Sunflower Diamond

Chapter Three

The pressure for Milan Fashion Week is starting to weigh on me, and today feels like one of those days where everything is coming at me from all sides. I can barely finish my coffee this morning before Theo's name flashes on my phone. Even from miles away, he has this uncanny ability to sense when I need a push or, more likely, a nudge disguised as a warm pep talk.

I press the phone to my ear, already bracing for his enthusiasm.

"Shan!" His voice booms through the speaker, dripping with his usual flair. "Tell me you're not holed up in some drab studio, hunched over fabric samples."

I smirk, glancing at the organized chaos that is my workspace. Rolls of fabric, mood boards, scattered sketches. "Define 'drab.' But yes, Theo, I'm working."

"I knew it," he says, sighing dramatically. "Darling, you need to take a breath. You're on the brink of conquering Milan, but that won't happen if you burn out before you even step off the plane."

He isn't wrong, but with Milan Fashion Week just around the corner, I can't afford to relax. Elodie Joy Boucher's words still echo in my mind after that presentation. She has expectations. High ones.

"Elodie's expecting perfection, Theo. I'm not going to deliver anything less."

"And you won't. But perfection requires inspiration, not exhaustion. Have you even stepped out of the studio today? Gone to look for vendors, maybe?"

I lean back in my chair, the weight of his advice sinking in. He always has a way of balancing his encouragement with hard truths. "No, but I'm working on the final touches for the gowns. I need them flawless before I even think about fabric vendors."

"Shannen," he says, voice softening, "you're already perfect. The gowns will be too. Now go get some fresh air, darling, before I come down there and drag you out myself."

I let out a small laugh. "Fine, fine. I'll head out. Need to check on some fabrics and talk to the embroidery house anyway."

"Now, that is my Shannen. And don't forget, call me if you need anything."

After hanging up, I stand in front of my mirror, letting out a deep breath. My reflection stares back at me — tired eyes, but still sharp, still determined. I slip into one of my staple pieces — a silk blouse from Céline and a pair of tailored slacks from Dior. A signature look that balances comfort with an undeniable air of professionalism.

If Milan is going to be a battlefield, then I need to look the part every day until the final runway

—————

Later that afternoon, I find myself in the supplier's showroom, thumbing through delicate fabrics. Every touch feels important, as though I'm imprinting each choice into the final designs that will hit the runway. Italian silks, French lace, and Egyptian cotton. Each option is weighed down with its own legacy and the possibility of transforming my visions into reality.

The sales rep smiles warmly at me. "You've got quite the eye. These are some of our finest."

"I'm going for timeless with an edge," I say, draping the lace over my hand, imagining it as part of a flowing evening gown. "I want movement, but with structure. Something that demands attention."

Her eyes gleam with understanding. "That's Milan for you. Are these for your Fashion Week collection?"

I nod, the words still feeling surreal even as I say them. "My first showcase. Everything needs to be perfect."

As I move on to the embroidery samples, my phone buzzes again — Jane this time. A smile tugs at my lips. I can already guess what she wants. I answer, balancing the phone between my shoulder and ear while running my fingers over a particularly intricate gold embroidery.