Page 57 of All the Drama from New York

She’d been sitting on the floor of her design studio last night packing up a box of muslin fabric, in preparation for making toiles, when the reality of what she might be able to achieve in the next two weeks had hit her. The basic career and day wear pieces in the collection would have to remain as they were, which only left room for her to add one or two statement pieces. Pieces which needed to speak to the Cinderella in the City theme.

As soon as she got back to NYC, she’d have to deliver those pinned up muslin toiles to her sample maker and hope he could deliver the fully made up pieces back to her in record time. Then she would have to arrange a meeting with the store buyers for Saks and get their approval to add them to the collection. And then pray really hard that the manufacturers could squeeze those extra pieces into their production schedule.

Camille swallowed deep. And in amongst all of that she had to try and stay sane.

“I’ve paid for the hire of the event space and all the other current fees. Now I just need to get on with clearing my head and coming up with new designs. Along with a show concept. I have Ryan with me; and I can use him to bounce ideas off.”

“Are you getting an event designer for the staging? If you need some help with that, I can always call in some favors.”

She smiled at his words. Bryce was the most connected person she’d ever met. He knew everyone.

An event designer would likely come loaded with their own opinions about the runway show. And while it was a tempting idea. Her heart said no. She wouldn’t run the risk of working with someone like her father.

This is my creative work. I have to own it.

She also knew herself. Knew that being a creative, she found comfort in control. If Ryan could handle the logistics, she would manage the rest.

“Thanks for offering Bryce, I really appreciate it. I’m going to focus on a couple of things over the next two weeks, then look at what else we might need.”

Ending the call, Camille set her phone on the kitchen counter.

“You and Bryce are close, aren’t you?” asked Ryan.

Camille was close to all her cousins, but her American relatives had always seemed to understand her better than anyone else. “Yes, we are. He’s the one person who had my back when I left France.”

“That must make things awkward between his father and yours.”

“No, they have an understanding. It’s my mother who is always trying to get Edward to pressure me into going home. But he knows better than to let his cousin tell him what to do.”

Ryan’s face was a study of confusion, and Camille held back a smile. She knew exactly why he was perplexed. If Bryce’s father was a Royal and her mother who was his cousin was also a Royal, and Camille’s father was a Royal, then how did that all work?

“Um…”

“Let me clear things up for you, Ryan. When someone marries into the Royal family, they change their last name to Royal. Male or female, it doesn’t matter. So when my father married my mother, he became François Royal. Don’t ask why, it’s just how things have always worked in our family. I suppose it’s the one sure way to ensure the wealth remains within the Royal name.”

She could imagine what Ryan was thinking right now. Something about the super wealthy and their strange traditions.

I wonder if he thinks I’m also a bit odd.

She’d be crushed if he thought he could never fall for someone like her. That their different backgrounds set them too far apart.

Perhaps this time on the island was the perfect opportunity for her and Ryan to find a way to meet in the middle. She’d work to get him more comfortable with having nice things. While she’d ask him how to read a recipe and make a meal.

Picking up her glass, Camille downed the last of her lemonade. The day had gotten warm. “I think I’ll go upstairs and change.”

“Good idea. I might do the same.”

When they reached the second floor of the house, Paul’s earlier words to Ryan about privacy and hearts being revealed suddenly all made sense. The well-meaning house keeper had put both their bags in the master bedroom.

Yep, he did figure we were a couple.

“Ah, let me take this,” said Ryan, picking up his well-travelled suitcase. “I don’t know where Paul got the idea that youand I would be sharing a room from. I didn’t say anything to him.”

You and I keep stealing glances at one another so it wouldn’t have been a great leap of the imagination.

He went to move toward the door. She should let him go. But the universe. Fate. Call it whatever you like, compelled her to act. “Don’t go.”

Ryan met her gaze. The hunger in his eyes had to match that which she sensed burned brightly in her own. “Camille,” he whispered, setting down his suitcase.

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