No Sex for Six Years Because of Her? I'm Done novel Chapter 628

Howard’s gaze settled on Amelia, and his tone shifted into something more serious.

He wants to stage a show in Premond. Not just any show. A global showcase of the traditional Cindaran- ayle gown, unlike anything the fashion world has seen. It isn’t a product launch, It’s a tribute to his late wit and a gift to his daughter, 20 years overdue.”

Amelia listened so intently she forgot to cat. A faint sting pricked behind her eyes.

his wife was a designer herself,” she said quietly, “wouldn’t showing her original work be the most meaningful thing? Her actual pieces?”

Howard shook his head, and something genuinely pained crossed his face.

There’s nothing left. Shortly after she passed, her studio burned down. The fire went on through the entire ught. Every sketch, every sample, every scrap of fabric. All of it gone. Work that had defined an era, educed to ash.

So his one wish now is to find a designer gifted enough, and perceptive enough, to understand what his wife was reaching for, and bring those lost pieces back into the world.”

Howard’s expression shifted, a troubled look crossing his face. “The difficulty is that everything we have to work from is his own memory. He’s not a designer. He doesn’t have the vocabulary for it. By the time his descriptions reach me, and then Amy passes them along, most of the specificity has been lost. We’ve brought in several designers already. None of them have come close to what he’s looking for.”

That explained everything. Amelia finally understood why every exchange with Amy had felt like communicating through frosted glass.

The design briefs Amy had relayed were a jumble of contradictions–one moment calling for opulent vintage glamour, the next demanding something stripped–down and ethereal, with no thread connecting any of it. She had started to wonder if the client simply had no aesthetic vision to speak of.

Now she understood. Those fragmented, contradictory descriptions hadn’t come from poor communication. They’d come from a man doing the only thing he could, reaching back through decades of grief and trying, with words that weren’t built for it, to reconstruct the image of the woman he’d lost.

The realization settled over her like a weight.

This wasn’t a commercial project. It never had been. It was a man’s love letter to a dead wife and a belated welcome to a daughter he’d only just found, all compressed into fabric and form.

The emotional stakes didn’t just raise the bar. They transformed the entire nature of what she was being asked to do. She wasn’t recreating gowns. She was trying to recover a soul that a fire had taken.

Howard looked back at her, his blue eyes direct and sincere.

“Before we reached out to you, Ms. Harlow, we reviewed everything Stardale has produced. Your work in particular. I’ll be candid with you. Out of every designer we’ve approached, yours is the only body of work that consistently inatches what he’s been trying to describe. The feeling of it. The sensibility.”

He leaned forward slightly. “We genuinely hope you can surprise us.”

45 Sat, May

was a significant compliment, and Amelia received it without any trace of pride

You’re too kind, Mr. Burns. I wouldn’t promise a surprise. What I can promise is that I’ll do everything can to understand what she was and honor it honestly. But you know as well as I do that design is deeply personal. No two designers share the same voice. What I can offer isn’t imitation. It’s my closest possible reading of her spirit.

That’s exactly it. Howard relaxed, a warm smile breaking through. “He doesn’t want a copy. He wants a continuation.” He paused. “Since you and Mr. Clem will be in Premond for the next few days, would it be possible to have some preliminary sketches for us to look at?”

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