Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
As people start to leave, the Fab Five come back together.
“I’m proud of us,” I say, looking at four women who, through fabric and freakouts, have become some of my best friends.
“Me too,” Molly agrees. “Now what?”
“I’m going back to France. I have a contract with House Corbin to complete,” Beatrice says, looking to Jacqueline for approval.
I don’t begrudge her winning the competition. I truly don’t. And I think she’ll learn a lot at Jacqueline’s side, and hopefully, add some fresh blood to House Corbin’s designs. It’s a good fit for them both.
Katarina grins. “I’ve been invited to Milan, set up with a studio of my own by a patron who wishes to remain anonymous.”
Molly, with zero filter as always, asks, “How many feet pics did you have to send to get that sort of deal?”
Katarina laughs, but I kind of want to hear the answer too.
“I assure you. No feet pictures, or pictures of other body parts. He appreciates my work, nothing more.”
I hope she’s right because that sounds dangerous as hell.
“Well, if you need to get out of dodge quickly, hit me up. I’m traveling Europe so I can be at your side within a day if we need to escape the prison warden,” Molly tells Katarina.
Yori interjects, “I’m working with private clients in Japan, though I’m seeing more requests from all over Asia now with the recognition from the competition. It will be up to me to continually earn the attention once the flame of media attention dies down.”
“Well, I’m going back to the studio to work,” I tell them, though they already know.
“Suuuure. ‘Work’ . . . is that what we’re calling it again?” Molly teases.
“What? I do work,” I argue. But when all four designers, Jacqueline, Nora, and my mom raise their brows at me in unison, I concede. “Fine, all work and no play makes Autumn a dull girl. So there will be some play too.”
Simon chuckles. “I think what Autumn means to say is that we’re looking for ways we can give back to the community here in New York the way I did in Paris. Underprivileged youth, shelters for the unhoused, orphans who need a future. We’ll support them, volunteer our time, and maybe even begin a scholarship for students who want to attend FIT but can’t afford to do so. I want others to be able to chase their dreams the way my Princesse has done.”
I can’t believe that this is what my life has become.
Simon. Fashion. Dreams coming true in ways I never would’ve imagined. And the sex!
Sex!
Sex!
Yummy, delicious, dirty, filthy, sweet, kinky, curl your toes until you feel it in your nose sex!
“Come on. Let’s go home,” I tell Simon blissfully.
He takes my hand, and we wave goodbye to our friends, promising to meet them all for breakfast in the morning before people begin heading their separate ways.
As we leave, I hear Mom whisper, “Can’t wait for the grandbabies. Did you see that boy’s jawline?”
Yes, Mom. I most certainly did.
EPILOGUE
AUTUMN
When we left Paris, the Sun Orphanage was an aging grand dame on the edge of dilapidation.
What a difference a few months can make. Work is still progressing, but what started as a one-night event has turned into a godsend of opportunities for the residents, the staff, and especially the building itself.
The brickwork has all been cleaned, the trim repainted, and best of all, brand-new play areas have been built for the kids. And that’s just on the outside. The inside is even better, with fresh bedding for every child, new computers for schoolwork, and updated work spaces for the staff.
Considering how important this place is to Simon and me, of course we wanted to have our wedding here. The only question was when. The business of getting Autumn Fisher Designs going meant Simon and I have had very little time for wedding planning. Long-distance discussions with a wedding planner in Paris made it manageable, thankfully.
And today is going to be perfect. I have faith that it will be because all I really need are Simon and the officiant. Everything else is a bonus.
“How do I look?” I ask Mom, glancing down at my dress.
“Gorgeous,” she says, on the verge of tears again. “Are you sure you’re not going to be cold, though?” Hopefully, she holds up the lacy shawl she found online for me.
Once upon a time, I would’ve heard that as a way to say she doesn’t like my dress or as a critique of the timing of the wedding, or even a question about whether I should be getting married in the first place. Now, I take it for what it is. “I’m not cold, Mom. But I love the shawl. I can wear it for a few of the outdoor pictures if you want?”
“Oh, that would be pretty with the snow. Good idea. I’ll let the photographer know.” Mom places a quick kiss on my cheek and disappears with the shawl in hand.