79 Chapter 82
79 Chapter 82
Chapter 82 – Measuring More Than Fabric
“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Damien said as we walked toward my studio after lunch. “That wasn’t my intention.”
I glanced up, meeting his sincere gaze. My heart fluttered. Even apologizing, this man was impossibly attractive.
“You didn’t,” I lied, fidgeting with my purse strap. “I just… I’m not used to someone caring so much.”
The way he’d looked at me during lunch–like he wanted to be responsible for my
of safety, my happiness–it was overwhelming. After Julian’s betrayal, after years learning to stand on my own, the idea of letting someone else in terrified me.
“Your studio is just around this corner, right?” Damien asked, seamlessly changing the subject. My shoulders relaxed with relief.
“Yes, just past the—”
A scooter came whizzing around the corner, headed straight for us. Before I could react, Damien’s arm shot out, pulling me firmly against his chest and out of the scooter’s path. The rider zoomed past, oblivious to the near–collision.
“Are you okay?” Damien asked, his voice low and concerned.
I became acutely aware of how close we were–my hands pressed against his firm chest, his arm around my waist, his cologne enveloping me in a subtle, masculine scent. My cheeks burned hot.
“I’m fine,” I managed, reluctantly stepping back. “Thank you.”
His eyes lingered on mine for a beat too long before he released me. “You need to be more careful.”
“Says the man who’s constantly putting himself in danger,” I retorted, trying to lighten the mood.
The corner of his mouth quirked up.
“Touché.”
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We continued walking, the brief moment of tension giving way to something else–a crackling awareness that made even the simplest movements feel charged with meaning.
“This is it,” I said proudly, unlocking the glass door to my studio. The anxiety from lunch faded as I stepped into my professional domain. Here, I was confident. Here, I knew exactly who I was.
Damien followed me inside, his eyes taking in every detail–the sleek cutting tables, the dress forms, the bolts of fabric arranged by color and texture along one wall, the sketches pinned to a large corkboard.
“This is impressive,” he said, stopping to examine a half–finished evening gown on a mannequin. “You built all this yourself?”
I nodded, warmth spreading through my chest at his genuine interest. “Every bit. Started with just me, a sewing machine, and a dream.”
“And now?”
“Three seamstresses who work with me on larger orders, but I still handle the custom design work personally.” I gestured toward my private office and fitting area in the back. “I have the suits ready for you to try. Would you like some tea first?“.
“Let’s start with the fitting,” he said. “I’m curious to see if I can spot the Hazel Ashworth signature everyone talks about.”
I led him to the fitting room, trying to ignore how the space felt smaller with his commanding presence filling it.
“The black one first,” I suggested, removing the garment bag from a hanger and passing it to him. “There’s a changing screen in the corner.”
While he changed, I busied myself with pins, chalk, and measuring tape, forcing my mind to stay professional. But when Damien stepped out from behind the screen, my efforts crumbled.
The suit fit him almost perfectly–a testament to my skill, considering I’d worked from measurements alone until now. The black fabric accentuated his broad shoulders, tapered waist, and long legs. He looked like he’d stepped off a runway in Milan.
79 Chapter 82
“Well?” he prompted when I remained silent.
I cleared my throat. “Turn
round slowly.”
He complied, and I circled him, looking for issues with the fit. My fingers trembled
for minor adjustments.
slightly as I marked places
“The shoulders are good,” I murmured, more to myself than to him. “Just a slight adjustment at the waist.”
I pinned the fabric at his sides, hyper–aware of his steady breathing, the warmth radiating from his body. When my fingers brushed against him, even through the fabric, a zing of electricity shot through me.
“Stand naturally,” I instructed, kneeling to check the pant hem.
I’d done this hundreds of times with male clients, but this felt different. As I worked my way up, checking the fall of the fabric along his legs, I found myself hyper–focused on maintaining professional distance.
“The trousers need to be taken in slightly here,” I said, pinning the fabric at his thigh. When I reached the seat of his pants, I hesitated. In any other fitting, I would check for pulling or sagging without a second thought. Now, I felt awkward and flustered.
“Is something wrong?” Damien asked, his voice deeper than usual.
“No, just… checking the fit around the…” I gestured vaguely. “Everything looks good.”
face. My eyes inadvertently drifted to the front of his trousers, where I noticed a slight bulge that hadn’t been there when we started. Heat rushed to my
I stood quickly, stepping back to assess the overall silhouette. “The jacket length is perfect,” I said, desperate to focus on something safe. “How does it feel when you move your arms?”
Damien extended his arms, then brought them together in front as if buttoning the jacket. “It feels comfortable. Not restrictive.”
“Good.” I circled him once more, professional pride temporarily overriding my embarrassment. “That’s the hallmark of a well–made suit. It should move with you, not against you.”
79 Chapter 82
“And what’s your signature? The thing that makes this distinctly a Hazel Ashworth design?”
I smiled, grateful for the chance to talk about my craft. “The construction of the shoulder. See how it follows your natural line without padding? And the interior–take off the jacket, I’ll show you.”
He slipped off the jacket and handed it to me. I turned it inside out, pointing to the handstitched lining.
“Most designers cut corners on what can’t be seen. I don’t.” I ran my fingers along the seams. “Every hidden detail is as meticulously crafted as what shows.”
Damien’s eyes darkened. “That says a lot about you as a person.”
I looked up, caught off guard by the intensity in his gaze. “It’s just good craftsmanship.” “It’s integrity,” he countered. “Rare in any industry.”
The compliment settled around me like a warm blanket. For a moment, we just looked at each other, the air between us thick with unspoken words.
“Try on the blue next?” I suggested, breaking the spell.
He nodded, taking the second garment bag behind the screen.
When he emerged in the navy suit, something had changed. His expression had closed off, his posture stiffer. I frowned, wondering what had happened in the brief moments he was out of sight.
“This color suits you,” I said, circling him again. The navy brought out the deeper tones in his eyes, making them appear almost midnight blue rather than their usual steel
gray.
I went through the same process, checking seams, marking minor adjustments. Pt the easy rapport from earlier had evaporated. Damien responded to my instructions with nods or one–word answers, his jaw set in a tight line.
“Is everything okay?” I finally asked, stepping back after making the last pin.
“Fine,” he said shortly.
But it clearly wasn’t. Had crossed a line? Made him uncomfortable with my obvious
<
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attraction? The thought mortified me.
“I think we’re done,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “You can change back now
He disappeared behind the screen again, leaving me to wonder what I’d done wrong. The warmth and connection I’d felt earlier seemed to have been completely one–sided. When he reappeared in his original clothes, his expression was carefully neutral. The suits were draped over his arm.
“I’ll have these ready by next week,” I said, taking them from him and hanging them carefully.
“Thank you.” His tone was formal, distant.
“Would you… like some tea?” I offered, though I was certain he would decline. Something had shifted between us, and I couldn’t understand what or why.
My heart sank as I prepared for his polite refusal and departure.
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