Page 33 of Hate To Be Mine

“Are you thinking about the next line?” I asked.

She laughed. “Yes. The moment one collection is done, my brain immediately starts working on the next one.”

“That’s because you’re a workaholic. It’s a Blackwell trait. We’re all afflicted. Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you.” She took a bite of her wrap, chewed, and swallowed before continuing. “I’m already thinking about winter. Heavier fabrics, richer colors. I want to do something with velvet. Maybe some pieces that feel luxurious but still wearable. I’m picturing snowy photoshoots with deep colors that pop against the white.”

I listened as she talked through her ideas, her face lighting up the way it always did when she discussed design. She loved creating beautiful things that made women feel good about themselves.

“If this one goes well, I hope you’ll do the next campaign shoot,” Elizabeth said.

“Fingers crossed.”

“I’m going to do menswear for the winter line,” she said, like it was something she had been mulling over for a while.

“Yeah?”

“I think you’d be the perfect face for it. You know the male perspective. You know what looks good.”

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “You want me to model for it?”

“Model it, help design it, creative direct it—whatever you want. You’ve got great instincts, Sebastian. Today proved that.”

“Today was almost a disaster,” I said.

“Today had a rocky start,” she corrected. “But you adapted. You found a solution. You kept the production moving. That’s exactly what a good leader does.”

I took a bite of my wrap to avoid having to respond. The praise felt good, but it also felt fragile. It was day one and I started it hungover and fighting with the insurance lady.

I popped the last bite in my mouth. “I’m going to check the next spot. I’ll see you there.”

When I walked back to the cliff location, I noticed there were still some crew working. My kind of guys.

They were going through the familiar dance of breaking down equipment. “Did you guys get something to eat?”

“We’re going to move the equipment and then get some grub.”

“Thanks, guys.” I nodded and looked around.

The equipment breakdown wouldn’t take long. The lagoon was close—just a short walk through some trees. We’d scouted it during prep and it had looked promising, but I hadn’t seen it in person yet.

I walked ahead with a couple of the photographers to look for good spots. When I pushed through the vegetation and saw it, I stopped in my tracks.

It was perfect. More than perfect—it looked like something from a fairy tale.

The lagoon was tucked into a natural grotto, surrounded by volcanic rock formations that created a semi-enclosed space. The water was crystal clear, shallow enough near the edges that you could see every grain of sand on the bottom, deepening to turquoise in the center. Filtered sunlight came through openings in the rock overhead, creating natural spotlights that danced on the water’s surface. That was going to highlight the model’s hair and would be a perfect backlight for the dresses.

Tropical plants grew around the edges, wild, lush vegetation that made the whole place feel undiscovered. Untouched. Like we were the first people to ever find it, even though I knew that wasn’t be true.

“Holy shit,” one of the photographers breathed behind me.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Get the cameras set up. We’re losing light and I want to capture this magic while we can.”

The crew moved into action. Cameras on tripods near the water’s edge. Lighting guys discussing whether they needed reflectors or if the natural light was enough.

I stood at the edge of the lagoon, my mind already composing shots. Models wading through the shallow water in Elizabeth’s flowing dresses. The fabric floating on the surface like lily pads. The late afternoon sun creating that golden backlight that made everything look ethereal.

I knew how to do this. In that moment, I felt it in my soul—I was in the right job.