Page 41 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“All will be fine. He has seen nothing other than me advising you, correct?” His hands were warm on my cheeks. I nodded. “Then he has seen nothing. I’ve met with several of the contestants over the course of shooting. Some to vent, some to question me about rules, and a few to cry on my shoulder when the stress is too great.”

“He knows. I confessed that we were close. That we’d been to dinner, to the Arc, that I thought I was falling for you. That I had feelings…”

His eyes closed for a moment. When they reopened his expression was one of tenderness and pain.

“Our feelings are strong, Kinder, perhaps we were foolish to think that we could hide them in any way.” His thumbs brushed some new tears away. “I feel myself falling for you as well.” I gasped at the confession, my heart swelling with emotion. “Will he be discreet?”

“I think so.”

“Let us hope so.”

I pulled his slight frame tighter, my mouth finding his in a desperate kiss. I clung to him even when I knew I should let him go. Finally, he eased our lips apart, his hands still resting on my cheeks. Man the stress was enormous. Crying at the drop of a hat was not me. Not normally. But these were not normal times.

“Then we’ll ride it out. We have a small amount of time left now; things are close to the finale. We’ll stop the moments under the tree.” I groaned. He kissed my wet lashes. “It will go quickly, you’ll see. Now, we must get back to the show before they send someone to look for us.”

I nodded, stole one more kiss, and then forced myself to release him. He remained in the stall while I pretended to use a urinal, flushed, and then washed my hands. I did douse myself with cold water, running my wet fingers through my hair, before I went to the door.

“Looking forward to your critiques,” I called out loudly before exiting the bathroom to find the perfumy camera operator finishing up a candy bar. She arched a brow. I nodded. We returned to the workroom where I threw myself into my design before I ran out of time and had to send something unfinished down the runway. I’d sooner parade down the catwalk nude then have the judges see something unhemmed.

***

One thing that I loved in the middle of a crushing design assignment coupled with romantic entanglements atop fears of being outed about my feelings for Claude was a surprise.

Not.

Claude and Soline appeared around four in the afternoon wearing looks like weasels who had just found a way into the chicken coop. The five of us stalled in our frantic work to stare at the twosome with dread.

“My goodness the ducks are very quiet today,” Soline called out, a smile as bright as the sun reflecting off the Seine on her stunning face. “Not a quack of greeting.”

“Bonjour,” we called in worried unison, pins poised to be placed in material, shears frozen mid-cut.

“Bonjour,” Soline replied then gave Claude a little nudge in the side. His gaze flittered from my creation – what there was of it – to his dear friend. “I think you should tell them.”

“No, I think you should,” Claude responded. Pamplemousse yawned widely then burrowed back into his sling.

“No, I insist. It should be you.”

“No, ladies first,” Claude insisted.

“No, age before beauty,” Soline parried.

“Can someone tell us what the bloody hell you need to tell us before we all throw ourselves on our pinking shears?!” Mickey shouted to which we all vocally agreed. This was time wasted. I had a shit ton of work to do on my gown and these two were being jokers.

“Very well, I’ll tell them. I got you with the age clapback. Do the kids use that term anymore? Clapback?” Soline asked, shrugged a slim shoulder, and then giggled. “Perhaps our ages are not so wide apart after all, Claude.”

“You’ll always be the beauty,” he replied. I would argue that. “Please, tell them, before the revolt by tossing bobbins at us.”

“Claude and I have been thinking and we’ve come to the conclusion that such glorious creations should not merely hang on dress forms. They need to come to life. So, we’re going to bring in models who will wear them on the runway!” She beamed with joy. It felt, to me, like someone had just pushed me out in front of a truck. A group whimper rolled out of us as five models burst into the workroom, grinning from ear to ear as if this were the best surprise ever to be surprised.

“We’re giving you all an extra hour to make adjustments to your designs as well as to see to hair and makeup for your models. Use your time wisely. Working under pressure is part of being a fashion designer. Now we shall leave you to it. Bonne chance!” Claude gave Soline his elbow and out the door they went happy as larks.

Monique ran over to me, hugged me, and then began to gush over my gown. We’d worked together well before, and her measurements should be close to the settings on the dials of the mannequin.

“I hope you’re happy surprised,” she said as she pulled off her tee to stand before me in her bra and some leggings. “You don’t look happy surprised.”

“I’m incredibly happy. A gown needs a body inside of it to bring it to life,” I replied just to make her smile. Which she did. And it wasn’t wholly a lie. The show would be much better with models instead of static dummies. “A little warning would have been nice though.”

“They like twists.” She held up her arms as I gently eased my pinned but not sewn creation from the dress form.