Stars (Threads: Book 3)

I’m sitting in the back row of a mega-tent in Paris, surrounded by fashion students, buyers, editors and movie stars, and watching THE MOST BEAUTIFUL
CATWALK SHOW I WILL EVER SEE IN MY LIFE.
It doesn’t matter that it’s hot in here. It doesn’t matter that everyone around me looks so unbelievably chic I might as well have shown up in my pyjamas (actually, the kimono I’m wearing does have a hint of pyjamas about it). It doesn’t matter that beside me a fifteen-year-old in a serious afro is jiggling with excitement and making her chair wobble.
It’s just good to be here. Dior Haute Couture. John Galliano at his most incredible best. Skirts and jackets that are so huge and theatrical they’re almost impossible to wear, but so exquisite you want to spend the next year examining every inch of them. Fabrics that burst with colour and drape like magic. Shoes that are perfect pieces of sculpture in their own right and belong in a museum.