Chapter 37
ADRIAN
The best part about Briggs hosting his show was that he actually knew what the hell he was doing.
Unlike Sebastian, who had treated the entire London production like a party that happened to have a runway attached, Briggs had everything running with military precision.
The earlier hiccups had been quickly resolved, and if I was fair, he probably could have handled it himself.
One of these days I would learn how to give up some control.
That meant for the first time all week, I could actually relax and enjoy the show.
I could be a spectator instead of worrying about music and lighting. I didn’t even have to worry about the models. We had a great crew for the night. All very professional and no one was going to be pulling any bullshit.
And more importantly, no Clara.
I adjusted my cufflinks and waited for Elizabeth to emerge from the changing room. Tonight’s gown was gorgeous of course, but a bit more understated.
The door opened, and Elizabeth stepped out. I forgot how to breathe.
The gown was black—not the safe, predictable black of cocktail dresses, but something deeper.
Midnight captured in fabric. It was strapless, the bodice fitted to emphasize every curve before flowing into a skirt that moved like liquid shadow.
When she turned slightly, I caught the slit that ran dangerously high up her thigh.
But it was the necklace that made the whole look transcendent.
I had borrowed it from Cartier’s private collection.
It was a piece from the 1920s that had once belonged to a duchess whose name I couldn’t remember.
Sapphires and diamonds that caught the light with every breath she took.
The stones rested against her collarbone, drawing attention to the graceful line of her neck.
“Adrian?” She touched the necklace nervously. “Is it too much? I feel like I’m wearing someone’s retirement fund.”
“You are wearing someone’s retirement fund,” I confirmed, crossing to her. “Several retirement funds, actually. That piece is insured for more than most people make in a lifetime.”
“That’s not helping my anxiety.”
“You look incredible.” I took her hand, turning her slowly so I could see the full effect. “Absolutely incredible. Like old Hollywood glamour meets modern elegance.”
Her cheeks flushed. “You’re just saying that because you picked out the dress.”
“I’m saying it because it’s true.” I lifted her hand to my lips.
“Elizabeth, you’re going to outshine every model on that runway tonight.
I have a feeling this dress is going to sell out once people see it on you.
Remind me to call production and tell them to increase this one.
The models don’t have your figure. They don’t wear the dress. The dress wears them. But you? Damn.”
“Now I know you’re lying.” But she was smiling that pleased, slightly embarrassed smile I’d come to adore.
“I’m not lying. Trust me. No one is going to be able to take their eyes off you. Don’t be nervous or feel weird when people stare. And everyone is going to ask you if it’s a Blackwell. Let them know it will be for sale summer next year.”
“Summer next year! This isn’t even for sale yet?”
I grinned. “Nope. We’re teasing the new collection.”
She groaned. “I don’t know if I’m terrified or feeling lucky.”
“Both,” I said.
She adjusted my tie. “I like this look on you.”
The slim fit suit wasn’t my typical style. More of Sebastian’s thing, but I supposed we were all stepping out of our comfort zones.
“We should go,” I said instead, offering my arm. “Briggs will have my head if we’re late.”
She took my arm and it was like two pieces of a puzzle coming together. We fit so perfectly together. We made our way through the corridors toward the Galerie des Batailles. I could hear the buzz of the crowd already, the anticipation building.
“Nervous?” I asked.
“A little. This is Versailles. In France. Where they invented fashion.” She squeezed my arm. “What if I trip? What if I say something stupid to someone important?”
“You won’t. And even if you did, you’d do it with such charm that they’d find it endearing.”
“You have entirely too much faith in me.”
“I have exactly the right amount of faith in you.”
“This is incredible,” Elizabeth breathed beside me as we stood backstage watching the organized chaos of final preparations.
Models in various stages of dress moved between stations, makeup artists made last-minute adjustments, and Briggs calmly directed traffic with his tablet like a conductor with an orchestra.
“Briggs doesn’t mess around,” I said. “When he commits to something, it’s going to be flawless.”
“Must be nice having a brother who’s actually organized.”
“You have no idea. Sebastian nearly gave me a heart attack in London. Briggs, on the other hand, is a lot like me.”
“I thought there were problems you had to deal with?”
I shrugged. “I think that was more my problem than his. I tend to like to see things handled ahead of time. Briggs is more of a trust-the-process kind of guy. He would have figured it out.”
“I love how you and your brothers all work so well together.”
I chuckled. “I don’t know if I would go that far, but we have learned how to work together without killing each other. This idea of each of us getting one show was brilliant. Otherwise, there might have been bloodshed if we tried to do a single show with all of our own ideas.”
“Can we go out front?” she asked. “I want to see it from the audience perspective too.”
“Absolutely. That’s the plan. We’ll watch from multiple angles. See how it all comes together.”
We made our way out to where the audience was gathering in the Galerie des Batailles. The space was breathtaking even without the show. Intimate despite its size. Exactly what Briggs had envisioned for his theme of Romance.
“I can’t believe I’m here,” Elizabeth said for probably the twentieth time today.
She grabbed my arm, squeezing. “Adrian, thank you. For this, for everything. This week has been incredible. I’ve learned so much.
It’s like a decade’s worth of experience compressed into a few days.
Hell, more like a lifetime. How many people have actually seen this place?
I mean, in the grand scheme of things? I feel so fortunate. ”
“Stick with me, baby,” I said, then immediately felt the weight of those words.
Stick with me. As if there was a future waiting for us beyond Fashion of Love Week’s expiration date.
I felt her tense slightly beside me, clearly having the same thought. We were both wondering what came next. Was this a lovely dream we’d wake from, or the beginning of something that could last?
I didn’t know. Couldn’t predict how she’d respond when I finally said what I needed to say.
But I loved spending time with her. Loved seeing her excitement and the way she looked at me like I’d given her the world when really she’d given me so much more.
“Come on,” I said, pushing the heavy thoughts aside. “Let’s grab some wine before the show starts. Briggs has excellent taste in everything, including refreshments.”
The pre-show reception area had been set up in an adjoining salon. Waiters circulated with champagne and an array of French appetizers that looked like tiny works of art.
Elizabeth picked up something that appeared to be a miniature tower of vegetables and cheese. “What is this?”
“No idea. But it’s French and at Versailles, so it’s probably delicious.”
She took a bite, her eyes widening. “Oh my God. It’s like—I don’t even know what this is, but it’s incredible.”
I tried one myself. It was some combination of goat cheese and fig and something else I couldn’t identify. She was right. It was exceptional. Again, that was Briggs. The man did have good taste.
We spent the next twenty minutes sampling everything, feeding each other bites and drinking amazing wine. Elizabeth kept making delighted sounds at each new discovery. I found myself more entertained watching her reactions than tasting the food itself.
“This one looks weird,” she said, holding up something that resembled a small sea creature.
“That’s escargot. Snails.”
“Snails?” She looked horrified, then intrigued. “Have you had it before?”
“Many times. It’s actually good.”
“You first.”
I took one, eating it in a single bite. “See? Still alive.”
“That’s not reassuring.” But she tried one anyway, chewing thoughtfully. “Okay, that’s actually not terrible. Garlicky. Buttery.”
“Welcome to French cuisine. If you can get past what it looks like, it usually tastes amazing.”
“I loved that caviar at the last show,” she said. “That was another first. Well, no. I think Chris tried to serve us caviar once but it wasn’t the real stuff.”
“I don’t know if you can fake caviar,” I joked.
“Whatever he served us was nothing like what I had the other night.”
The lights flickered—the five-minute warning. We made our way back to our seats, prime position in the front row where we could see everything.
Briggs appeared on the runway, looking immaculate in a tailored suit.
Briggs had the quiet confidence of a German Shepherd.
It’s why he was a damn good lawyer. He intimidated people just by being in the room.
He thanked everyone for coming, spoke eloquently about love and fashion and our father’s vision, and then the show began.
The first model emerged to soft music, another complete one-eighty from Sebastian’s show. It was something classical, romantic. The dress she wore was elegant simplicity itself, a flowing gown in cream that moved like milk.
“It’s beautiful,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Wait. It gets better.”
She was right to be impressed, but as the show continued, each piece building on the last, I could see her designer brain cataloging details.
These weren’t the sexy, revealing pieces from Sebastian’s show. These were elegant gowns you’d wear to an intimate dinner or on a sophisticated evening out. Dresses you would choose to wear anywhere you wanted to look effortlessly beautiful.
I knew they were going to be big in political circles. Demure. Elegant. And of course, stunning.
This was romance without excess, love without drama. Pure Briggs.
Between looks, I stole glances at Elizabeth. She was completely absorbed, her eyes tracking every detail. This was her element. Not the performance part, not the modeling or interviews, but the design, the creation, the art of it.
She was going to be extraordinary once she found her full voice. Hell, she already was extraordinary.
Halfway through, during a brief pause between segments, Elizabeth leaned close. “Your brother is a genius.”
“Don’t tell him that. His ego is already insufferable.”
“I’m serious. The way he’s structured this show, the progression of the pieces, the emotional arc—it’s storytelling through fashion.”
“That’s exactly what he was going for.” I was ridiculously proud of Briggs, of all my brothers actually. They’d each brought something unique to Fashion of Love Week. Each one of them stamped their personality on their show. “Dad would have loved this.”
“He would have been so proud of all of you.”
“Yeah. I think he would.”
The show continued. The audience was completely engaged, no one checking phones or whispering. Just rapt attention to Briggs’s vision of love expressed through fashion.
When the finale came, all the models returned in their opening looks and Briggs joined them on the runway. The audience rose in a standing ovation that seemed to shake the old walls.
“That was perfect,” Elizabeth said, clapping enthusiastically. “Absolutely perfect.”
We made our way backstage where Briggs was accepting congratulations from his team. Mom was there too, looking over the moon about tonight’s show. When he saw us, he broke into a rare genuine smile. “Thoughts?”
“Flawless,” I said, pulling him into a hug. “Absolutely flawless. Dad would be proud.”
“Thanks.” He looked genuinely touched, then turned to Elizabeth. “And you? Professional opinion?”
“I’m not a professional.”
“You’re a designer. That makes you a professional. What did you think?”
“I think you just showed everyone exactly what love looks like,” she said simply. “Not dramatic or excessive, just beautiful. Real. It was perfect.”
Briggs studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Good answer. Adrian, you found a keeper.”
“I know,” I said before I could even think about what I was admitting.
As the backstage celebration continued around us, I took Elizabeth’s hand. “Ready to go?”
“God yes. As amazing as this was, I’m exhausted.”
“Let’s get out of here. Tomorrow is another early morning flight.”
“I can’t wait,” she said with a smile.
But there was a hint of sadness there as well.
We were almost to the end of this thing.