Chapter Twelve The Life They Never Gave Her #2
“You remember that?”
“I remember everything about that night.”
Amara's voice trembled.
“I didn't give my daughter away because I thought I could replace myself.”
She wiped her cheek.
“I gave her to you because I knew you would become what I might not live long enough to be.”
Naomi covered her mouth.
Evelyn began crying.
Amara did too.
Naomi walked between them.
She reached for both women.
“No.”
They looked at her.
“No competition.”
Her voice shook.
“No ranking.”
She took Evelyn's hand.
“You're my mother.”
Then Amara's.
“And you're my mother.”
Emotion moved across both faces.
“I don't need either of you to become less so I can make room for the other.”
Evelyn pulled Naomi into her arms.
Amara hesitated.
Only for a moment.
Then Naomi reached for her.
The three women held each other.
Lucas quietly moved toward the kitchen.
Adrian followed.
Naomi heard him whisper,
“Are we leaving?”
Lucas answered,
“Absolutely.”
For once they had excellent instincts.
Later that afternoon, Adrian stood inside Naomi's temporary London design studio.
He looked deeply suspicious.
Naomi held fabric against his chest.
“Stop moving.”
“I’m standing perfectly still.”
“You're breathing dramatically.”
“That sounds medically necessary.”
“No. It's annoying.”
Evelyn and Amara sat nearby going through pattern books.
Lucas leaned against the cutting table.
He had been watching Naomi for almost an hour.
Not speaking much.
Just watching.
She knew that look.
It was the same expression he had worn in the museum where they first met.
Attention without demand.
Naomi pinned the fabric.
Adrian looked down.
“Why am I being fitted?”
“Because you need clothes.”
“I own clothes.”
“You own gray coats that make you look like you're hiding from Interpol.”
“I was sometimes hiding from Interpol.”
Naomi stopped.
“I'm not asking follow-up questions.”
“Wise.”
She stepped back.
Adrian studied himself in the mirror.
The jacket Naomi had draped around him was unfinished.
Deep charcoal.
Structured without severity.
Broad through the shoulders.
Clean lines.
No hidden pockets.
He noticed that.
“There's nowhere to conceal anything.”
Naomi smiled.
“Exactly.”
Something softened in his face.
Lucas noticed too.
“What are you planning to do?” he asked.
Adrian looked toward the windows.
The question no longer frightened him.
That itself was progress.
“There's a restitution team forming around the recovered art records.”
Naomi straightened.
“You want to work with them?”
“Maybe.”
“Restoration?”
“Identification. Provenance research. Returning stolen pieces to families and institutions.”
Amara looked at him.
“You always loved art.”
Adrian's expression became guarded again.
“How do you know?”
“Mercer sent Joseph reports.”
Adrian absorbed that.
Not another secret exactly.
More evidence of how thoroughly his life had been observed.
Amara seemed to realize the mistake.
“I'm sorry.”
He looked at her.
“For knowing?”
“For saying it as if I knew you.”
Adrian stared at her for a moment.
Then nodded.
“Thank you.”
Naomi smiled to herself.
Tiny bridges.
No one rushing across them.
That was better.
Adrian looked back into the mirror.
“I think I'd like to help return things.”
Naomi leaned against the table.
“Because of Mercer?”
“No.”
He smiled slightly.
“In spite of him.”
Amara unrolled the wedding sketch just before sunset.
Naomi recognized it immediately.
The gown from the convent.
The one drawn for a daughter Amara did not know would ever marry.
Lucas came closer.
“I haven't seen this.”
“You're not supposed to.”
Naomi tried to cover it.
He stepped back dramatically.
“My apologies.”
Amara laughed.
Naomi studied the drawing.
The design was beautiful.
A sweeping neckline.
Long fitted sleeves.
A structured bodice designed for curves instead of trying to disguise them.
The skirt flowed generously from the waist, rich without overwhelming the body beneath it.
Amara had written small notes along the margins.
Let her waist be seen.
Do not hide her hips.
She should look like herself, only happier.
Naomi's eyes filled.
“You designed this years ago?”
“The first version when you were twenty.”
“Why?”
Amara looked almost embarrassed.
“I saw a photograph of you at a college formal.”
Naomi remembered.
A terrible burgundy dress.
Evelyn groaned.
“That thing.”
“It wasn't that bad.”
Both mothers looked at her.
“It was that bad,” they said together.
Silence.
Then everyone laughed.
Naomi shook her head.
“Great. Now you're teaming up.”
Evelyn pointed toward the sketch.
“The neckline needs work.”
Amara gasped.
“There is nothing wrong with that neckline.”
“It needs a little more drama.”
“You're trying to put my daughter on display.”
“Our daughter.”
Amara stopped.
Evelyn stopped too.
Naomi stared at them.
Evelyn smiled.
“Our daughter.”
Amara's eyes filled.
She looked down at the gown.
“Yes.”
Naomi quietly wiped her own cheek.
Lucas appeared beside her.
He had politely avoided looking directly at the sketch.
“Am I allowed to ask one question?”
“No,” three women said.
Adrian laughed.
Lucas looked toward him.
“You think this is funny?”
“Very.”
“Your turn will come.”
Adrian's smile disappeared.
“My what?”
Naomi brightened.
“Oh, absolutely.”
“No.”
“Someday.”
“Naomi.”
“I haven't even met anyone.”
“Details.”
Adrian looked toward Lucas.
“Control your fiancée.”
Lucas stared at him.
Then at Naomi.
Then back to Adrian.
“I enjoy being alive.”
“Coward.”
“Experienced.”
Naomi laughed so hard she nearly dropped the sketch.
And somewhere inside that laughter, something happened.
The apartment stopped feeling like a temporary place where survivors had gathered.
It felt like family.
Messy.
Unfinished.
Strange.
But alive.
That night, Naomi remained alone in the studio after everyone left.
Bolts of fabric surrounded her.
Sketches covered the wall.
Her old dream suddenly seemed close enough to touch.
Not Kensington Rowe.
Not someone else's label.
Hers.
Lucas entered quietly carrying two glasses of sparkling water.
“You disappeared.”
“I was thinking.”
“That usually becomes expensive.”
She smiled.
“Probably.”
He handed her a glass.
Naomi looked around.
“I want to do it.”
“The line?”
“My line.”
Lucas didn't immediately congratulate her.
That was one of the things she loved about him.
He let her define what she meant.
“I don't want it funded through Taylor International.”
“Okay.”
“I don't want people buying it because I'm marrying you.”
“Good.”
“I don't want my father's crimes attached to it.”
Lucas understood which father she meant.
Serrano.
“And I don't want the Bluebird story turned into some tragic marketing campaign.”
“Then don't.”
Naomi stared at him.
“That's it?”
“What were you expecting?”
“Advice.”
Lucas stepped closer.
“You don't need mine.”
His hand settled lightly at her waist.
“You know exactly what you want this to be.”
Naomi looked around the room.
Luxury.
Beauty.
Clothes that celebrated women instead of apologizing for their bodies.
She had spent years wanting permission from an industry that had barely acknowledged women shaped like her.
Now she no longer wanted permission.
“I need a name.”
Lucas smiled.
“That I can help with badly.”
“Please don't.”
“I had several suggestions.”
“I'm scared.”
“James Taylor.”
Naomi stared.
Lucas kept a completely straight face.
“That is both our surnames.”
“And also a famous musician.”
His expression changed.
“Oh.”
Naomi laughed.
“You didn't know?”
“I design buildings.”
“You're British, not isolated.”
He looked wounded.
“I'll withdraw the suggestion.”
“Immediately.”
Lucas wrapped his arms around her.
Naomi leaned into him.
Her eyes landed on Amara's sketch.
Then Joseph's old compass pendant resting beside Adrian's broken-wing symbol on the table.
Not signs of destiny anymore.
Objects.
Memories.
History that did not own tomorrow.
Naomi picked up a pencil.
At the top of a clean page, she wrote two words.
Lucas read them.
His expression softened.
“You like it?” she asked.
“I love it.”
Naomi looked at the name again.
BELONGING BY NAOMI JAMES
Not because she belonged to the Taylors.
Not because she belonged to Joseph.
Or Amara.
Or Evelyn.
Or Serrano.
Because every woman who wore her designs deserved to feel at home inside her own body.
Naomi smiled.
For years, other people had been writing the story around her.
Tonight she began designing what came next.