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We make it to his office, and the kids are set up with a young girl, probably about sixteen. She has on the most adorable outfit: patterned leggings, with high-top boots and frilly socks, a short shirt and a faded pale pink T-shirt. Her long dark hair is piled on top of her head in a messy bun. She looks up toward us and smiles warmly. She has the kids already set up with a game of some sort.
"This is my little sister, Gabrielle. She has agreed to take care of your children while we work together on these designs. They can have my office. I have set us up in a studio down the hall so they will be close by."
"Thank you for being so accommodating." And I really hope that's what he’s doing, helping me because of my design skills and not because he wants something else from me. Because who goes this far out of their way to get some design help?
"It's the least I could do when you and your family flew across the world to get me out of this mess. If you are okay here, we will be just down the hall," he tells his sister. She smiles and waves us off, more interested in the game the kids are playing.
I put a hand to the back of each of my children. "Are you guys all right?" I smile.
"Mom, Gabrielle has the best games. This is going to be so much fun," says Ruby, but she wasn't really the one I was worried about. By the way Ruby is looking at the trendy teen, I can already tell she's going to be happy hanging out with her. By the end of day one I'm sure she will want tobeher.
Connor gives me a small smile. "Go do your work, Mom," he tells me, letting me know in his own way that he's all right and he doesn't want me fussing over him. And I'm so glad the two of them are happy with this arrangement. It's going to make me having to work so much while we’re here a lot easier.
The design studio Julian has set up is a beautiful well-lit space looking out over the city, with arched windows running the length of the large room. The first hour of the day was a meeting to catch me up on his plans so far and the design brief, followed by a few hours of sketching to come up with some designs to get us started. It's a true collaboration, with him bringing me fabric samples and me sketching out my ideas, him giving me input, then us working together to finish off the details of each design. We still have a ways to go, but he's right; we make a really good team, coming up with ideas together so effortlessly.
At lunch we took a long break and were joined by the kids and his sister for gourmet sandwiches. The kids talked happily about their morning and what excursions Gabrielle has planned for them over the next three weeks, including the zoo and aquarium. They’re thrilled with this place already, and for that alone, I'm happy we’re here and not at home dealing with the media circus.
I have spent the afternoon working on patterns with one of Julian's top pattern makers, Josephine. It's incredible to be part of such a big team. At home it's just me and Summer doing all the design work. I stifle a yawn as I finish the last piece of the pattern for the first dress in our collection. Everything is sharp edges and sleek lines. The fabrics Julian has ordered are stunning, and I can't wait to work with them, all soft, almost pastel, in blushes, nudes, purples, and lemons, with deco patterns and metallic-gold trims. He says we will pair with boots and chunky jewelry for the runway show in just under three weeks’ time.
"You're tired, probably jet lagged. You should go rest, come back tomorrow," he tells me.
“I'm okay," I brush him off, knowing I'm far from it. I haven't slept well in days, tossing and turning, thinking about Heath, and the time zone shift is messing with my head, but we have so much to get done, I can't leave for the day early.
His hands come to rest on my shoulders. I should feel relaxed around him after a day together working so well, but his hands on me make me tense up. "I insist you go back to the apartment. We have made more progress today than I could have hoped for. You need your rest so you're good for me tomorrow as well."
I put the cardboard piece down on the desk in front of me. "Thank you," I say graciously, knowing I won’t win this battle, and he’s right, I'm tired, and I don't want to make any silly mistakes. I'll be better off fresh in the morning.
I glance at my phone, seeing another ten missed calls from Heath. I don't feel good about ignoring him, but doesn't he get it? I need the space. I can't handle this situation. From the moment he stepped back into my life, it's been so full-on. He is intense and passionate, and I love those things about him, but he needs to learn when to give it a rest. I can't think straight with all the chaos around me. And it's all because of him, whether he meant to cause it or not.
"Amelia," Julian calls to me.
I turn back to look his way.
"You really are very talented." He smiles warmly, like he is almost surprised that I know my way around his design studio so well. But isn't that why he hired me?
"Thank you." After so many years having to push myself forward—I mean, Summer was always my number-one fan, but she’s biased—I didn't realize how much I would enjoy being told I'm talented by someone who lives and breathes fashion. It's so satisfying. And somehow, it makes me actually believe it.
"When your father mentioned his eldest daughter was a fashion designer, I really didn't know how this would go, but the more I watched you over the last couple of years, I have seen what a talent you have become."
"You know my father?" I ask, surprised and a little taken aback. I thought he must have discovered me through the fashion industry somehow. And the other question I don't ask: you have been watching me? That question in itself brings up a hundred others, like why? How? What the hell is actually going on here?
"He was a dear friend with my father for many years. I met your father at his funeral. You must know that the kind of man your father is, with so much money and influence, he knows just about everyone who matters. And he thought we would be a good match. He was right."
He could be speaking fluent French right now for how much sense he's making to me. "You mean, from his movie producer days? Did they meet on set of something?"
"Yes, of course, that must have been how they met. They knew each other for so long, I never really thought about it. In the end, they were very good friends."
"That's nice." I smile, but it's not genuine. Julian just lied to me. I haven't known him all that long, but the way he flinched when he realized I didn't know what he was talking about was a dead giveaway. "I'll go get the kids and see you tomorrow," I tell him.
"See you then." He smiles toward me kindly.
So, I'm not here because I'm some amazing designer Julian heard about through the grapevine. I'm here because of my father's connections. My heart sinks. Something about that stings more than it should. It's normal for a parent to brag about their child's abilities and encourage others to give them opportunities when they think their associations might help. I would do the same for my kids, but I have always been so adamant I do this on my own. I don't even really know why, it's just a self-preservation thing, that I need to prove to my family that despite the rocky start to my adult life, I'm more than capable of making something of myself. My father has always been very supportive of me building my business and offered to help me along the way if I ever need it, but other than the lease of the warehouse, I was reluctant to take any of his help. I guess it’s nice to know he thought so highly of me that he would tell an old friend, especially one so high up in the fashion industry. And maybe that's all I need to take away from this conversation, but something tells me there is more to it. Like the part where he didn't mention he knew Julian any of the times I talked to him about our collaboration or us meeting the first time, and that makes me feel a little uneasy.
HEATH
Devon,Teo,Iwan,andI are already seated at a table out front of a popular breakfast spot not far from my house. It's the perfect location for what we have to do today, somewhere public where Della won't be able to cause a scene. The sun is shining, and I stretch my muscles, feeling somewhat human again after finally receiving the answers we were hoping for late last night. It's the first time I have left the house in nearly a week, the boys joining me there whenever we needed to work. Finally, the paparazzi are easing off. There is nothing more for them to get on the story, since none of us will discuss it. Devon tells me Elara has gone quiet as well, shutting down all of her social media accounts. Part of me actually feels sorry for her; she was a pawn in Della's game, and when she finally worked out the truth, it would have fucking hurt.
Della hustles toward us with her usual air of conceited confidence about her, nose in the air, as bystanders on the street move out of her way so she has a clear path through to our table. That's nothing unusual. She projects that get-out-of-my-fucking-way kind of energy; it's what has gotten her so far to date. But she’s let the power go to her head after a decade in LA, and today we need to take her down a notch.
