Chapter 38
ELIZABETH
Iwoke to the sound of my alarm and immediately knew Adrian was already up. He was an early riser. I was still getting my ass kicked by jet lag and Adrian was totally fine. I told myself it was because he was used to all the traveling. I never left my time zone. Ever.
The whole week had been moving at a breakneck pace. I hated that we were barely able to enjoy the cities we were in, but that wasn’t what the job was. Maybe one day I would come back and see what it was all about.
I sighed and threw off the blankets, then walked to my suitcase. One moment we were enjoying room service in our Paris hotel, and the next we were wheels-up, heading to Milan.
When we got home, I was going to sleep for a week.
Adrian walked out of the bathroom, hair damp but completely dressed. He had his phone to his ear and was already talking business. I smiled, waved, and took my turn in the bathroom.
Yes, it was a little strange how easily we fell into this domestic routine.
I could smell his aftershave in the bathroom, which brought a smile to my face.
His razor sat on the counter along with his toothbrush.
I had never lived with a man before and was still getting used to things.
There was something very intimate about sharing a bathroom with someone.
That’s where all the dirty secrets were laid bare.
I knew what kind of deodorant he used and that he didn’t like mint toothpaste. He only wore black socks because it made it easier to find matches if he managed to lose one when he traveled.
So many little things you could learn about someone just by sharing a bathroom. Which was why I was extra careful to be tidy. I didn’t want to be the one leaving the lid off the toothpaste or my hair in the shower drain.
Thirty minutes later, we were back in the car heading for another private airstrip. And Adrian was still on the phone.
I pressed my face against the window as we took off, watching Paris shrink beneath us. Two weeks ago, I’d never left the country. Now I was casually hopping between European capitals on a private jet like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Sorry,” Adrian said.
I turned to look at him. I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or whoever was on the phone.
“For?”
“Being on the phone for the last hour.”
“You don’t have to entertain me,” I said. “I know you’re a busy man.”
“What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I’m on a private jet headed for Milan. And wondering if I’m dreaming.”
“Getting spoiled?” Adrian asked, amusement in his voice.
“Completely ruined for normal life.” I settled back into the leather seat that was more comfortable than my bed at home. “Flying commercial is for suckers. How do regular people tolerate it?”
“Very badly, from what I remember.” He pulled out his laptop. “I don’t remember the last time I had to cram into a tin can with two hundred strangers, including the usual crying babies.”
“Of course you don’t.” But I was smiling. A week ago, this level of privilege might have made me uncomfortable. Now I was just grateful for how easy it made everything. “How long is the flight?”
“About an hour and a half. Barely enough time to get comfortable.”
He was right. The flight felt like it had barely started before we were descending into Milan.
I’d gotten used to the rhythm of the takeoffs and landings, the way altitude made my ears pop, the particular luxury of having an entire plane to ourselves.
The drinks and snacks that were definitely a lot better than the standard pack of crackers and a tiny bottle of water.
I could get used to this. Probably shouldn’t but definitely could.
Dash was waiting when we landed, looking characteristically disheveled in a way that somehow worked on him.
Unlike Adrian’s controlled elegance or Briggs’s polished perfection, Dash had a rougher edge.
His suit was expensive but rumpled, his hair artfully messy, his grin slightly dangerous.
Dash oozed sexuality in a different way than Sebastian did.
I would definitely categorize him as the bad boy of the family.
“How was Paris? Did Briggs bore everyone to death with his attention to detail?”
“Paris was perfect,” I said, accepting his hug. “And Briggs’s show was beautiful.”
“Beautiful. Right.” Dash made a face. “I prefer exciting. Dangerous. A little bit on the edge.”
“Which is why your show is going to give half the audience heart attacks,” Adrian said dryly. “Sebastian definitely caused a stir. Please tell me we aren’t going to be fending off groups calling our designs sinful.”
“If they’re not talking about us, we’re not creating buzz.”
Adrian shook his head. “Where is everyone?”
“Already at the villa. Mom’s been asking about you two. I think she wants to make sure you’re actually eating instead of just surviving on champagne and canapés.”
We were ushered into another waiting car. While Dash and Adrian caught up, I watched out the window, trying to absorb as much of the country as I could.
The villa turned out to be in a quieter part of Milan, tucked away from the tourist chaos.
It was all warm stone and terracotta tiles, with a central courtyard that opened to the sky.
Lemon trees in giant pots lined the edges.
I could hear a fountain somewhere, water trickling over stone.
I wasn’t surprised. Of course it would be the epitome of luxury.
Nothing but the best for the Blackwell family.
“This is gorgeous,” I breathed.
“Wait until you see inside,” Dash said.
He led us through an archway into a space that was somehow both rustic and luxurious. Exposed beams overhead, modern furniture, and lots of windows.
Mimi appeared from one of the side rooms, still elegant in linen pants and a silk blouse despite the travel. “There you are! I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost in Paris.”
“Sorry, Mom.” Adrian kissed her cheek. “We got a late start this morning.”
She gave him a knowing look but didn’t comment, turning to me instead. “Elizabeth, dear, you look tired. Are my sons running you ragged?”
“I’m fine, just excited.” I wasn’t lying. Despite the exhaustion, despite the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days, I was thriving on all of it. “Everything has been incredible.”
“Well, come. We’re having lunch, and you both need to eat something substantial. I won’t have you fainting at Dash’s show tomorrow.”
Lunch turned out to be a massive Italian feast, with pasta in three different sauces, bread that was still warm from the oven, meatballs the size of my fist, salads and vegetables, and cheese and wine.
Everything was served family style, everyone reaching and passing and stealing from each other’s plates.
“How do you all eat like this and still fit into your clothes?” I asked, watching Dash pile a third helping of pasta onto his plate.
“Gym time,” Sebastian said through a mouthful of bread. “So much gym time.”
“And good genetics,” Briggs added. “We’re all blessed with metabolisms like hummingbirds. Burn through calories faster than we can consume them.”
“I hate you all,” I said, but I was laughing.
“Don’t hate us. Join us.” Dash pushed the pasta toward me. “Come on, one more helping. You’re in Milan. When in Rome—”
“Which is a different city than Milan,” Adrian interjected.
“When in Milan, eat like Milanese,” Dash corrected himself. “Better?”
We spent the next hour eating and talking and laughing.
I sat back and listened to the brothers trading stories and insults in equal measure.
Mimi presided over it all with quiet authority, occasionally interjecting to correct someone’s version of events or to remind them to use napkins like civilized humans.
I watched them interact—the way they bickered but defended each other. I loved how they competed but celebrated each other’s successes. The obvious love underneath all the teasing was special.
This was what family could be. Supportive, present, choosing each other over and over despite differences and disagreements.
I’d be a lucky girl to end up as part of this family.
Or to have a mom like Mimi, who gently corrected while letting the boys do what they wanted. She didn’t admonish Sebastian for his dresses being too much. She praised him, even though I knew she would never personally wear anything in his collection.
I would love to have her as my other mom.
The thought came unbidden, and I pushed it away. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
After lunch, everyone scattered to their respective rooms to rest before tomorrow’s chaos. Adrian and I had a suite on the second floor, with windows overlooking the courtyard.
“I’m going to freshen up,” Adrian said, kissing my temple. “You okay?”
“Perfect. I might sit in the courtyard for a bit. Sketch a little.”
“Don’t work too hard. Tomorrow is going to be intense.”
After he disappeared into the bathroom, I grabbed my sketchbook and a cup of espresso from the kitchen—tiny and strong and absolutely perfect.
I carried it outside and settled into a chair in the courtyard.
The afternoon sun was warm. The fountain’s trickling created white noise that wiped away any remaining stress.
I closed my eyes for a few minutes and let my mind wander.
I found myself drawing logos, which was silly and definitely premature. I was completely getting ahead of myself. But I couldn’t help it. If I ever had my own line, what would the branding look like?
I tried different variations of my initials. E and L, intertwined, separated, stacked. Nothing felt right.
“What are you working on?”
I looked up to find Adrian had joined me. He had changed into jeans and a T-shirt that made him look like any other guy.
Well, except for the fact he was absolutely gorgeous.
“Nothing. It’s dumb.”
“Show me anyway.”
I tilted the sketchbook so he could see. “I was just messing around with logos. Just in case I ever have my own line. Which is ridiculous but I guess I’m a dreamer.”
“It’s not ridiculous.” He sat beside me, studying my attempts. “But these aren’t quite right. What are you going for? What feeling?”
“I don’t know. Something that feels like me. Romantic but modern. Classic but fresh.” I laughed. “That’s not helpful at all, is it?”
“Actually, it is.” He took the pencil from me. “What if instead of trying to separate the letters, we integrated them? Like this.”
He sketched quickly. The E and L began to take shape, flowing into each other, the curves creating a shape.
“A heart,” I said softly.
“A heart.” He refined it, adding subtle flourishes. “EL. Elizabeth Laramie. Your initials forming something that represents your design aesthetic—romantic, emotional, from the heart.”
“Adrian, that’s perfect.”
“It’s a start. We can refine it, but this could work. Simple enough to be memorable, distinctive enough to stand out. You don’t want to overcomplicate it.”
“I love it,” I said. “Thank you. I guess there’s a reason you get paid the big bucks.”
He chuckled. “We’ll show it tomorrow when we show your dresses.”
I almost choked. “Seriously?”
“Hell yeah. Dash loved your designs when I showed him the sketches. He’s already planning where they’ll fit in the show.” Adrian put down the sketchbook.
“But we designed them together.”
“I made two suggestions. Maybe three. The vision, the silhouettes, the emotional core—that was all you, Elizabeth.” He took my hand. “You deserve full credit for your work.”
“But it wouldn’t exist without you pushing me.”
“I encouraged you to step out of your comfort zone. That’s not the same as designing it for you.” He squeezed my hand. “Tomorrow night, when these dresses go down that runway, they’re Elizabeth Laramie originals. And the world is going to see exactly how talented you are.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “Thank you. For believing in me. For seeing something in me I didn’t see in myself.”
“I only showed you what was already there.” He pulled me close. I let myself lean into him and just pretended this was real. That in a week or a month, we would still be like this.
Whatever came next, at least I would have Milan. And Paris.