9. Isabelle #2
I counted silently. Twelve beats between models. Hold at the end for three. Turn. Return.
Each dress that appeared and disappeared was a small death. Had I made the right choices? Were the proportions correct? Did the beading catch the light the way it was supposed to?
The collection unfolded like a story. Dark tones gave way to jewel tones, then to metallics, building toward the crescendo.
The crowd's murmur shifted—appreciative now, impressed.
I heard scattered applause as the silver gown appeared, the one with the hand-pleated skirt that had taken weeks to perfect.
And then it was time.
Naomi stepped to the edge of the curtain, shoulders back, chin lifted. She caught my eye and winked.
"Go get them," I whispered.
She walked.
The reaction was immediate and visceral. A collective intake of breath as she emerged, followed by the rapid-fire click of cameras. The champagne silk moved like liquid gold under the lights. Her hair was a crown of glory and her presence was magnetic, undeniable.
She reached the end of the runway and paused. Held. Let them look.
The applause started before she even turned.
My cue. I smoothed my dress—black, simple, designed to fade into the background beside my creations—and stepped out to meet her.
The lights were blinding. The noise was enormous. For a moment, I couldn't see anything but white glare and shadow.
Then my vision adjusted.
The front row materialized first. Sebastian, leaning forward with pride written across his face.
Aria beside him, already whispering to someone about specific dresses.
Xavier and Kim, applauding wildly. My mother, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.
My grandmother, sitting ramrod straight, her expression unreadable as always—but she was here. She'd flown across an ocean to be here.
I scanned further back, acknowledging the crowd, and my gaze snagged on a familiar face.
Matteo.
He was several rows back, clapping with everyone else, but his eyes were fixed on me. Beside him sat a young woman who had to be his sister—same dark hair, same warm coloring, same bone structure. She was grinning and saying something to him, but he wasn't listening.
He was watching me.
I lifted my hand in a small wave. He raised his in return, that quiet smile spreading across his face.
And then I looked away, forcing myself to break the connection. Then I took Naomi's hand and raised it high.
The applause swelled like a wave, cresting and breaking. Cameras flashed, creating stars behind my eyelids. My models filed out behind us, a parade of silk and crystal and months of sleepless work made tangible and real.
I let myself feel it. Just for a moment. The triumph. The relief. The vindication that tasted sweeter than I’d imagined.
Look what this little girl did.
Backstage dissolved into celebration.
Models hugged me, squealing with excitement. My team hugged me, some of them crying. Someone produced champagne from nowhere, and suddenly everyone was toasting and laughing and the crushing tension of the past weeks evaporated.
But the real chaos started when my family arrived.
"Isabelle!" Aria pushed through the crowd and threw her arms around me. "That was magnificent. Truly. I need at least two of those dresses."
"Which ones?"
"The last one. Obviously. And the silver with the pleated skirt." She turned to Sebastian, who had appeared beside her. "You're buying them for me."
"Am I?"
"Consider it an early wedding present. To me. From you."
Sebastian sighed, but he was smiling in that helpless way he got around her. "Whatever you want."
Xavier materialized at my other elbow, already shaking his head. "Actually, I'm buying the finale dress. For Kim."
Aria's eyes narrowed. "I called it first."
"You called the silver first. The last one is fair game."
"I called both. Sebastian, tell him."
Sebastian held up his hands. "I'm not getting involved."
My mother appeared, still dabbing at her eyes. "Darling, that was beautiful. Your father would have been so proud."
I doubted that, but I hugged her anyway. "Thank you for coming, mom."
"As if I would miss this." She pulled back and cupped my face in her hands. "My brilliant girl. Look at what you've built."
My grandmother was next. She didn't hug—she never did—but she took my hands in hers and held them firmly. Her grip was stronger than it looked.
"Well done," she said simply.
From her, that was everything.
The conversation fragmented into overlapping voices.
Aria defending her color choices with passion.
Xavier insisting that Kim definitely wanted the dress Naomi wore.
Kim protesting that she didn't need Xavier to buy her clothes.
My mother mediating with practiced patience.
My grandmother offering unsolicited opinions on everyone's complexion and body type.
Normal. Chaotic. Overwhelming in the best way. Home.
I was laughing at something Sebastian said when I noticed Matteo approaching. His sister walked beside him, practically bouncing with excitement.
"Isabelle." He stopped a respectful distance away, hands in his pockets. "Congratulations. The show was incredible."
"Thank you for coming. Both of you." I extended my hand to his sister. "You must be Sofia."
She shook it vigorously. "I cannot believe I'm meeting you. I've followed your work for years. The spring collection last year? The one with the asymmetrical hemlines? I wrote a paper about it for my fashion history course."
"You wrote a paper about my collection?"
"It was either you or Alexander McQueen." She grinned, her eyes sparkling. "You won."
"I'm incredibly flattered."
Matteo was watching me with that quiet amusement I remembered from the vineyard. "I told you she was a fan."
"A fan is a massive understatement." Sofia was still gripping my hand. "I have questions. So many questions. About your process, your inspirations, how you choose your fabrics—"
"Sofia." Matteo put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps let her breathe? She's had a very long night."
"Right. Yes. Sorry." She released my hand, looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm being intense. I know I'm being intense. It's just—you're Isabelle Dubois. In person. Looking exactly like you do in photos, which isn't fair, by the way. Most people look worse in person."
"Thank you. I think."
Sofia glanced between me and Matteo. Something flickered in her expression—curiosity, maybe. Speculation. The look of someone who'd just figured out a secret.
"I'm going to go look at the dresses up close," she announced. "Leave you two to... catch up."
She disappeared into the crowd before either of us could respond, moving with purpose toward the display racks.
And then it was just us. Standing amid the chaos, the noise, the celebration.
Matteo smiled. "She's not subtle."
"I noticed."
"She thinks she's being helpful. Giving us space."
"Is she?"
He tilted his head, considering, his dark eyes searching mine. "I haven't decided yet."
We stood there. The silence between us stretched, filled with everything we weren't saying. The vineyard. The rain. the almost-kiss that had haunted me for two days.
I scrambled for something to say. Anything.
"So. How's the vineyard?"
The words left my mouth and I immediately wanted to take them back. How's the vineyard? I'd been there two days ago. I knew exactly how the vineyard was.
Matteo's lips twitched, fighting a smile. "The vineyard is well. Thank you for asking."
"Good. That's good. Vineyards should be... well."
Stop talking. Stop talking immediately.
"The grapes are growing," he continued, clearly enjoying my discomfort, his eyes dancing with amusement. "The vines are... vining. Very productive. Excellent vineyard behavior all around."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"I'll tell them you said so. They'll be pleased. The grapes especially. They're very sensitive to feedback."
I was about to open my mouth to speak when I felt someone standing behind me.
"Issy."