Chapter 248

Rachel was in her studio going through the costume list for her next production when her phone rang.

It was Riley, saying there was an urgent runway project — someone needed to draft and produce a full collection within a week.

Rachel listened to the scope and timeline without answering right away. She ran through the production schedule for the play in her head first, and only after confirming the two could overlap did she say, "Let me see the designs before I decide."

Riley sent over the digital files for the jewelry collection.

Rachel opened the email and went through them one by one. The lines and curves of those pieces weren't the kind of commercial work she usually saw. Beast-face motifs simplified into geometric shapes had a certain balance to them. The jade axe silhouette, stretched out and elongated, looked clean and unfussy.

When she was done, she closed her laptop and started mapping out the timeline from final design to finished garment.

For the next few days she barely left the studio.

Draft paper covered the entire table. She sharpened her pencils several times over and revised the patterns through three rounds. She piled fabric on the chair beside her — when she needed a piece she'd reach over and pull one out to drape and measure, then push it aside when she was done.

Rachel slept on the studio couch more than she slept in her own bed. Sometimes she'd be drawing and just fall asleep at the table, waking up to find a crease pressed into the edge of her paper. She'd take the iron, lay a sheet over it, and slowly press the crease flat.

She took pieces apart and redid them more times than she could count. One sleeve cuff took three tries before the curve felt right. A skirt hem didn't hang the way she wanted, so she unpicked it and sewed it again from scratch. The second time through, a needle caught her finger. She glanced down at the drop of blood, then kept sewing.

The night before the show she arrived at the venue early to hang everything, checking that each neckline and shoulder seam matched the model it was made for. She stood in the shadow along the edge of the backstage area and watched the crew walk the floor, adjusting lights and sound.

The floor was a dark, coarse-textured grey with a faint sandpaper feel underfoot. Rachel re-pressed the cuff on the last piece, and as she switched off the iron she heard a car pull up outside. She didn't go to look.

The venue was full on the day of the show. The front row held editors from several magazines and brand directors from the jewelry world. Behind them sat the invited press.

Plenty of people had come hoping to watch Arthur fall flat, hoping to see him go quiet for good.

When the lights went down, a projection appeared on the back wall — a close-up of the engraved pattern on a silver drinking vessel, beast-face motifs rendered in fine lines against a dark background, radiating a kind of settled, unhurried quality.

The strings in the opening music were low and heavy. The percussion came in fragments. Together they echoed the rhythm of the patterns on the wall.

When the first look came out, the room went silent for a moment. It was a long dark dress with a modified cloud-collar at the shoulders. A brooch fastened at the neckline, its copper-toned metal catching the light in warm tones.

As the model moved down the runway, the slit at the back of the skirt revealed a flash of lining that picked up the color at the neckline. In the audience, someone bent their head to take notes. Someone else raised their phone for a photo.

The looks that followed spoke the same visual language. Each outfit's jewelry echoed the decorative elements of the garment it was paired with, but no two combinations repeated the same idea.

When the jade-axe-inspired necklace reached the midpoint of the runway, a front-row editor leaned over and said something quietly to the person beside her.

Rachel watched from a gap in the backstage curtain. She could see the audience holding their gaze on each piece longer than they usually would at a show like this.

Riley was the final look.

She wore a pale, floor-length gown with muted blue-grey accents at the neckline and cuffs. The engraved pattern on the skirt extended from the waist down to the hem, shifting in the light with a fluid quality.

At the end of the runway she stopped, gave a small nod toward the audience, then turned and walked back. The hem of her skirt swept across the rough grey floor, lifting a trace of dust that was barely visible.

The applause took a while to fade. Rachel stood in the shadow at the side of the stage, the thread she'd been holding still wrapped around her fingers.

She heard someone in the audience ask who designed it. She heard someone else say they'd never seen this style before. She looked down, unwound the thread from her fingers, tucked it into her pocket, and turned to go organize the backup pieces before they were packed away.

Edmund was sitting toward the end of the back row.

He hadn't been invited, and he hadn't told Rachel he was coming.

He'd just heard about the show from Arthur — the time, the venue — and decided on his way out the door to go. By the time he arrived the place was nearly full. He found an empty seat in the back and sat down. Nobody noticed him.

After it started he watched the looks come down the runway one by one.

He didn't know anything about fashion, but he could tell that some of the lines and color choices were different from the things he usually saw.

He recognized the motifs from the silver drinking vessels — he'd come across similar patterns in exhibitions before. But in those exhibitions the engravings were cold and hard, sealed behind glass. Here they were worn on a body, moving slightly with each step, and in the light they had a warmth that the glass cases never allowed.

When Riley came out in the final pale gown, the pattern on the skirt shifted between celadon and copper as the light caught it, like a moving fragment of a rubbing.

The small nod she gave at the end of the runway reminded Edmund of gestures he sometimes made at formal events. But it wasn't the same. She had the light following her. He didn't.

When the lights came back up Edmund saw Rachel ease half of herself out from behind the side curtain.

She looked nothing like she did at home. The corners of her mouth kept pulling upward. Her eyes were bright. She looked lit from the inside.

He stayed in his seat. He thought about what she'd said — that she'd made a gown for Riley to wear — and what he'd said back: "Nothing to get excited about."

Now he watched her standing in the shadow of the wing curtain, quietly confirming with a crew member where the backup pieces were, bending down to check a long backup skirt for wrinkles, straightening up and accidentally knocking over a garment rack beside her, then catching it before it fell.

Small movements, every one of them. But each one carried a kind of focus and lightness he had never seen in her before.