I Made His Wife’s Dress Now I’ll Marry Another Chapter 52
I remembered my second year in Paris, when the inflammation in my right wrist had gotten so bad I could hardly hold a pair of scissors.
A major brand took the opportunity to offer to buy out my patterns on one condition: the patternmaker’s name would never be made public.
I had almost signed.
Julien didn’t try to stop me.
He just set a bolt of the cheapest muslin on the table and said, “Make one garment under your own name first. When you finish, if you still want to sell it, I’ll find you a lawyer.”
It took me a month to make the first coat I ever registered under my own name.
Now, holding these shears, I looked up at him.
“When does the temporary husband contract expire?” he asked.
“It ended the moment that performance at the hospital was over.”
For an instant, something in his eyes dimmed.
I closed the wooden box. “But if Julien Moreau himself is willing, we could start with a first real date.”
He was quiet for two seconds, then smiled like a man finally daring to make the first cut into a precious piece of cloth.
“I’m willing.”
“One rule first.” I held up a finger. “No using the foundation to pressure my studio. No treating my silence as consent. And no assuming that helping me earns you the next step.”
Julien nodded. “I have a rule, too. If you need me, say so directly. Don’t wait until the world is on fire to call.”
“Deal.”