Vaughn let me go, relinquishing his sibling hug for a paternal squeeze. My arms slinked around the toned middle of my father. Archibald Weaver still had the Weaver signature thick black hair with a straight spine, sharp mind, and ruggedly handsome face. He only became more fetching the older he got.
“Hey. I didn’t think you’d arrive in time.” Pulling away, I inhaled his strong cologne. I wished mum was still around to see him evolve from distracted parent to fantastic support system. I never knew why we weren’t close when I was young. He’d been sour, grumpy, and…lost. But he’d never burdened Vaughn or me with what troubled him. He remained a strict single parent, raising us motherless from eleven years old.
“I managed to get an earlier flight. Couldn’t miss your headline show.”
Another message came through, the vibration particularly violent. I shuddered and blocked all thoughts of the nameless man trying to get my attention.
“I’m glad. However, all you’re going to see is your daughter shuffle down the runway, overshadowed by gorgeous models, and then trip off the end.”
My father laughed, his critical eye perusing my gown. “Corset, tulle, and the new midnight-galaxy material—I doubt anyone will overshadow you.”
“Help me convince her to join me tonight. We could all go out together,” Vaughn said.
Great. Another night with two men—neither of whom I can avoid to acquire a real relationship.
I often felt like a kitten brought up by two tigers. They never let me grow up. Never permitted my own claws to form or teeth to sharpen.
My father nodded. “Your brother is right. It’s been a few months since we were together. Let’s make a night of it. Some of your best work is on display. You’ve made me very proud, Nila, and it’s time to celebrate.”
I sighed. Looking over his shoulder, I saw the last model disappearing into the wings, her train of silver stars and organza looking as if she’d fallen from heaven.
That’s my cue.
“Fine. Sounds wonderful. I can never say no to my two favourite men. Let me wrap this up and then I’ll relax. Promise.” I reached up and kissed him on his papery cheek. “Keep your fingers crossed that I don’t trip and ruin my career.”
He grinned, slipping into the much loved and well known persona of Tex—short for Textile—a nickname he’d had all my life.
“You don’t need luck. Knock ‘em dead.” His brown eyes faded. The melancholy I was so used to seeing swallowed him whole, hiding his jovial spirit. It was his curse. Ours. All of us.
Ever since mum divorced him and disappeared we’d never been the same.
Vaughn pecked my cheek. “I’ll help you get through the crowd.”
I smiled at the two most important men in my life, before weaving through the crush of bodies to the small staircase at the side of the runway.
The organiser, with her headset, frantic blonde curls, and dog-eared notebook, squealed when her eyes landed on mine. “Ah! I’d sent out ninjas to find you. You’re up. Like right now.”
Vaughn chuckled. “I’ll wait here for you.” He faded into the living organism that was the fashion hungry crowd, leaving me at the mercy of Blonde Curls.
Bunching the overflowing train of my dress, I climbed the steps, hoping against all odds that I wouldn’t faint. “Yes. I know. That’s why I’m here.”
“Thank God. Okay, stand here.” She manhandled me until I stood just so. “I’ll give you the cue in thirty seconds.”
The girl couldn’t have been much younger than me. I’d just celebrated my twenty-fourth birthday, but after leaving school at sixteen to follow in my family’s footsteps and nurture my skills as a designer, I felt much older, grumpier, and less eager to please.
I love my job. I love my job.
And it was true. I did love my job. I loved transforming plain fabric, sourced by my father, into works of art thanks to the accessories, gems, silks, and diamantes my brother imported when he wasn’t modelling. We were a true family business. Which I loved and would never change.
It was the public eye I hated. I’d always been a homebody. Partly out of choice—partly because my father never let me date.
Talking of dates…
My fingers itched to grab my phone—to indulge in a fraction of flirtation.
The girl nodded, pressing her headset hard to her ear. “Gotcha. Sending on now.” Holding her hand out, she added, “Come. Your final model is ready. Get onto the runway.”
I nodded, gathering the thick black material of the feather and gemstone dress I wore. Completely impractical. Completely couture. A bloody nightmare to wear, but the effect of soft wispy feathers and the glint of black diamantes set my hair off better than any other colour.
Some said colour was what made your mood.
I said black protects.
It gave me strength and boldness where I had none. It granted sexuality to a woman who’d been sheltered all her life by a severely overprotective father and insanely possessive brother.
If it hadn’t been for Darren and the one night where I’d drunk too much, I would still be a virgin.
Taking my place in the middle of the runway, I smiled tightly at the model chosen to wear my centrepiece.
My heart fluttered, falling in love—just like I always did—with the garment I’d adoringly, intimately created. Wrapped around the girl’s zero-size frame and shimmering in the low lights of the packed room, the dress was revolutionary. My career would reach new heights. It wasn’t pride glowing in my heart—it was relief. Relief that I hadn’t let anyone down—including myself.
I’d done it.
Despite my nerves, I’d done what I’d always needed and carved a name for myself despite the huge inheritance of the Weaver name and empire.
My collection was mine.
Every item from handbags to shoes and scarfs was mine.
Nila.
Just my first name. I hadn’t wanted to use the power of our legacy. I hadn’t wanted to let anyone down in case I failed. But now I wanted to sequester my success and hoard it. Which was completely unfair because my father and brother were as much a part of my business as me.