Debt Inheritance (Indebted #1)(4)

We had pedigree.

History.

The bond between past and present. Dreams and requirements. Freedom and obligation. We had plenty of it, and the weight of what was expected of me hammered me further and further into the ground.

“No tequila. No night clubs. Let me unwind in peace. I need some quiet after the hectic day I’ve had.”

“All the more to get messy on a dance floor.” Vaughn grabbed my elbow, attempting to swing me around in a complicated dance move.

I stumbled. “Get your grubby hands off me, V.” Vaughn was the only one who didn’t inherit a nickname based on the industry that consumed not only our lives but our ancestors, too.

“That’s no way to speak to your brother, Threads.”

“What’s this? My two offspring fighting?”

I rolled my eyes as the distinguished silhouette of my father appeared from the crowd of buyers, designers, and movie starlets all there to witness the new season of fashion in Milan. His dark brown eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Congratulations, sweetheart.”

Vaughn let me go, relinquishing his sibling hug for a paternal squeeze. My arms slinked around the toned middle of my father. Archibald Weaver still had the Weaver signature thick black hair with a straight spine, sharp mind, and ruggedly handsome face. He only became more fetching the older he got.

“Hey. I didn’t think you’d arrive in time.” Pulling away, I inhaled his strong cologne. I wished mum was still around to see him evolve from distracted parent to fantastic support system. I never knew why we weren’t close when I was young. He’d been sour, grumpy, and…lost. But he’d never burdened Vaughn or me with what troubled him. He remained a strict single parent, raising us motherless from eleven years old.

“I managed to get an earlier flight. Couldn’t miss your headline show.”

Another message came through, the vibration particularly violent. I shuddered and blocked all thoughts of the nameless man trying to get my attention.

“I’m glad. However, all you’re going to see is your daughter shuffle down the runway, overshadowed by gorgeous models, and then trip off the end.”

My father laughed, his critical eye perusing my gown. “Corset, tulle, and the new midnight-galaxy material—I doubt anyone will overshadow you.”

“Help me convince her to join me tonight. We could all go out together,” Vaughn said.

Great. Another night with two men—neither of whom I can avoid to acquire a real relationship.

I often felt like a kitten brought up by two tigers. They never let me grow up. Never permitted my own claws to form or teeth to sharpen.

My father nodded. “Your brother is right. It’s been a few months since we were together. Let’s make a night of it. Some of your best work is on display. You’ve made me very proud, Nila, and it’s time to celebrate.”

I sighed. Looking over his shoulder, I saw the last model disappearing into the wings, her train of silver stars and organza looking as if she’d fallen from heaven.

That’s my cue.

“Fine. Sounds wonderful. I can never say no to my two favourite men. Let me wrap this up and then I’ll relax. Promise.” I reached up and kissed him on his papery cheek. “Keep your fingers crossed that I don’t trip and ruin my career.”

He grinned, slipping into the much loved and well known persona of Tex—short for Textile—a nickname he’d had all my life.

“You don’t need luck. Knock ‘em dead.” His brown eyes faded. The melancholy I was so used to seeing swallowed him whole, hiding his jovial spirit. It was his curse. Ours. All of us.

Ever since mum divorced him and disappeared we’d never been the same.

Vaughn pecked my cheek. “I’ll help you get through the crowd.”

I smiled at the two most important men in my life, before weaving through the crush of bodies to the small staircase at the side of the runway.

The organiser, with her headset, frantic blonde curls, and dog-eared notebook, squealed when her eyes landed on mine. “Ah! I’d sent out ninjas to find you. You’re up. Like right now.”

Vaughn chuckled. “I’ll wait here for you.” He faded into the living organism that was the fashion hungry crowd, leaving me at the mercy of Blonde Curls.

Bunching the overflowing train of my dress, I climbed the steps, hoping against all odds that I wouldn’t faint. “Yes. I know. That’s why I’m here.”

“Thank God. Okay, stand here.” She manhandled me until I stood just so. “I’ll give you the cue in thirty seconds.”

The girl couldn’t have been much younger than me. I’d just celebrated my twenty-fourth birthday, but after leaving school at sixteen to follow in my family’s footsteps and nurture my skills as a designer, I felt much older, grumpier, and less eager to please.

I love my job. I love my job.

And it was true. I did love my job. I loved transforming plain fabric, sourced by my father, into works of art thanks to the accessories, gems, silks, and diamantes my brother imported when he wasn’t modelling. We were a true family business. Which I loved and would never change.

It was the public eye I hated. I’d always been a homebody. Partly out of choice—partly because my father never let me date.

Talking of dates…

My fingers itched to grab my phone—to indulge in a fraction of flirtation.