Chapter 1
Isabelle
I've always thought of myself as a practical person.
A glass half-full type of person. Hand me a disaster and I'll find the opportunity hiding inside it.
I turned a "little boutique" into a fashion empire, didn't I?
Built something real from nothing but sketches and stubbornness and the absolute refusal to be underestimated.
For years, I'd been solid in that knowledge. Unshakeable.
Until a certain tall, dark, and handsome man walked into the room.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The night wasn’t a total disaster when it started.
In fact, it had been beautiful. I loved New York in the Spring–loved it in a way that made my chest ache.
Cherry blossoms drifted past the windows like pink snow, petals catching in the warm breeze.
It was a shame I never stayed long enough to actually appreciate it.
Always rushing between airports, between cities, between the pieces of my life I’d scattered across three continents.
But I digress.
The night was supposed to be simple. Sebastian and Aria were celebrating the successful launch of their hotel, and I, his very impressive, very successful sister had graced the event with my presence.
I'd dressed myself in deep burgundy that shifted to wine in a certain light, bias-cut silk that moved like water when I walked, the fabric whispering against my skin with each step.
No jewelry except my mother's vintage Cartier earrings. The dress didn't need competition.
I'd designed it myself, actually. Sketched the first version on a flight from Milan, refined it over three espressos and a sleepless night, watched my seamstress bring it to life stitch by stitch. That was the thing people didn't understand about fashion. It was as much an obsession as art.
"Isabelle!"
I turned, champagne sloshing dangerously close to the rim of my glass. Clara Novak, a buyer from Bergdorf's, was waving me over. She stood near one of the tall cocktail tables, champagne in hand, wearing a Zimmermann dress I'd seen in their spring catalog.
"I was hoping you'd be here." She kissed both my cheeks, European style. "Your London show was exquisite. The cobalt collection? I've had clients calling nonstop."
A genuine smile tugged at my lips. It was always refreshing to hear people talk about my collection. "Tell them the waitlist is moving. Slowly, but moving."
"That's exactly what I tell them. It drives them crazy and they start demanding more.” Clara leaned in conspiratorially. “You know how to make them want it.”
I did. Scarcity was part of the art.
My eyes were already roaming the room, searching for familiar faces. Even though I hated to admit it, I absolutely adored my family. I missed them terribly. Even though life in London, and Milan, and Paris, and wherever fashion took me was thrilling, they never felt like home.
Home was wherever these chaotic people gathered.
“Thanks, Clara,” I said, already stepping away. I spotted my family at a large table at the center of the room. “I’ll talk to you soon.”
I grabbed a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray and made my way through the crowd.
My eldest brother, Sebastian and his girlfriend, Aria were standing a few feet from the stage, his arm around her waist, the two of them practically glowing with happiness.
Aria was laughing at something he'd said, her head tipped back, completely unselfconscious, and completely his.
Something in my chest squeezed. Not jealousy, exactly. More like longing for something I couldn’t name.
I loved seeing Sebastian like this. My brother had spent so many years practically shoving his emotions away.
Then, Aria appeared and turned my brother, the grinch, into someone almost tolerable.
Almost. He was only half-pleasant when he was around Aria and his daughter, Evie, but I supposed that was progress.
"Auntie Belle!"
A small body collided with my legs, nearly sending me stumbling. Zoe, her flower-covered dress already sporting a mysterious stain near the hem, beamed up at me.
"Hi, sweet girl." I crouched down to her level, setting my champagne on a nearby table before she could knock it flying. "You look beautiful. Is that a new dress?"
"Mommy got it for me. It has pockets!" She demonstrated by shoving both hands into said pockets and pulling out a crumpled napkin, two olives, and what appeared to be a sugar packet. "I'm collecting things."
"I can see that." I bit back a laugh. “Quite the collection.”
"Zoe!" Kim appeared, looking slightly frazzled but smiling. "What did I say about taking things off the trays?"
"You said ask first."
"And did you ask?"
"The waiter smiled at me. That's like asking."
Kim shot me a look that said help me and I laughed. Xavier arrived a moment later, his tie already loosened, looking like he'd just narrowly escaped some kind of crisis. Knowing Zoe, he probably had.
"She climbed the ice sculpture," he said as a way of greeting.
"It was a mermaid," Zoe explained, as if that justified everything. "I wanted to see her face."
"Her face was at the top."
"That's why I had to climb."
I pressed my lips together to keep from laughing.
Xavier caught my eye and shook his head, but he was fighting a smile, too.
He'd changed so much since Kim and Zoe came into his life. The recklessness was still there, you couldn’t kill that in Xavier.
But it had a purpose now. Direction. And Zoe had changed too.
The well-behaved child I’d met two months ago was now becoming a rogue, just like Xavier.
They’d even begun to look alike, sharing the same mischievous glint in their eyes. One wouldn’t be able to tell that he wasn’t her father.
"Come on, trouble." He scooped Zoe up, settling her on his hip like he’d been doing it his whole life. "Let's go find Grandma before she sends out a search party."
They headed toward the table where my mother and grandmother sat. I followed them, weaving through the crowd, nodding at a few familiar faces.
My mother looked elegant in navy silk, her dark hair swept up in the style she’s worn since I was a child, the pearl choker she always wore for formal events clasped around her throat like armor.
She spotted me and her face softened in that way only a mother’s face can soften, years of worry melting into relief.
"There you are, darling. I was starting to think you'd gotten lost."
"Just networking." I bent to kiss her cheek, breathing in her familiar scent. Then my grandmother's soft papery cheek. "You both look wonderful."
"You look thin," my grandmother said. It was her standard greeting, delivered with the same tone she might use to comment on the weather. I'd learned to let it roll off.
"I look exactly the same as last month."
"Last month you also looked thin."
"Then I'm consistent."
My mother hid a smile behind her champagne glass, her eyes dancing. Grandmother huffed but let it go, turning her attention to Zoe, who was now attempting to show her the olive collection with great enthusiasm.
I settled into a chair and let the conversation wash over me.
Sebastian and Aria joined us eventually.
Xavier kept chasing after Zoe, who had apparently decided the entire rooftop was her personal playground.
Kim apologized repeatedly while also clearly finding the whole thing hilarious, her laughter bright and genuine.
This was good. This was what I needed. I reached for my champagne and let myself relax while I watched people.
It was my favorite pastime. People-watching was where I found inspiration, where I saw how fabric moved on real bodies, how women held themselves, what made them feel beautiful or uncomfortable or powerful.
It’s not every day I got to enjoy an evening where the attention wasn't on me. That was one of the reasons why I enjoyed being around my family so much. They were so chaotic that I just became invisible around them.
I didn’t mind it. I could easily reclaim a room with a snap of my finger if I wished.
My eyes drifted around the room lazily. Evie and two dark-haired women were by the stage, fiddling with some sort of cable, their heads bent together in concentration.
Xavier, my trusted source of entertainment, was now seated with Zoe in his lap, letting her play with his phone.
I sighed and kept looking, searching for something that could draw my attention.
And then, my eyes landed on a tall frame across the room.
He was standing with his back to me, wearing a brown linen shirt tucked into tan pants. The outfit hung loose on his frame except where it pulled snug around his arms and shoulders, which were particularly filled out. Broad. Strong. The kind of shoulders that could carry the world… or a woman.
He had delicious-looking chocolate brown skin that seemed to glow under the warm lighting, with close-cropped black hair that showed the elegant shape of his head. He looked good even from behind.
I bit the inside of my cheek. Maybe I should go over there. My family lacked the necessary entertainment tonight. Maybe he would provide all the…
The man suddenly lifted the hand that had been in his pocket to wave at someone, and my gaze snagged on a very familiar tattoo on his wrist.
ID + FD
My hand froze, glass halfway to my lips.
No. Absolutely not. It couldn’t be. That tattoo had to be pretty common.
People got matching tattoos with their partners all the time.
There was no way that man was him. It had been eight years.
Eight entire years since I’d seen that tattoo, since I’d traced those letters with my fingertip, since I’d asked what they meant and he’d kissed me instead of answering.
But the more I stared, the more my traitorous memory supplied details. The height, the particular way he stood with one foot slightly lifting off the ground, the breadth of those shoulders that I used to grip when—
Oh God.