Rush and Restraint

Chapter Thirteen

Opening a fashion house isn't quite like riding a bike.

Just because I'd done it once didn't mean it was easy the second time around.

July was pure chaos because not only was Vienne House formally opening its US headquarters in an old brick dance hall in Sidley Yard, Cobalt Bay's oldest neighborhood, Fashion Week was right on its heels and we still had a collection that was going to debut in New York in just over a month. I was sleeping very little these days, spending most of my hours in the studio, still sneaking around to stay with Oliver when I did need to sleep, and trying to keep a friendly but polite distance from Tate whom my father seemed to be bringing everywhere. He even tried to talk me into taking Tate as my escort for the opening gala but I shut that down quickly.

Oliver was going to be my date and it was our first appearance together in public with him in that official capacity. We figured we could let people outside of our inner circle get used to the idea of us being at least romantically linked before we casually mention that we've been married for seven years now.

He didn't wax poetic about it but I could tell Oliver was highly pleased.

The secrecy had been more of a strain for him than it had been for me but he'd done his best to give me time.

And that time had run out and while so much of me was still apprehensive, in dread of his reaction, I'd made up my mind to finally tell him.

I was going to take Oliver with me to Paris when I leave early September.

I needed to tell him the truth.

To explain my secret.

To trust that he would understand.

To see if we would still be together in the end.

"I don't know how you managed to stay away from a man like that," Marg said as she sidled up next to me in the loft where I'd come to take photos of the party below us. There was an official photographer making rounds but this was for my own public blog.

This party was larger than the one we held in Paris when we first opened doors there but this was California and there was an excess of celebrities and socialites all eager to lead the next trend with the hottest, most exclusive designer creations.

"Better yet," Marg added, smirking when we saw Oliver turn away from the group he'd been talking to and lift his head toward where I stood in less than a second. "I don't know how a man like that managed to stay away from you. Even when you think he's preoccupied, he's never detached from you. He always knows where you are, touches you constantly even for the briefest second as if the contact keeps him alive, and he seems to always hold his breath until you smile at him."

I laughed, my cheeks warming. "You've been here, what, three days? And you already noticed all of this about Oliver."

Marg raised a brow at me. "You didn't think I would be curious? Vivienne, I've seen you pull yourself out of an almost certain grave in Paris. I know that the man who put you in it in the first place and the one who made you crawl out of it is one and the same. You can't blame me for being curious."