The Language Of Devotion
Country: Aurivelle
City: Auremont
Alvara
I pushed through the atelier door.
The morning smell of it the signature scent, warm and clean settling around me the way it always did.
Home.
My second one.
Seren looked up from her station.
"Good morning, Ms. Dane."
"Morning," I said. "Brief me while I go up."
She stood and followed me to the staircase.
" About the third collection , Lena has four new silhouettes from last night waiting on the design board.
The European buyer meetings are confirmed for the 8th, 11th and 15th.
The Lumière syndication request from Milan needs a response by Wednesday.
The waitlist for the third collection still unannounced is at four hundred and twelve. "
"Four hundred and…."
"Twelve," she said. "As of this morning."
I looked at her.
"We haven't announced it," I said.
"No," she said. "The word of mouth from the Meridian sellout is doing the work."
I kept moving.
“ What about the production timeline for the third collection ”?
"On your desk," she said. "I've built it around the February preview. Twelve pieces. Lena's preliminary schedule has us finishing construction by the last week of January giving two weeks for finishing, fitting and photography before the preview."
"Isn't that tight ”?
"It's Lena," she said.
Which was its own answer.
"Anything else?" I asked.
"One thing," she said.
I reached the top of the staircase.
I turned toward my office.
Stopped.
My chair.
Someone was sitting in my chair.
Backing me.
The particular posture of someone who had made themselves entirely comfortable in a space that was not theirs.
I looked at the chair.
Then at Seren.
Seren's expression was the most controlled I had ever seen.
Which meant she was trying very hard not to smile.
I walked to the office door.
Someone was sitting on my chair.
The chair turned slowly.
Isabella.
In my chair.
Behind my desk.
Spinning slightly from side to side like she owned the building.
I folded my arms.
Isabella faced me with dramatic calm.
“I had to come personally,” she said. “Since you decided not to answer my calls.”
I dropped my bag on the sofa.
“What are you doing in my atelier?”
“What any loyal friend would do,” she said. “Investigating suspicious happiness.”
I laughed.
“Shouldn’t you be preparing for your second collection?”
“I am,” she said, waving one hand. “But I am not too busy to come hear about the weekend that made you glow like a newly blessed woman.”
I stared at her.
“I do not glow.”
“You absolutely glow.” Her eyes narrowed. “And is a necklace?”
I nodded.
Her gaze dropped to my throat.
She gasped.
“Oh my God.”
She stood immediately and crossed the room.
She touched the pendant lightly.
“Custom made?”
Yes.”
“This looks really expensive”.
She grabbed both my hands.
“Sit down. Start talking. Everything. If you skip anything , I will know.”
An hour later, she had heard everything.
Almost everything.
Enough.
She screamed twice.
Covered her mouth four times.
Hit my shoulder repeatedly.
When I mentioned him carrying me to the bathroom, she fell backward onto the sofa.
“He carried you?”
“Yes.”
“Like in his arms?”
“Yes.”
She clutched a cushion to her chest.
“I hate rich men.”
“You do not.”
“I hate that you found a competent one.”
I laughed so hard my sides hurt.
When I mentioned waking up unable to walk, she slid dramatically to the floor.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
She looked at the ceiling.
“Love is terrifying.”
“And then after destroying you, he gives you a necklace? Men are dangerous.”
“Custom made,” I said. “With his initials on the back.”
She looked at it for a long moment.
Then at me.
“His initials,” she said slowly.
“On the back.”
“Yes,” I said.
“So it rests against your skin,” she said. “The side no one else sees.”
I held her gaze.
I hadn’t thought about it that way.
But she was right.
A slow smile spread across her face.
“Oh, this man is gone,” she declared dramatically.
“He’s deeply unwell.”
I laughed.
“You’re impossible.”
“No,” she said seriously. “He’s in love. Different illness.”
I shook my head, still smiling.
Then after a moment, I tilted my head slightly.
“How is Sebastien?”
Her expression changed immediately.
Too immediately.
Interesting.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Why are you asking me that?”
I leaned back against my desk casually.
“No reason.”
“Alvara.”
“Isabella.”
She stared at me suspiciously.
Then realization dawned on her face.
“Oh my God.”
I smiled slowly.
“You’d better start talking.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
“He spent half of the time in Paris staring at you like a man trying to survive a religious experience.”
Her jaw dropped.
“That is wildly dramatic.”
“It’s accurate.”
She looked away.
Which told me everything.
I folded my arms.
“And every time you entered a room,” I continued calmly, “his eyes found you first.”
“That does not mean anything.”
“It means exactly something.”
She groaned softly and covered her face with both hands.
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
A pause.
Then she dropped her hands dramatically.
“Fine.”
I smiled in victory.
“We’ve been talking,” she admitted.
“How talking?”
“Phone calls.”
“How many?”
Her silence answered for her.
My brows lifted.
“Isabella Soren ”
“Oh, don’t do that voice.”
I laughed softly.
“He’s not in Aurivelle right now,” she continued. “He left two days ago.”
“And yet he’s still calling.”
“Yes,” she muttered.
Interesting.
“And?”
She hesitated.
Then sighed.
“He asked me out on a date.”
I blinked once.
“Well.”
“On Saturday,” she added quickly. “And I said yes.”
I stared at her.
Then smiled slowly.
“You like him.”
She pointed at me immediately.
“Do not become unbearable about this.”
“You like him,” I repeated.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You accepted a date while blushing.”
“I am not blushing.”
She absolutely was.
But then her expression softened slightly.
“I just…” she started quietly. “I don’t know.”
I waited.
“It feels fast,” she admitted. “Like he’s very certain already.”
I looked at her for a moment before answering.
“Sometimes certainty isn’t the dangerous thing,” I said quietly.
She looked at me.
“Sometimes the dangerous thing is meeting someone who makes you feel understood too quickly.”
Her expression shifted.
I continued softly.
“You don’t have to rush because he’s certain.”
“You don’t have to slow down just because you’re afraid either.”
The room grew quieter.
“I think,” I said carefully, “when someone is genuine, you feel calmer around them eventually. Even when they scare you a little.”
She stared at me for a long second.
Then narrowed her eyes.
“You sound disgustingly in love.”
“That is because I am.”
She groaned loudly.
“This is terrible. We’re becoming women who speak in emotional metaphors.”
I laughed.
She pointed at my necklace accusingly.
“This started with him.”
“Probably.”
We spent another half hour teasing each other.
Then she checked the time and groaned.
“I actually have responsibilities.”
“A shocking development.”
She kissed my cheek, grabbed her bag, then pointed at me sternly.
“If anything else romantic happens, I require immediate reporting.”
“I will consider it.”
“No. You will report.”
Then she left.
The room felt quieter after her chaos.
I smiled for another minute.
Then turned toward the design boards.
Lena's four new silhouettes from last night were pinned up exactly as Seren had said.
I looked at each one.
Properly.
The first a structured column coat with an asymmetric hem. Strong. Commanding.
Yes.
The second a draped evening piece in what Lena had annotated as “liquid silk or similar weight.”The drape was extraordinary on paper.
“Yes. Fabric decision pending.”
The third a tailored trouser suit with a double-breasted blazer. Clean lines.
“Yes. But the lapel needs to be wider.”
I picked up the pencil.
Made the adjustment directly on the sketch.
Lena would see it.
The fourth a bias-cut midi dress with a structured bodice.
I stood with this one for longer.
Something wasn't landing.
Not the silhouette.
The silhouette was right.
Something about the neckline.
I picked up the pencil.
Try a cowl instead of the sweetheart.
I set it down.
Turned to the full collection board.
Twelve pieces.
Eight confirmed.
Four are still developing.
The centerpiece the one I had sketched after Grayson left yesterday pinned at the centre of everything.
I looked at it.
Thought about the name.
Not yet.
Not until February.
But I knew it.
I had known it since before I put the pencil to the board.
Seren appeared with the full production schedule.
She set it on the desk.
I sat down.
Read through it properly.
Every week from now until the end of January mapped out.
Week one fabric finalisation and sourcing.
Week two pattern making and toile construction.
Week three and four first fittings and adjustments.
Week five construction of final pieces begins.
Weeks six and seven construction continues, finishing begins.
Week eight final fittings.
Week nine — photography and styling preparation.
Week ten preview.
Twelve pieces.
Ten weeks.
"Lena approved this timeline?" I asked.
"She built it," Seren said.
"And the fabric sourcing?"
"She has three Italian suppliers on hold," she said. "Pending your fabric decisions from the design board."
"I'll make the final decisions for her by Wednesday," I said.
"She said Thursday at the latest," Seren said.
"Wednesday," I said.
Seren made a note.
"The European buyer meetings," I said.
"All three confirmed," she said. "The 8th is a video call the buyer from Paris you met at Atelier Renaud. The 11th is in person she's flying to Auremont. The 15th is a video call the Milan buyer who reached out after the Lumière syndication."
"Prepare briefing documents for all three," I said. "Collection direction, brand positioning, current distribution status."
"Already drafted," she said.
I looked at her.
"When?" I asked.
"This morning," she said. "While you were with Ms. Soren."
"Thank you, Seren," I said.
"Of course," she said.
She turned to leave.
"One more thing," I said.
She paused.
"The waitlist," I said. "Four hundred and twelve people waiting for a collection that hasn't been announced."
"Yes," she said.
"When we announce," I said. "I want a personal notification sent to every name on that list. Not a general newsletter. A direct message."
Seren looked at me.
"That's four hundred and twelve individual "
"Personalised," I said. "By name. Thanking them for waiting."
"I'll build the system," she said.
"Thank you," I said.
She nodded.
And left.
The morning moved the way good mornings did.
Efficiently.
Without resistance.
I worked through the design board.
Made decisions.
Deferred three.
Confirmed five.
Sent four notes to Lena.
Reviewed two supplier portfolios Seren had pulled.
Made two calls to the PR lead about the third collection announcement timing.
By eleven I had covered more ground than most days managed by four.
At twelve Seren entered carrying something.
A bag.
From a restaurant I recognised.
She set it on the desk.
A note on top.
I picked it up.
His handwriting.
“You forgot to eat again. You never forget on purpose so I'm helping.”
“I'm sorry I'm not there as promised. Something came up.”
“Make sure you eat ”
I looked at the bag.
Then at Seren.
"He called ahead," she said.
"Of course," I said.
"He also asked me to confirm you received it," she said.
"Tell him I received it," I said.
She nodded.
And left.
I opened the bag.
Croque monsieur.
Small side salad.
Vanilla latte extra shot, somehow still warm.
I shook my head.
Sat back.
And ate.
He called at twelve fifteen.
“ Have you gotten it”?
"I got it," I said.
“ Are you done eating”?
“ Still eating”
"I'm sorry I'm not there," he said.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"Geneva," he said.
"Again?" I said.
"Different matter," he said. "It came up this morning. I should have told you sooner."
"You sent lunch," I said.
"That's not the same as telling you," he said.
I held the phone.
"No," I said. "It isn't."
"I know," he said. "I'm sorry."
"Are you coming back tonight?" I said.
"Tomorrow morning," he said. "Early."
I looked out the window.
"Okay," I said.
"You're not angry," he said.
"You told me," I said. "Same day. Before evening. That's different from what happened in Paris."
"Yes," he said quietly. "It is."
"Then I'm not angry," I said.
"Okay," he said.
"The lunch is good," I said.
"It should be," he said.
"You're not even in the country and you're managing my lunch," I said.
"I'm your manager," he said.
"Eating is not a managerial duty," I said.
"We've discussed this," he said.
"We agreed…."
"We agreed on many things," he said. "Eating was not one of the items removed."
I pressed my lips together.
"Finish the latte," he said.
"I'm finishing it," I said.
"Good," he said.
Even from Geneva .
He was entirely present.
The afternoon continued without interruption.
Fabric decisions.
The cowl neckline on piece four worked exactly as I had suspected it would.
Lena came in at two with questions.
We worked through them at the worktable.
By four the third collection had moved forward significantly.
At six , Seren came in with another bag, another note, this one longer.
“You've been there since this morning,stop and eat this,the atelier will be there tomorrow, You are important than the atelier. Eat, I mean it ”
“P.S. I'm watching the time. I'll call at six thirty and if you haven't eaten, I will be mad at you ”
I sat back.
And I smiled.
I actually smiled.
At a dinner delivery from a man in Geneva who had written a postscript threatening to be angry with me.
I was smiling at this.
I was completely gone.
He called at six twenty eight.
"You haven't eaten it yet right ," ? he said immediately.
"How do you…"
"Seren," he said.
"I'm going to have a conversation with Seren," I said.
"After you eat," he said.
I looked at the bag.
"Fine," I said.
"I want to watch," he said.
"You want to…."
"Open the laptop," he said.
I stared at the phone.
"Grayson," I said.
"Open the laptop," he said.
I opened the laptop.
His face appeared on screen.
Geneva behind him.
It's dark outside.
His jacket is off.
Still in the shirt.
Looking at me with complete composure.
"Eat," he said.
I looked at him.
Then at the food.
Then at him.
I picked up the fork.
He watched me eat.
Not intrusively.
Not weirdly.
Just present.
The way he was always present.
He talked while I ate.
I asked questions.
He answered.
"Still sore?" he asked at some point.
I nearly dropped the fork.
“Grayson.”
“It is a medical question.”
“It is not.”
He waited.
“A little,” I muttered.
His jaw shifted.
“How little?" he asked
"Manageable," I said.
“I miss you terribly.”
The words landed softly.
Unexpectedly.
He looked tired suddenly.
Human.
“Don’t overwork yourself. You should already be going home.”
“You sound bossy.”
“I am bossy.”
“You sound like a husband.”
He went still.
Then he smiled slowly.
“Eat your dinner, Starling.”
The call ended after sometime.
By seven, I packed up.
Called Evander.
He arrived ten minutes later.
The drive home was quiet.
My nerves grew the closer we got.
Because somehow entering my mother’s house after spending the weekend with Grayson felt more difficult than surviving Grayson himself.
When I entered, she was already in the sitting room with tea laid out.
She looked up.
Smiled once.
That smile knew too much.
“Come sit.”
I obeyed.
She poured tea calmly.
“How is Grayson?”
“Fine.”
“How was your weekend?”
I nearly choked.
“It was… restful.”
She said nothing.
Which was worse.
"Mom," I said.
"Yes," she said.
I held the tea cup.
"What do you think of him?" I said. "Honestly."
She looked at me.
"You've met him once," I said. "Properly. I want to know what you actually think."
She held my gaze for a long moment.
"What I think?" she asked.
"Yes," I said.
"I think," she said carefully, "that he is a good man who is trying to be better because of you." She paused. "And I think that is the best kind of man."
"But," she said.
I waited
"You are not a girl anymore," she said. "You are a woman. A grown woman who has survived things that would have ended other people." She held my gaze. "You do not need my permission. You do not need my blessing in the way you might have once needed it.”
"I want your opinion," I said.
"I know," she said. "And I'm giving it." She paused. "What I think is follow what you feel. Not what you fear. Not what happened before. Not what Adrian taught you to expect from men." She held my gaze. "What you feel.”
I looked at her.
She smiled
"I think you already know what you feel," she said.
“Yes ”
"Then you have your answer," she said.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
She put her hand over mine.
"He makes you happy," she said.
Not a question.
"Yes," I said
Then that," she said, "is enough for me."