Strings and Schemes

Chapter 11

I step onto the wooden platform in the middle of the showroom, letting my skirt hit the floor. Louis, Liam, and Harry watch from the couch, looking entirely too comfortable for a group of men who have no business commenting on women's fashion.

"It's great, Raina!" Harry says, too enthusiastic to be anything but a liar.

I glare at him through the mirror. "You know it's not right."

He smiles sheepishly. "Alright, alright, you caught me."

Louis leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head like he has all the time in the world. "You've worn worse." He shrugs, as if that somehow makes this cheap-looking lengha acceptable.

I don't even bother responding.

Liam, however, is less forgiving. He smacks both Louis and Harry on the head before turning to the designer, his jaw set in a way that means someone's about to get destroyed.

"You do realize she's the daughter of the American Ambassador to Great Britain, right?" His tone is sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "She is one of the most eligible bachelorettes in this country—hell, in the world. You could very well be dressing the daughter of the next President of the United States."

The designer swallows hard, shifting uncomfortably.

Liam doesn't stop. "And yet, you're putting her in two seasons ago, rented designer wear? Are you actually joking?"

A stunned silence falls over the room. Even Louis, who loves watching chaos unfold, looks a little impressed.

My eyes widen, a mix of pride and horror settling in my chest. I never wanted to pull rank—I go out of my way not to—but Liam? He has no such reservations when it comes to people he loves.

"This isn't good enough." His voice is unwavering. "Show me what you're keeping in the back. The actual new pieces. And don't pretend this has anything to do with the H1B visa issue in the U.S." He crosses his arms. "We don't have all day."

The designer looks like he might pass out from lack of breathing. "I—I—yes, yes, of course, Mr. Payne. We're so incredibly sorry." He bows slightly before scrambling to the back room.

Liam turns to wink at me before following him, because of course he does.

A few minutes later, the designer and his team re-emerge, carrying what can only be described as fabric heaven. The richness of the colors—the deep jewel tones, the shimmering golds, the delicate pastels—has my head spinning. The beading, the embroidery, the intricate detailing...

My heart hurts from how beautiful it all is.

Liam strolls back over, his expression smug but warm. "When we were in Iraq, we took R&R in Pakistan once. Mom went shopping at a flagship store, so we saw what real quality looked like." He looks at me meaningfully. "I wasn't about to let them put you in something beneath you."

My eyes sting. I jump into Liam's arms, squeezing him tightly. "Thank you, you have no idea how much this means—"

He cuts me off gently. "I do know." His voice is soft. "That's why I couldn't let it happen. You deserve the best."

I pull back, blinking away the sudden rush of emotion.

Liam grins. "Now, let's find you something worthy." He gestures toward the rack. "And if you don't like any of these, Mr. Malhotra has agreed to design you a custom piece." He pauses, smirking. "But these haven't even hit the runway yet, so I doubt that'll be necessary."