Chapter 14 Vivienne
Vivienne
I stood outside the large structure that housed Julian's photo studio, clutching my purse and second-guessing my decision to wear comfortable jeans and a simple sweater.
The building was sleek and modern, all glass and steel, with expensive cars scattered throughout the parking lot.
Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see movement inside—people bustling around with purpose, lights being adjusted, equipment being moved into position.
What am I doing here? The thought hit me with a wave of nervousness. Last night at the gallery, I'd felt confident, sophisticated, like I belonged in Julian's world. But this morning, in daylight, wearing my normal weekend clothes, the magic of last night felt distant and dreamlike.
My phone buzzed with a text from Julian.
Julian: Just look for Roy at the front desk. He's expecting you.
I took a deep breath and pushed through the glass doors into a lobby that was all minimalist elegance—white marble, modern art, and furniture that looked expensive, yet durable. Roy, looked up from his computer with a warm smile.
"Ms. Ellis! Mr. Thorne said you'd be joining us today. Right this way."
He led me through a maze of corridors, past rooms filled with racks of clothing, mirrors, and more equipment than I'd ever seen outside of a movie set. The energy was electric, people moving with hurried efficiency, voices calling out instructions, the constant hum of creative work in progress.
"The main studio is just through here," Roy said, pausing outside a set of double doors. "Fair warning, it can be a bit overwhelming the first time. There are a lot of people, a lot of noise, and Mr. Thorne tends to be very… focused during shoots."
"Thanks for the heads up." I said, grateful for his kindness.
Roy pushed open the doors, and I was immediately hit with a wall of sound and movement.
The studio was enormous, with soaring ceilings and banks of professional lighting equipment.
Models in various stages of dress and undress moved between stations, makeup artists worked at long tables covered with more products than a department store, and photographers tested angles and lighting setups.
And in the center of it all was Julian.
He was dressed casually in dark jeans and a fitted black t-shirt, but somehow he commanded the entire space with quiet authority.
He moved between the photographer, the lighting director, and a woman with a clipboard who was obviously the stylist, making decisions with the kind of confidence that made everyone around him work more efficiently.
I found myself mesmerized by watching him work. This was Julian in his element, not the carefully controlled man from the gallery or the passionate lover from my bedroom, but the creative genius who'd built an empire from vision and talent.
As I watched, he turned and our eyes locked. His face lit up when he saw me. The genuine pleasure in his expression made my stomach flutter with warmth.
He started towards me, dismissing the woman with the clipboard with a small wave.
"You made it," he said, reaching my side. "How do you feel about controlled chaos?"
"A little intimidated," I admitted, gesturing at the bustling activity around us. "This is incredible. I had no idea how many people were involved in a photo shoot."
"Today's a big one," Julian said, pride evident in his voice. "We're shooting the entire spring collection in one day. Normally I'd spread it out, but..." He paused, his eyes finding mine. "I had other priorities this week."
I looked around at the chaos in the room and realized how much he had to move around to take the time to create my dress. He'd disrupted his entire schedule, his business, just to make something beautiful for me.
"Julian!" A voice called from across the studio. "We need you to approve the first setup!"
"Duty calls," he said with an apologetic smile. "Make yourself comfortable. There's a break room just through that door if you need coffee or want to sit somewhere quieter. I'll check on you between setups."
I watched him stride back into his controlled chaos, immediately commanding attention and respect from everyone around him.
I found a spot near the edge of the activity where I could observe without getting in the way, fascinated by the intricate dance of creativity and commerce playing out in front of me.
The first model to be photographed was a stunning redhead in a flowing emerald dress that made me think of my own creation from the night before even if hers was only similar in the color.
The dress was beautiful, but watching it being photographed, seeing how it moved and caught the light, I found myself thinking about composition and angles.
"Move your left shoulder back slightly," the photographer called out. "Good. Now tilt your chin up—no, too much. Back to where you were."
I studied the setup, noting how the lighting created shadows that didn't quite complement the dress's flowing lines. Without thinking, I found myself imagining how the shot might work better, a different angle, perhaps, or a pose that would show the way the fabric moved.
"Having thoughts?" Julian's voice came from beside me, making me jump slightly.
"Oh! I didn't hear you approach." I felt heat rise in my cheeks, embarrassed to be caught analyzing his professional work. "Sorry, I was just watching."
"Don't apologize. What were you thinking?"
I hesitated. "I don't know anything about photography..."
"But you know about movement, about history, about how clothing tells stories," Julian said encouragingly. "What would you do differently?"
I looked back at the setup, then at Julian's expectant face. "Well… that dress is designed to flow, right? But she's standing so still, so posed. It's beautiful, but it's not showing what makes the dress special."
Julian's eyes sharpened with interest. "Go on."
"Maybe if she were walking, or turning, or even just shifting her weight... something that would show how the fabric moves with the body instead of just hanging on it."
Julian stared at me for a long moment, then called out to the photographer. "Jeremy! Try having her walk toward you. Slow, natural movement."
The photographer looked skeptical but adjusted his camera. The model began walking, and immediately the dress came alive, the fabric flowing and catching the light in ways that the static poses had missed.
"Perfect!" Jeremy called out, his camera clicking rapidly. "That's beautiful. Much better."
Julian turned back to me, his expression a mixture of admiration and something deeper. "You have an extraordinary eye."
"I just think about how people actually move through the world." I said, but I couldn't hide my pleasure at his praise.
"That's exactly what most people miss," Julian said. "They think about how something looks, not how it lives."
He leaned closer and left a chaste kiss on my cheek before heading off to oversee something else.
I went back to watching the photography but was interrupted by a commotion near the makeup stations. A tall, angular brunette was standing over one of the makeup artists, her voice carrying across the studio.
"This is completely unacceptable!" the model was saying. "I asked for a natural look, not this... amateur attempt at glamour!"
I looked at the makeup artist, a young woman who couldn't be much older than some of my students, and saw her face crumple with embarrassment and hurt.
"I'm sorry," the artist said quietly. "I can fix it…"
"You're damn right you'll fix it! And you'll do it faster this time. I don't have all day to sit here while you figure out how to do your job!"
But I was already moving, my teacher instincts kicking in at the sight of someone being bullied.
"Hi there," I said brightly, inserting myself between the model and the makeup artist. "I'm Vivienne. I don't think we've met."
The model turned to me with obvious irritation. "I'm sorry, who are you exactly?"
"A friend of Julian's," I said pleasantly, noting how the model's expression shifted at the mention of his name.
"I couldn't help but notice what beautiful work this is.
" I gestured to the makeup artist's station.
"The blending technique is incredible. You must have trained at one of the top schools. "
The makeup artist, Delaney, according to her name tag, looked up with surprise and gratitude. "Thank you. I went to the Academy of Makeup Arts in New York."
"I thought so," I said with genuine warmth. "The precision shows. You know, I teach high school, and I see a lot of young artists. The level of skill you're demonstrating here is really exceptional."
Delaney's smile was radiant, her confidence visibly returning. "That means a lot, thank you."
The model, realizing she'd been effectively dismissed, huffed and stalked away to find another station. I turned my full attention to Delaney.
"Are you okay?" I asked quietly. "Some people forget that there are human beings behind the work they're demanding."
"I'm fine," Delaney said, though her hands were still shaking slightly. "She's right though, I should be faster."
"She's not right about anything," I said firmly. "I watched you work when I first got here. You're being careful and precise because you care about the quality. That's exactly what you should be doing."
Delaney's eyes filled with tears of gratitude. "Thank you. Really. You don't know how much I needed to hear that."
"Listen," I said, pulling out my phone. "I don't know if you ever do work outside of these shoots, but if you do, I'd love to get your information. You're incredibly talented."
We exchanged numbers, and Delaney promised to call if she ever needed a reference or just someone to talk to. As I walked away, I felt Julian fall into step beside me.
"That was well done," he said quietly.
"I hate seeing people get bullied," I replied. "Especially when they're just trying to do their job well."