Love By Design

Chapter 38

For the next two weeks, my routine at the studio consisted of design concepts, fabric selection and pattern making.

The trip to Toussaint was useful and I was able to determine the overall style and theme of the collection. I sketched out a dozen designs for Sebastian to look through, the silhouette being the most important part to pay homage to the previous royal attire.

Sebastian favoured working out-of-office which nobody questioned but it made communicating with him a lot more difficult.

His working practices are questionable, at best.

Pollux wasn’t joking when he said that Sebastian would ring in the ungodly hours of the night— emailing, messaging, and even calling. I found myself having to adjust my sleeping patterns, just so I don’t miss any important updates or requests from him.

I’ve just finished wrapping up for the day at the studio, saying goodbye to Estelle and Pollux on the second floor when my phone buzzes with a text.

In Paris until the end of next week.Then flying to New York on Monday.Should hopefully be back in London by Friday.

I’m about to reply when another text comes through.

I’ll be all yours next weekend.

The familiar fluttering in my stomach surfaces as I type my response.

Can’t wait to see you!

I send the text to August, not dwelling too deeply on it.

He’s currently working between all three cities as he wraps up his responsibilities here at Holmes, and transitions over to Grayson whilst still maintaining his commitments at Vante.

We haven’t seen each other since our trip to Toussaint and we’ve yet to have the conversation on where we stand, if we’re standing anywhere at all so I’ve been doing my best to keep my emotions levelled.

Neither of us is skirting around our newfound dynamic but we’re not exactly scrambling to put a label on anything.

I’d much rather have the conversation in person.

But with August’s balancing act between London, Paris and New York, it feels nearly impossible to discuss it with him face-to-face.

“Your deliveries are not a fun workout, Mahalia Hartt!”

Gigi’s voice echoes down the hallway as the lift doors open to the flat.

Absentmindedly, I step into the living room. Clusters of intricately designed wooden chests on timber pallets and bolts of fabrics on clapboard frames have taken up the entire floor space of the flat.

I turn to Gigi curiously. “What’s all this?”

“You tell me!” She huffs. “I’ve had to run up and down the building, orchestrating half a dozen delivery men to bring in these medieval-looking shipments in our tiny apartment.”

The logo of the Toussaint Foundry catches my attention and I blink.

“I thought it was a PR package from the monarchs in the Middle Ages,” Gigi continues to comment, pushing the boxes around to make a pathway. “Care to explain?”

“These should’ve been sent to the studio,” I reply. “Why are they–”

The sound of my phone ringing cuts me off and I quickly grab it from my pocket, seeing August’s Caller ID pop up on the screen.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Sorry for not calling sooner,” August’s voice, rushed and apologetic, filters through the line immediately. “I’ve been in back-to-back meetings all day. Conference calls are such a pain in my ass, I’ve forgotten how tight of a ship my dad runs at Vante.”

The background noise of blaring cars and French-accented chatter can be heard on his end and I instantly know he’s in Paris.

“It’s alright,” I answer. “Don’t worry, I know you’re busy.”

Walking over to a hulking mahogany chest, I blink at the label ‘EMBELLISHMENTS’ under the foundry’s logo. Out of curiosity, I open the clasp, my eyes widening at the massive compartments containing various decorative elements for garments. Embroidery beads, sequins, buttons and ribbons are all neatly arranged inside.

“—lia?” August’s voice cuts through my awe.

“I’m here,” I reply. “Sorry, there’s just…”

I open another chest, this time labelled ‘SEWING SUPPLIES’. An array of thread assortments is placed in the middle with needles, pins, chalk, fabric markers and tailor’s pencils packaged neatly around it. There’s also a dedicated section for fasteners and closures, smaller boxes containing zippers, buttons, snaps and hook-and-loop fasteners.

“You sound distracted,” August comments. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” I respond. “I just– a lot of deliveries from the Toussaint Foundry came today.”

“Oh, already? That was quick.”

“So it was you? You placed the order?” I ask to clarify.

“Of course. Should I not have?”

“No, it’s fine. But the foundry accidentally sent it to my address. I have an entire living room’s worth of fabrics and sewing supplies when it should have been sent to the studio.”

“Oh, it’s not for Holmes,” August responds. “The textile supplies are for you.”

I blink. “What?”

“It’s for you.”

I stare at the various lengths and widths of fabric rolls neatly secured on cardboard bolts as well as the mahogany chests of various sizes scattered around the living room.

“To use for the samples?” I ask.

“To use however you’d like,” He answers. “Although, I did place a separate order for the regalwear collection. That should be sent to the studio.”

“Are you sure there isn’t a mix-up?” I question. “There are far too many deliveries here.”

“There shouldn’t be. I requested the foundry to dispatch your order first,” He replies. “Everything sent to your apartment is yours.”

Walking to my studio, my eyes widen at the half a dozen rolls of toile de jouy fabrics propped up against a wall, all varying in themes, motifs and colour palettes.

“August,” I gasp aloud. “I can’t afford all of this!”

“It’s alright, I’ve put it down as company expenses.”

I blanch. “You just told me it isn’t for Holmes!”

“Alright, you got me.” He sounds sheepish. “It’s under Vante.”

“You’re putting my expenses under the Parisian atelier?!” I squeak.

“Under my name, Tinker-Talent.”

Overwhelmed, I press a hand to my chest.

“August…”

Tailoring materials like the ones from Toussaint are not cheap. I didn’t even bother asking the prices for anything during the tour at both the foundry and the boutique because I simply knew that I wouldn’t be able to afford it.

“Don’t worry,” He reassures me. “Just think of it as compensation.”

“Compensation?” I repeat in disbelief. “For what?”

“For putting up with me throughout the whole trip.”

“August—”

“Don’t overthink it.” He cuts me off gently.

Though it’s impossible not to overthink anything when it concerns August.

“I have it covered, cher c?ur.”

His tone leaves no room for argument.

“Thank you,” I say. “Really, August. I’m so grateful. But I can’t possibly—”

“Uh-oh, I can’t hear you.” August interrupts me once more. “Tinker-Talent, you’re breaking up. Sorry, what did you say?”

“Funny,” I deadpan. “You need to stop spending so much time with Hero.”

August’s deep chuckle echoes over the phone and the sound tugs at my heart.

“I’ll be back next week,” He says, clearing his throat. “We’ll talk properly then, okay?”

The call ends after we say our goodbyes and I feel a lot lighter at having spoken with August.

Walking towards one of the smaller mahogany crates in my studio, I open it up to find different ribbons slotted into a wooden rack. A particular section of white glittery tulleribbons catches my eye and I smile, the fabric reminding me of the dress I tried on at the Imperial Boutique.