Page 73 of Bound By Crimson
She turned. He looked surprised—pleased—but mildly thrown off, as if she’d broken an unspoken rhythm.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she lied.
He crossed the room and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist from behind.
“Excited?”
“A little,” she admitted.
“Good,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her temple. “Because Callie called. She is in the elevator.
She tensed slightly. “Already?”
He smiled into her hair. “Don't be nervous. Let everyone see how amazing you are!”
Before Lyric could respond, the elevator chimed.
A gust of glamour swept into the room.
Tall, with fiery red hair cascading in soft waves and a perfectly tailored emerald-green blazer dress, the woman entered like she already owned the place. Green eyes, confident posture, heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
Kai stepped forward.
“Lyric, this is Callie. She’s worked in design houses in Milan, New York, and Tokyo. She knows everyone worth knowing.”
Callie extended a hand, her smile bright and easy. “You must be Lyric. I’ve seen your sketches. You have an incredible eye.”
Lyric shook her hand, pulse quickening. “Thank you.”
Kai kissed Lyric’s forehead, murmuring, “You’ll be amazing.”
She wanted to believe that.
---
Later That Morning in the fabric district, the city buzzed in a way Lyric hadn’t felt in months. Horns. Sirens. Footsteps hammering the pavement. She sat in the back of the Bentley beside Callie, trying to calm the flurry of nerves inside her.
Callie glanced up from her phone and smiled. “We’ll start at Garvan & Sons. They carry some of the best silks and brocades. After that, we’ll hit a few specialty shops. We’ll find what speaks to you.”
“Okay,” Lyric said, her voice smaller than she wanted it to be.
When they stepped onto the street, the thick summer air pressed against her skin. The fabric shop’s window shimmeredwith bolts of satin and a mannequin dressed in a half-stitched corset.
Inside, it smelled like wood polish and dye. Velvet. Ink.
Lyric followed Callie through the aisles of color—jewel tones, pastels, midnight blacks—feeling both overwhelmed and electrified.
Then her hand brushed against a bolt of pale blue charmeuse.
She stopped.
“This one,” she murmured, almost afraid to say it aloud.
Callie turned, mid-conversation. “For the waterfall coat?”
Lyric nodded. “Yes. It’s how I imagined it.”
Callie smiled like it was the easiest thing in the world. “Beautiful choice.”
