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She arrived in my newly rented studio space about ten minutes ago. Before even giving me a courtesy hello, she pushed past me, trekking directly to inspect the products of her teachings from the years of our friendship.
Since I loved and appreciated her feedback, I asked, “Care to elaborate on that comment?”
She remained quiet for a few more minutes. This was her normal process. She thought things through and then spoke.
And I returned to pinning a section of fabric to the shoulder strap of one of the garments I worked on. I planned to build this piece in sections, eventually turning it into a formfitting black and red bodysuit consisting of a corset meant to exaggerate the waistline and accentuate the derrière.
The model who wore this ensemble would need attitude and confidence—the goddess embodying fierce domination.
There was another thing to add to my never-ending to-do list: make time to select the people to walk for the fashion show. Maybe I could ask my sisters and sisters-in-law to join the show. They were gorgeous and the perfect variation in body types for the collection.
Who was I kidding? The moment their significant others, meaning my brothers, found out, they’d nix the idea. I could always ask… at least I had Lizzy on the line. She’d never say no to me.
A tingle of butterflies settled in my stomach, along with a bit of anxiety. Karina was the first to see any part of this collection, my vision, and how I wanted the world to see me now.
As if reading my thoughts, she asked, “I’m wondering what you want to get out of this collection. Do you have a goal?”
“Tell me what you are reading from my designs.”
“It isn’t about what I’m reading but how you answer this question. Is this your way of saying I accept myself in all of myself, including the rebel and the wild child, or are you skirting the edge of acceptable to make a stir and fuck with people?”
I lifted my gaze to the designs, feeling the energy they churned inside me.
This had nothing to do with anyone but me, the girl growing into the woman, the bud blooming into a flower, the innocent learning her true sexuality.
“I’m Sophia Morelli. Isn’t it my job to fuck with people?”
“Seriously, what’s the motivation behind this? You’re so driven. The bags under your eyes tell me you are in that manic, completely focused mode when inspiration takes over. I’ve been there, so I know the signs.”
If she only knew how right she was. Over the last week and a half, I’d lost myself in creating something for the next Fashion Week. I refused to wait for another season. There was no more dreaming, no more someday. My day was here and now.
Wasn’t it amazing how heartbreak and loss sparked a fire under a girl’s ass? Every ounce of pain, every experience, every pent-up feeling of rage, sadness, and lingering love flowed into my creations.
I held Karina’s knowing eyes, letting her see the cascade of emotions churning inside me. “For the first time in my life, I’m doing something that focuses solely on what I love. This is my art. I had a vision, and this is the product. I needed to set it free, which is what I’m doing. I don’t care if I upset my family or anyone. Deep down inside, these pieces are what I see showcased on the runway.”
Karina nodded, a wisp of a smile touching her full lips. “It looks like I have some competition in the pushing boundaries department.”
I gave an unladylike snort, moved away from the piece on the table, and came to stand beside Karina. “I highly doubt this. You win with your million-dollar gem-filled lingerie. These are conservative in comparison.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but”—she pointed to various images—“your titles alone will catch headlines. The Virgin, Princess, Pet, Little Girl, and Brat. I can’t wait to see what you name the rest of the items in the collection.”
My attention settled on the form surrounded and draped with all the fabric and supplies for the set I called the Little Girl. Once finished, the dress and accessories would give a vibe mixing the look of a schoolgirl playing dress up during playtime. The whole thing was inspired by Daddy/little scenes I watched during my time as a voyeur at Violent Delights.
I focused back on Karina and smirked. “I learned from the queen of marketing, Madame Mehta. We have to fill the seats to wow them with the product.”
“Oh, my little caterpillar is morphing into a butterfly,” Karina gushed, setting a hand over her heart. “Man, why didn’t I think of using the concept of BDSM as an aesthetic in my designs? The way you’ve incorporated the subtle styling of ropes and collars mixed in with chains is perfect. And this whip and handcuff belt, if you had a demo made, I’d steal it right now to wear.”
I grinned. My heart swelled hearing this kind of praise from Karina. She wasn’t the easiest person to impress. She had an eye for detail and held no punches if she saw room for improvement.
“So you like it?”
“You did good, my little butterfly.” She patted my head, and we both laughed, then all of a sudden, her face grew serious. “Don’t tell anyone what you are planning. Keep a lid on this whole thing until you’re ready to present. You know my history. Learn from my mistakes.”
I released a breath. “I have. People like Keith Randolph won’t get a chance in hell to steal my designs. You and my siblings are the only people aware of my plans.”
I refused to allow anyone to stand in the way of my future. Over the last few months, I’d overcome so many things. Among the top on the list was being falsely accused of the jackass predator Keith’s murder. Oh, and then there was the nearly being killed by a woman Keith’s father hired to eliminate me. Yeah, maybe that should go before my arrest.
Jesus, I seriously needed a break from life.
