2. Rose

ROSE

Giddy. More than that, giddying giddy giddiness that giddied. That was the only way to describe the caffeinated swirl of emotions flittering through my chest.

I walked through my fashion studio, the one I’d built with my grand-prize winnings from the Great Big Fashion Off, surrounded by mannequins donning my new series of creations.

Every which way you looked was filled by the chaos of my latest project - an extensive collection inspired by historical figures of feminine badassery. Intricate sketches of Queens like Elizabeth I and Lili?uokalani adorned the walls, while fabric bolts and sewing machines cluttered the worktables.

Every inch of it had excitement bubbling up inside of me, but also the little niggle of worry that what I was creating wasn’t going to be good enough. Exactly like when I worked on the designs I did during the show. This time there were no judges to give me a thumbs up.

I carefully adjusted the hem of a regal pantsuit inspired by the elegance of Marie Antoinette. I snipped some escaped strings from the floor-length tunic based on Boudica’s rebellion, and smoothed a wrinkle from the front of a satin gown with fur trim that would have looked perfect on Ella Fitzgerald.

And as always, these samples from the collection were all plus-size. Rounded bellies and wide hips, thick thighs and bubble butts galore would be celebrated, not hidden, by my designs. A year ago, I fought hard for a tiny bit of notice for plus-size fashion and was sure I’d get eliminated in the early weeks of filming.

Since the show’s live finale, I hadn’t even had time to design and launch my first line because I’d been inundated with bespoke, high-end, couture orders from plus-size celebs, fat-positive influencers, and rich women around the world who embraced their luscious bodies and told diet culture and fatphobia to fuck off, just like I had... publicly, on national television... live... in prime time...very loudly.

But now that awards season was over, and I didn’t have any more red-carpet dresses to create, I had one hot minute without a dozen new orders. My team and I had embraced the time to create my first line. The finished pieces were displayed around the room like a museum.

I walked from one to the next, and each piece I moved on to made me swoon all over again. Especially a daringly modern dress influenced by Cleopatra’s legendary allure.?I couldn’t help but linger on the intricate beadwork, feeling a sense of kinship with these strong women of history.

“Ah, Cleopatra,” I murmured to myself, “So powerful, woman, yet you allowed your heart lead you astray.”

“Rose, is that one finished?” Sofia, my newest assistant, pointed at the Cleopatra-inspired dress.

“Almost.” I kind of didn’t want to complete the final few dresses in the collection because the magic of making them would be over. Once they were done, I couldn’t fiddle and make adjustments. There was no more deciding what was missing. “Just needs a few more touches.”

“Who knew nerding out about history would come in so handy. It really shines through in this collection.” Sofia had that same swoony look in her eye admiring the collection as I felt. “The way you’ve brought these women to life... it’s incredible.”

The two of us had bonded over our love of weirdo history documentaries and famous women through the ages when she’d quoted Countess Báthory in her interview. I’d hired her on the spot.

“Thank you.” I beamed. “There’s just something about understanding the lives of those who came before us, you know?”

“Definitely.” Sofia nodded. “What can I do to help finish this one?”

“Got anymore gold thread hidden away?” Hand sewing all those beads ate up everything we had in stock. We should both knock off for the night, but I just wanted to finish a little bit more.

“I got you.” Sofia grinned and pulled out a box she’d clearly been keeping back for just such an emergency. It was like she could read my mind.

I loved everyone on my team, but Sofia was the best hire I’d ever made. She didn’t care about the accolades or the notice but got her satisfaction with feeling helpful and completing the projects, like it was her mission in life.

My fingers worked their magic, expertly weaving the golden thread and beads into the lines of the Cleopatra-inspired gown draped over my dress form. The lights of the Chicago skyline at night filtered through the tall windows of my studio, casting an interesting glow on the racks of luxurious fabrics and colorful sketches pinned to the walls.

“I’ll just pop out and grab us some tasty beverages and snacks. I have a feeling this is going to be one of those long nights, eh?” Sofia waved and let me get to my work. She and I were both night owls and that worked out great. I loved working after regular business hours because the phone stopped ringing, my phone quit pinging with notifications, and I could get lost in the work.

I didn’t even notice the hours tick by after she returned, until the sun was actually starting to lighten the sky. “Speaking of powerful women,” Sofia slapped a magazine down on the worktable next to me, her tone shifting to mischief, “the article about you in Style Squawk just hit the stands.”

“Oh, gimme. Did you read it yet?” I flipped through the pages to find the story. They’d interviewed me not long after the season finale of GBFO in a ‘where are they now?’ type thing.

“Yeah.” She gave the magazine a side-eye. “They spent a lot more time speculating about your love life–or lack thereof—than your success.”

I scoffed, feigning disinterest.?”Ah, they did ask me like one whole question about whether I had a significant other. I guess they’ll write anything for attention.”

I shut the magazine and tossed it before I even found the article. I didn’t need anyone or anything poking at any insecurities. The internet did enough of that, and I was well-practiced in ignoring the haters. “I don’t have time for click-bait nonsense.”

“Of course not,” Sofia agreed and shoved the trash can under the table and out of sight. “But umm, there really hasn’t been anyone?”

I shrugged and threaded a bead onto the needle and thread. My love life, or lack thereof, wasn’t up for discussion.

Sofia didn’t get the message. “It must be hard, right? Being so successful and accomplished, and yet still searching for that special someone?”

Why was she pushing this? While I felt a connection with her, we didn’t actually know each other that well. Maybe it was her own insecurity about being a bigger girl coming through. I busied myself with adjusting the drape of the gown, getting back to work, waiting to see if she would too. “Oh, you know how it is. Love has a way of finding you when you least expect it, yada, yada.”

“Sure,” Sofia replied casually. “You know, some dudes are probably just intimidated by a woman who’s larger than life, both in her career and her physical presence.”

I forced a chuckle. She wasn’t the first to say something about how I was just too much for some people. That was on frickin’ repeat in my life. “Well, if that’s the case, those people aren’t worth my time or yours anyway.”

“Absolutely,” Sofia agreed, nodding vigorously. “You deserve someone who appreciates you for who you are, inside and out.”

“Right. So do you.” Now, if the rest of society was on board with that, I wouldn’t be spending so many nights alone in my studio, would I? Ugh. That’s why I didn’t read trash about myself. I knew I was good, great even, just the way I was. But even I sometimes fell prey to the comments of trolls.

I turned my focus back to the dress. I’d much rather pay attention to how my designs were perceived than me.?With each stitch and embellishment, I wove a piece of my heart into the fabric, creating something beautiful and timeless. No matter how much I put into it, something was off. It wasn’t the design, it wasn’t the fabric, and it was irritating me that I couldn’t figure it out.

“Breakfast is here.” Jorge, my longtime friend and now business manager, sing-songed his way into the studio, bearing gifts of chai tea lattes, egg bites, and cake pops. Starbucks breakfast at its finest. He knew exactly what I needed, and I loved him for his empathy and people skills that I mostly lacked. “And weirdly, we have snail mail. Check out this fancy schmancy envelope addressed to you, Rose.”

The mysterious letter did indeed catch my attention. The wax seal, an actual seal and not some sticker, bore the emblem of what looked like a royal crest straight out of one of my history shows, piquing my curiosity. I carefully broke the seal and unfolded real parchment. Like, who wrote a letter on folded parchment?

“Dearest Rose,” the letter read, “Your talent has not gone unnoticed, and I believe you are the perfect candidate for this task. I am writing to formally invite you to design a dress for me to don at the upcoming celebration of my birthday. I shall send my guard to escort you to my castle one week from today. A workshop with everything you’ll need will be ready and waiting for you. Sincerely, Mary O.”

Jorge tapped the paper. “That’s bit presumptuous of this Mary O. How does she even know you’re available? You’re in high demand. Does she even have the money to pay for the masterpiece you’ll create for her?”

“Uh, she’s sending her guard to escort me to her castle. I think she’s got enough to pay me to design a dress.” I’d already exchanged a few emails with this Mary, who was the opposite of contrary, even if not entirely forthcoming with who she was. All I got was that she was some kind of descendant of royalty in England and had, in fact, already paid a hefty down payment to have me make this dress for her.

Once I’d gotten the rest of the details ironed out with her, I would have forwarded her info onto Jorge to add to the schedule. Sometimes these crazy rich women expected me to jump when they said how high.?I hadn’t known she wanted me to come to her to do it. But there was no way I was missing out going to Europe to stay in a castle where actual history had been made.

“Uh, hold up.” Jorge pointed to the top of the parchment page. “The date on the letter is a week ago today.”

“Indeed,” I murmured, my heart racing with excitement and trepidation. I stared at the elegant, looping words of the letter, a thousand ideas for a dress that would fit into my badass women of history line flying through my mind.

“Rose, you’re not going, are you?” Sofia made a face at the letter and shook her head like it was dirty.

“Of course I am.” I hadn’t admitted to anyone, not even really myself, how I’d missed the adrenaline of all that pressure the show put on us to design quickly and come up with something spectacular on demand.

I loved the new line we had right here in this room, but it was missing that something special and this last-minute opportunity was exactly what I needed to find that spark.

Jorge snapped his fingers. “I know that look. You are already there in your head. So, then, let’s do this, babes.” He had an all too familiar mischievous glint in his eye. “And, you know, if you happen to fall in love with the handsome bodyguard coming to whisk you off to this castle, then who are we to stand in your way.”

“Shut up. How do you know he’s handsome, or is a he for that matter?” Or that he’d be even vaguely interested in a girl with thighs that were probably thicker than his?

“It’s called manifesting. Look it up.” He gave me that ultimate duh look.

I rolled my eyes at him and grinned. “Well, that would add an interesting twist to the assignment.”

“Exactly! So, let’s get to work. You need to pack, and primp for your fairytale, uh, I mean your journey.” Jorge clapped his hands once like that was all it took to make it so.

“Right,” I agreed, determined to channel this new adrenaline rush into creativity.

“I’ll just keep working on the bases of the other dresses while you’re gone then.” Sofia stared at the letter like it was going to jump up and bite her.

I wasn’t sure if she was mad at me, or disappointed that she couldn’t go with, or what. This industry moved like there was no tomorrow, and she’d have to get more flexible if we were going to continue to make this work. I was glad to be seeing this side of her now rather than at something like New York Fashion Week. “That’d be great. I’m sure I can Zoom in if you’ve got questions or whatever. And I promise to bring you back some souvenirs. Maybe next time I can talk them into bringing the whole team.”

“Uh, yeah.” She flicked the letter and turned her back on me and Jorge, picking up the thread and beads I’d set down.

Jorge gave me a look that I understood immediately. He didn’t even have to ask what her problem was. I’d deal with it when I got back.

He and I headed across the hall to my loft, and I shot an email off to Mary O. to let her know I was happy to accept her invitation, would love if she could let me know when to expect her guard, and any tips on what to bring she might have for me.

By the time Jorge had picked out about twelve outfits too many, and I’d packed some comfy clothes for working in and a couple of options to wear to the party if I got to go, I was starting to crash from staying up all night.

“You take a powernap and I’ll wait for your Prince Charming.”

“Shush your face. This isn’t a blind date. It’s a job and the fee will pay half your salary for the year. So have a little respect, butthead.” Instead of a nap, I grabbed my sketchbook to while away the time until the mysterious bodyguard showed up.

I set to work sketching out ideas for the gown, my fingers dancing across the paper as images of historical figures and luxurious fabrics filled my mind. Maybe, just maybe, I drew a couple of menswear ideas too. And they were not for some fairytale prince either.

Nope. These images were dark, luxurious, and sensual, and had my imagination going to places it shouldn’t. I was blaming that one hundred percent on Jorge.

He took one look at the one I was working on and raised an eyebrow. “Hope you packed your vibrator.”