by Erika Kelly
“Brodie skied to win a medal, Will did it to prove to Mom that he was a good guy. But you and me? We’ve always done it because it’s fun. Freeriding’s our jam. Remember?”
That simple reminder got his energy flowing, kicking up the adrenaline he’d been missing.
“Yeah, so, anyhow,” Fin said. “Remember to have fun. That’s when you do your best.”
He gave his younger brother the side-eye. Fun? I just had my heart ripped out of my chest, so fuck you.
“I love you, brother. And when you’re done here, you can take your trophy and head out wherever you need to go to fix whatever you broke. But for right now? It’s time for you to fuckin’ explode. Can you do that?”
He smiled at his brother, coach, and friend. “Yeah. I can do that.” He turned to the course, bent his knees, and slid down the slope to the starting point.
Explode. The word did something to him. Visualizing his first trick, Gray took off. Right before hitting the lip, he threw his shoulder, looking over his shoulder—spot it, spot it—and again—fuck, he loved the smell of snow, the rush of the wind on his face as he rotated a second time and…stomped his landing. Fuck, yeah. He stayed low to gain speed as he raced up the wall.
And then he was in it—completely lost in the muscle memory of his tricks. As soon as he hit the lip, he knew he was going for it. Switchback twelve. Didn’t think, just threw himself into the flip, kept his focus right between his arm and leg to spot his landing, and grabbed his board.
Landed. Nice. This is it, man, go for it. Back-to-back twelve combos. Do it.
His back foot hit the lip, every muscle in his body contracted, and Gray just fucking exploded. And when he landed, he knew.
He’d nailed it.
Sliding down, snow spraying off his board, he pumped his arms in the air. The crowd went wild. As soon as he scraped to a stop, he unbuckled his helmet, tore off his gloves, and tipped his head back, letting the sharp sunlight hit his face.
For one moment, he imagined his dad right there in the crowd, fighting to get to Gray, expression bursting with pride. It made his eyes sting, and he glanced up to the sky. “Love you, Dad.”
In that tense moment while waiting for his score, his heart pounding, lungs heaving, he felt a peace settle over him and knew Fin was right. His dad had loved him just as much as his brothers. And, when the crowd roared, he knew he’d won.
This one’s for you, Dad.
Immediately, he was swarmed. A reporter shoved a microphone in his face. “Congratulations, man, that was outstanding.”
“Thanks.”
“Gray,” another reporter called. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to pull a Will and retire after a perfect run like this.”
“Oh, hell, no. I’m no quitter.” He gave a teasing smile. “We’re going to the Olympics. One of us has to get the job done.”
In a spectacular crystal gown with a deep V neckline and cap sleeves that she’d made in Maui, Knox stood in the New York Public Library’s Astor Hall.
Decorated in a Midsummer Night’s Dream theme, with dramatic lighting and lavish greenery, the event was sponsored by the fashion council, and the coveted invitations were issued only to the who’s-who of the bridal fashion world.
She’d wondered how Robert had scored her a ticket, considering she wasn’t officially part of the week-long event, but now she knew the truth. Luc had gotten it for her.
A fresh wave of anger rolled through her. The only comfort she took from the whole sickening situation was that she’d confronted both men. She’d knocked on Robert’s door and reamed him. Hadn’t let him get in a single word. She’d left him with the threat that if he tried to make any headway in the fashion industry, she would expose him for the lying bastard he was. She was pretty sure his own mom would back her up on that one.
You’ve gone to all this trouble to attend the gala…why are you standing here thinking about bad things?
Tonight, you’re a talented wedding gown designer.
Leave your baggage at the door.
Her gaze swept the room. Nearly a thousand stunningly-dressed guests chatted in the dramatic space, dimly lit to accentuate the glowing sprites and fairies gracefully chasing each other through the crowd. Copper cocktail glasses and flower pots stuffed with gourmet charcuterie lent a whimsical touch to the décor.
“Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention.” On the podium, a tuxedoed woman she recognized as Esther Delgado, the president of the fashion council, leaned against the lectern. “It’s time to introduce the recipient of this year’s Lifetime Achievement award.” She paused while the room quieted down to nothing more than a few clinking glasses and a low murmur of conversation between the wait staff.
“Persistence,” Ms. Delgado said. “Is the word I’d use to describe this couturier who grew up in the suburbs of Paris, son of a single father who held three jobs to keep food on the table. Tonight’s recipient had no formal design education but, rather, racked up hours of experience while sitting on the stairs of his apartment building and watching the newly wedded couples emerge from the church across the street. Never without a pencil in hand, he would sketch gowns and send them to every designer in Paris. Until, finally, one of them responded. Jacques Tournier hired him to apprentice in his atelier and, from there, he went on to become the most famous bridal gown designer in the world. Ladies and gentlemen, it’s my great honor to present this year’s Lifetime Achievement award to Mr. Luc Bellerose, couturier of the esteemed House of Bellerose.”
The ballroom burst into deafening applause, and Knox watched her former boss disentangle himself from a sea of greedy hands, all wanting a piece of his magic, and climb the steps to the podium. He waved to the crowd, his smile so bright and wide, it stretched his features unnaturally.
What killed her was that Luc had never even bothered to talk to her. To verify that she was actually behind the exchange.
Some guy contacts you out of the blue, and you just go along with it?
That’s how desperate he is for inspiration. He’s bone dry.
When Luc reached the lectern, the audience quieted down. Everyone watched him with adoring expressions…except for her. She willed him to find her in the crowd, look into her eyes as he took credit for all the collections of the past several years that he hadn’t designed. She wanted him to feel shame, remorse…something.
He couldn’t hurt her anymore, but maybe she could stop him from preying on some other young designer with stars in her eyes and a hunger in her soul to be something different than the way her childhood had painted her.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” In his electric blue velvet tuxedo jacket with a thin yellow military stripe on each side, he hoisted the heavy crystal statue in the air before clutching it to his chest.
He looked down, noticeably moved. “This means everything to me. You see, as a little boy, my father did not approve of me drawing dresses. He enrolled me in athletics at the community center, believing I could be cured of my obsession with satin and lace. But, still, as Madame Delgado said, I persisted. I persisted when, instead of going to college, I apprenticed with a designer who saw my sketchbook and said, ‘You’re a hard worker, Luc, but I’m afraid I don’t see any potential here.’ I persisted when my very first review in Bridal Couture magazine called my designs ‘nothing terribly extraordinary.’”
He panned the room, as though taking a moment to work through his emotions. “Each failure, each rejection, each person who told me I wouldn’t succeed at the job I wanted more than anything, fueled my ambition. Each one made me work harder. I took classes—all kinds—not just fashion design but figure drawing and watercolors, so I could understand shape, shading, and tone. I visited ateliers and fashion shows. I persisted until the Fédération granted me membership. And I continue to persist to make my way in this field that, to this day, makes my heart and soul rejoice.”
He held out the award. “So, to be here tonight holding this in my hands…this is t
he moment when I can let out a breath and say, I did it. And if I can do it, anyone can. As long as you persist.”
Amidst the explosion of applause came whistles and shouts of support. A wave of heat barreled across the room, as if he’d sparked a fire in the attendees souls. When Mrs. Delgado approached to lead him off the stage, he held up a finger and leaned into the microphone. “And, unfortunately for you, I’m going to persist with this speech, so bear with me.” The humor left his expression. “Following your dreams, never giving up, is good. It’s essential. But, as someone recently pointed out to me, it is equally essential to know when it’s time to step back. Ladies and gentlemen, friends, colleagues, I have lost my creative fire.”
Shock burned hot and cold on Knox’s skin.
“Years ago, in fact. And in its place, I’ve devoted my life to discovering the brightest talent.” He seemed to search the crowd. “In the beginning, I believed it would rekindle my spark. But, it has occurred to me this week, perhaps instead of rekindling I should just step aside to make room for the next generation. And, so, I am retiring. I’m going to set this beautiful symbol of all I’ve accomplished on my bookshelf, where I can look at it every day, while I enjoy, for the first time in my life, some peace. There is so much talent in the world of bridal fashion design.” His gaze landed on her, and she felt it like a jolt of electricity. “And the brightest light of all is in this room tonight. Knox Holliday is the White-Hot designer. And I want you to remember her name because, mark my words, in twenty years, she’s going to be standing on this podium accepting this award.” He held it over his head. “From the bottom of my heart, thank you. And goodnight.”
All around her, everyone stood in place, mesmerized and shocked by the announcement.
He’s retiring?
Still reeling from the speech, that acknowledgment of her as the hottest up-and-coming designer, Knox wandered through the ballroom. But, really, what had hit her the hardest was the comment he’d made about peace. She’d felt that comment viscerally.
She’d been on the run from bullies her whole life. She could admit, finally, that they’d chased her to Paris, to Luc’s atelier, to this very moment where she’d forced herself into Bridal Fashion Week on the promises of an ex-boyfriend who had zero experience in her industry. A man who had never told the truth about anything.
There’s no peace in that.
That’s what Luc meant. He didn’t mean the hard work it took to become a well-known designer or to run his business. He meant the constant fight to prove his dad wrong. That was exhausting.
Knox had what it took to succeed. The talent, the work ethic, the ambition—but trying to prove the bullies wrong depleted her.
She didn’t need the couture designation to live her dream or accomplish her goals. She just needed to design her beloved wedding gowns.
And she needed Gray. Her feet ached in the rented shoes, and she was tired of sucking in her belly in the form-fitting dress. It was time to go home.
“Excuse me, Miss Holliday?” Jack Abrams stood before her with a warm smile.
“Mr. Abrams. It’s so nice to see you again.”
“I had to finish out the week, just in case we found an even hotter star in the bridal gown galaxy but, of course, my first instincts were correct, and my board unanimously voted to extend a contract to you.”
The moment couldn’t have been more surreal if he’d started belting out show tunes.
Here it is, the moment you’ve dreamed of for years. “I’m so…” What? She did a quick check-in with herself. “Pleased.” You’re pleased that Jack Abrams just offered you a contract? “Honored.” She gave an awkward laugh. “Shocked, I guess.” Shock, frankly, that she didn’t feel as elated as she would’ve expected.
Why on earth wouldn’t she want the coveted the contract?
But, then, she knew. Take away the quest to prove the bullies wrong, and she was left with the truth in her own heart. She knew exactly what she wanted.
“I’ll cover your expenses,” Jack continued. “Sewers, pattern makers, all the start-up capital you need. You’ll have access to our textile mills. But the dresses will be yours.” He dipped so they were eye-level. “Under your name.”
She caught his deeper meaning. “You knew?”
“Everyone knows. It’s a small world, this bridal market, and everyone knows what everyone else is doing. With me, you can design your gowns, and I’ll take care of the business end. You’ll get all the credit.”
“I can’t tell you how much this means to me. From the moment I learned about your company during my sophomore year at FIT, I’ve set my sights on working with you.” She allowed herself to imagine setting up an atelier in New York City. Or Paris. Not hard to do, since she’d dreamed it a hundred times over the years.
She pictured a life of designing collections based on what would wow the fashion world. Of living—like Luc had—to outdo the other top designers. Doing whatever it took to stay relevant.
And then she imagined a life of designing gowns for clients. Real women who shared their love stories with her. Of living in Calamity surrounded by friends and a team of people she loved and trusted.
There was no comparison.
“Excellent.” Jack gave her a warm grin. “If you have some time tomorrow, come by the office—”
“I’m sorry, as incredible as it sounds, I’m going to pass. Your offer really is a dream come true, but I think…I think my dream has changed.”
His features fell in disappointment. “I see. Well, if you change your mind, my offer has no end-date. Best of luck to you.”
“Thank you.” She watched him disappear into the crowd. And then she kicked off her heels and ran for the exit.
Knox Holliday was going home.
Alone in the gym, Gray bounced and flipped from one trampoline to the next. Throwing his right shoulder down, he twisted his hip into a spin. Once he got some air, he tucked, held, and made a safety grab, spotted his landing and—
What was that? The flash of white in his peripheral vision jarred him in a gym filled with black trampoline beds and blue throw pads. Someone’s here.
He landed on his back, then jumped to his feet, making out the form of a woman.
In a gown.
A ball gown.
What the hell? He leaped onto a throw pad and braced to get a stable view of the gorgeous woman with thick, wavy long hair. “Knox?” She looked ethereal, like a fairy princess.
“Hi.” She stood on a trampoline in one of her extravagant dresses, all lace and an abundance of feathers and creamy skin.
“You’re here.” Thank Christ.
She started to walk towards him, but between the profusion of feathers and the bouncy launch pad, she wavered.
“Hang on.” He leapt from one pad to another, until he reached her. Leaning down, he held out his hand to help her climb out.
Her hands fisted in the skirt, as she lifted it off the ground. “That’s better.”
“What’re you doing here? In a wedding gown?”
She fixed him with the most heartbreakingly earnest expression. “I’m here because I see you. I see how much you love me.”
Emotion crashed over him, dragging him below the surface. It took a moment to paddle his way out, because she needed an answer. “I do.”
“With all your heart.”
Why the hell was he shaking? He squeezed his hands into fists to make it stop. “You are my heart.”
She broke into a luminous grin. “I’m your heart.” And then she turned serious. “It isn’t about competing with Robert. It never was. All you’ve ever wanted was to be with me.”
Something broke inside his chest, spilling out warmth and light, rushing so fast it swept away the ache and crushing disappointment that lived deep inside him. “That’s right.”
“And I’m here because I want you to look into my eyes and see me. See how deeply and completely I love you. How I have never loved anybody the way I love you, and I never will.�
�� Lifting the skirt of her gown, she awkwardly got down on one knee. When he reached out to help her, she shook her head. She gazed up at him, her expression so full of love, it knocked him senseless. “Gray Bowie, you’re the best man I’ve ever known. In my whole life, I’ve never felt so loved, so protected, and so happy. I want you, love you, lust you, crave you, need you, miss you, dream you, ache you, joy you…I choose you. I want to spend my life with you, make babies with you, get your good morning kiss every single day for the rest of my life. I want to make you feel as cherished and protected as you make me.”
He couldn’t take it one more second. Dropping to his knees, he scooped her and her endless yards of feathers into his arms. “Yes.”
“I haven’t asked you yet.”
“You don’t have to ask. I love you. With everything in me, I love you.”
She leaned back within the shelter of his embrace to give him a confident smile. “I know. And I’m gonna put a ring on it.”
Epilogue
The train pulled into the station and dozens of tourists climbed off to explore Owl Hoot on this spectacular June day. Knox waited at the crosswalk for them to pass, before turning into a parking spot in front of the resort hotel.
Cutting the ignition, she glanced at the stack of Etch-A-Sketches piled on Callie’s lap. “Anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” She peered at Delilah in the rear-view mirror.
“She’s really not very good with surprises, is she?” Callie asked.
“So impatient,” Delilah said, before getting out of the truck.
In her log cabin in the middle of a fairytale forest, Knox had awakened to an empty bed. On Gray’s pillow sat an Etch-a-Sketch that said, Come get your morning kiss. She’d found the next one on the kitchen counter. It had led her to Callie’s house, where she’d had her make-up done. The one after that had led to Delilah, at the main house, which was filled with a stunning array of flowers. The three women had put together gorgeous bouquets.