pink ballet flats in hand, glad I’m the early one out of August and I this time.

Sitting on the couch to slip on my flats, I hear a set of double doors opening and I look behind me to find August walking into the living room. I blink at his outfit, a loose-fitting cream sweater paired with baby blue twill chinos and off-white moccasins.

“Your hair’s caught,” August comments.

“Oh,” I stand up, twisting my body to untangle my hair from the straps of laces on the back of my dress. “I was rushing.”

“You’re impossible,” He remarks, reaching over to me. “What is it with you and complicated dresses?”

August tugs lightly on the ends of my curls, his attempt to free my hair from the tangled criss-cross design of my dress causing his watch to snag on the loose strands.

“Ow,” I flinch, craning my head towards him awkwardly. “What is it with your watch getting caught in everything?”

“Wait,” He fusses over me. “Stay still.”

“I am staying still.”

“You’re moving.”

“I am not.”

“You are.” He chuckles quietly.

Despite his careful efforts, my hair strains painfully against my scalp and I wince. Being hypersensitive to touch makes situations like this less than ideal and I squirm at the ache forming on the back of my neck.

“August,” I whine.

“Mahalia,” He chuckles again, louder this time.

A warmth spreads across my chest as he shuffles close to me to manoeuvre us.

“Hold steady,” He comments.

“I am holding steady.”

His free hand wraps around my waist and my heartbeat quickens as he pulls me flush against his front. The laces of my dress extend all the way down to the bottom of my spine and I can feel the soft texture of his sweatshirt against my back.

Holding my breath, I wait nervously as he untangles my hair from his watch and eventually releases me.

“Done.” He nods.

“That hurt,” I mutter, pursing my lips as I rub the back of my head. “But thank you.”

Above me, I sense August shift, his hand reaching out to gently stroke the top of my head before I feel a pair of lips press against my crown.

My body stills.

Thinking I’ve just imagined the gesture, I slowly look up at August who’s staring at me, unblinking. He looks equally stunned, as if surprised by his own actions and he clears his throat.

I awkwardly brush my hair behind my neck, the strap of my dress falling from my shoulder.

August’s gaze flickers down to the thin piece of material.

“Did you make this?” He queries, fingers reaching out to gently tug the strap back on my shoulder.

Wordlessly, I nod.

His thumb grazes along the hem and my breath hitches as I feel his fingers trail along the seam of the dress.

“It feels nice.” The sudden lower register of his voice causes my skin to erupt in goosebumps. “Mulberry silk?”

Flashbacks of every intimate exchange we’ve had in the past replay in my mind and I nod, distracted. If August noticed the goosebumps on my skin, he doesn’t comment on it.

“How’s your ankle?” He asks, instead.

“Better,” I answer. “I used an ice pack on it before bed.”

“We’ll take it easy today,” He says. “No marathon race around the foundry, I’m afraid.”

“Not even a quick sprint?”

“You do enough running around in my head,” He mutters, passing me my cream cardigan. “Let’s go.”

Located on the outskirts of Cionne, the Toussaint Foundry consisted of vast complex buildings, each dedicated to a different stage of the fabric manufacturing process. It operated on a daily basis and I’m immediately struck by the scale of operation as we walked around the premises.

Once again, Corrina served as our guide for the tour. This time accompanied by Hector, the seasoned chief manager of operations at the foundry. They provided us with a succinct overview of the facilities before leading us on a comprehensive physical tour.

I observe as raw fibres are converted into yarn which are then transformed into a wide range of fabrics, each unique in texture and design. The weaving machines were vintage in aesthetic but they functioned with surprising speed and accuracy, despite the old-fashioned look of them.

Although I’ve witnessed something similar through documentaries, seeing everything in person is a completely different experience. From rigorous quality control measures to meticulous equipment inspections, the commitment to make sure that the final products meet the specifications is expertly executed. I couldn’t help but marvel at the attention to detail at every stage of the manufacturing process.

“This is amazing,” I whisper to August, eyeing the intricately designed machines. “Isn’t it amazing? Are you taking photos? Make sure you get photos.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He nods.

There’s an amused glint in his eyes as he begins snapping pictures of the carding machines and the roving frames.

The tour continues as August and I are introduced to a team of workers dedicated to ongoing research, innovation and product development at the foundry. I’m surprised to find Toussaint’s integration of new technologies in their textile customs while simultaneously keeping the traditional practices of the country’s artisans, particularly those specialising in decorative stitching and ornamental sewing.

Watching as the skilled workers use delicate embroidery techniques to add intricate details to the fabrics and garments on display by hand, I turn to August.

“Am I allowed to ask about the labour?” I whisper discreetly.

“Toussaint is known for being one of the most ethically employed textile manufacturers in Mediterranean Europe,” August replies, quietly. “They’re ranked number one.”

“We also have The Artisan Initiative,” Corrina reveals. “Arts and cultural funding are working with the museum and the foundry to nurture local talent. It’s a work-in-progress but it’s well-received by everyone involved.”

“We prioritise the well-being of our employees,” Hector adds. “The facilities dedicated to workers are closely moderated to make sure that our working conditions are above standards.”

I nod, appreciating their efforts.

If only other existing clothing factories followed suit.

“We work strictly with companies and brands who share the same values as we do. We understand the importance of moral labour practices and ethical employment when it comes to textiles, hence our longstanding reputation working with Vante.”

Hector tilts his head respectfully towards August who mirrors him in thanks.

“What about the environmental impact?” I ask quietly, gesturing around the room.

August pauses, a playful glint in his eyes before shifting his gaze towards me.

“They’re ranked as number one in the worst textile manufacturing CO2 emissions in the world.” He replies, flatly.

I turn towards him, my eyebrows furrowing as my mouth drops in horror.

“I’m kidding,” He smirks, tapping on my frown lightly.

“Don’t joke about the environment.” I narrow my eyes at him. “We are in a climate crisis.”

“Don’t worry, Little Miss Sustainability,” He chuckles. “Cionne’s working towards sustainable practices, energy efficiency improvements, and supply chain optimisations. They’re hoping to reduce CO2 emissions by 50% come 2030.”

“By half?” I remark, astonished. “That’s ambitious.”

“It’s Toussaint.” August shrugs.

Hector chimes in. “We are nothing, if not ardent and ambitious.”

I nod in acknowledgement as we enter an area where dyes are being created. I’m expecting the smell of chemicals and toxins but I’m surprised to find sweet, almost fruity, scents permeating the room.

“Are those pomegranates?” I point towards an area in the corner.

“Toussaint’s national fruit.” Hector nods as he takes us closer to the workstation. “We’re reintroducing the use of natural dyes to our fabrics.”

My eyes widen, recalling a similar idea I suggested during a brainstorming session with the Design team.

“That’s what I suggested!” I whisper excitedly, tugging on August’s arm. “Natural and non-toxic.”

“The pomegranates grown in Toussaint are more vibrant in colour than in any other country,” Hector continues. “The lightfastness of the natural dye is very potent here so the colour is less likely to fade when exposed to sunlight over time. We’re experimenting with different qualities of mordants to achieve lasting results when fixing the dye to the fabric.”

I nod in understanding, remembering my research on natural dyes.

“How long does it take for the factory?” I ask. “Preparation, dyeing, mordant-ing as well as drying and curing stages considered.”

“Several days to a week,” Hector replies. “It’s labour-intensive and time-consuming. Achieving consistent and predictable colours is also challenging as the results can vary based on the dye bath and the fabric material.”

I stare at the barrels of pomegranate dye, already considering the idea for the collection. One of the only downsides would be the colour range since, compared to synthetic dyes, it would be very limited. But natural dyes would be an advantage for the collection because they’ll be manufactured on a much smaller scale.

“What fabrics do Toussaint pomegranates stick to most effectively?” I inquire.

“The ones made from natural fibres,” Hector answers.

“Cotton and linen?”

He nods. “As well as silk and wool.”

I consider the time it would take. Sebastian’s tendency to outsource fabrics entirely from scratch comes to mind and I frown. The smaller scale of the dying process is ideal but it’s the question of practicality versus practicability.

“Do you think it’s ideal?” I turn towards August.

“What?” he responds, looking distracted.

“To use natural dye.”

“For?”

“The collection.”

“Oh.” He tilts his head forward. “Very pretty.”

I blink, confused.

“Not pretty,” I shake my head. “Practical.”

“Yes?” He blinks back at me. “You’re both.”

Tilting my head to the side, I squint my eyes at him. “What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” He questions me.

“The dyes.”

“Ah,” He nods. “Smells fantastic.”

I stare at August before turning to Hector. “I think the fumes are getting to his head. Are you sure it’s non-toxic?”

Beside us, Hector is chuckling as he continues to walk to get to the other side, August following promptly.

“Wait, what were we talking about?” August quietly whispers to Hector.

I lag slightly, scribbling notes on my notepad as well as drawing sketches of little pomegranates, before finally catching up to them.

“You were discussing how Miss Hartt is both pretty and practical,” He answers and August blinks, casting a sideways glance at me.

My cheeks warm as I pretend not to overhear their conversation, absentmindedly doodling on my notepad instead.

The tour concludes and before I knew it, August and I are heading out of the foundry.

“I managed to organise a visit to the Imperial Boutique,” August informs me as we get into a taxi. “I think you’ll enjoy it there.”

“Well, I’ve enjoyed every single aspect of this trip so far.” I nod.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

I turn to him excitedly. “Did you see the needlework in some of the fabric? I can’t believe they do embroidery to that scale. It must take months to finish. And Toussaint’s own toile de jouy? The timeless aesthetic! The historical significance! It might not appeal to the contemporary minimalist but the classical charm of it? I need to get my hands on every single design they have, you don’t understand.”

August blinks.

“I have never met anyone so passionate about printed textiles.” He shakes his head, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.

“It’s an art,” I gesture wildly. “I’m 100% going to incorporate a toile de jouy suit for the collaboration. I’m surprised that Holmes— and Vante actually— haven’t. I mean, I would like to know, why hasn’t your dad considered an entire collection of printed textiles? Can you ring him to find out? Actually— no— that would be odd. Don’t do that. He probably wouldn’t care, I’m an intern for crying out loud, nevermind. But still. I can’t believe Toussaint has their very own toile de jouy fabrics.”

The sound of August’s laugh, deep and dulcet, prompts me to stop my endless rambling.

“God, I didn’t realise you could be so chatty,” He comments. “Listening to you talk endlessly about textiles with Hector all day was something I didn’t expect.”

I flush, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologise,” He chuckles. “You really know your stuff, it’s actually very impressive.”

“Right,” I nod, suddenly feeling all too self-conscious about the mindless babbling I’ve been doing.

“Keep talking, Tinker-Talent.” He gives me a pointed look. “You mentioned ringing my dad. Do you want to speak to him? Should I give him a call?”

He reaches into his trouser pocket to retrieve his phone and my eyes widen.

“No!” I shake my head. “Oh my god, your dad is extremely busy overseeing a fashion empire, August. Don’t disturb him with mindless questions from silly, design neophytes!”

“That’s not a very nice way to talk about yourself.” He responds, brows furrowing in disapproval.

“Oh,” I blink, turning sheepishly towards him. “I was talking about you.”

He pauses for a moment, staring intently at me before throwing his head back and letting out another loud laugh. Eyes crinkling at the corner, his face breaks out into a wide grin and my stomach somersaults.

It’s overwhelmingly staggering how impossibly handsome August looks when he smiles.

“You really are something, Mahalia Hartt.”

My stomach does another flip at the genuine expression on his face.

“Thanks,” I comment offhandedly, the flutter travelling throughout my entire form.