I Made His Wife’s Dress Now I’ll Marry Another Chapter 42
I fell asleep on the drive back.
In my dream, I was back in the factory fire. My skirt was caught hard in the machine. Everyone outside the window was shouting for me not to move. Only Paolo ran through the smoke and cut me free with one clean stroke of his shears.
I jolted awake to find the car parked outside the hospital.
A line of black cars had taken over the temporary drop-off lane. There were no insignias on the doors, but the people stepping out were trustees from the Moreau Foundation and representatives of European ateliers.
At the front stood a silver-haired woman in a simply cut navy coat, leaning on a slender cane.
Julien’s grandmother, Marguerite Moreau.
She had not come to support her grandson’s theatrics. A foundation trustee informed me that because the cross-border medical coordination required an added conflict-of-interest disclosure, Julien had voluntarily declared his private relationship with me on the application and recused himself from the final vote. That act of recusal reassured me more than an entire motorcade could have.
Marguerite had once been the most formidable embroidery workshop owner in Paris—and the first woman I knew who had printed her own name ahead of any male investors’.Â