CHAPTER 18.1

Saint couldn't help it. Upon seeing Naomi in the airport arrival lounge, he threw his arms around her and squeezed her tight. "I've missed you so much madmoiselle."

Both of them had been overcome with great emotions that all the anxieties they'd both had at seeing one another for the first time in over three months promptly dissipated.

Inside the taxi he'd pounced on her like a hungry bear in search for his honey. They'd barely said a sentence to one another, but what wasn't said in words, was sincerely and absolutely spoken in deed.

It was only when the driver interrupted their intimate reunion to informtheir arrival at their destination, did they finally become conscious of reality as if someone had popped their utopian bubble. With startled and mildly irritated gazes, they'd looked outside the car window to see the hotel that would be Saint's home for the next few days.

He could clearly see that Naomi was having conflicting thoughts about whether she should stay or go, but Saint had already made that decision for her.

Handing a few notes to the taxi driver and telling him to keep the change, he grabbed Naomi's hands to follow him out of the car but she resisted.

"Saint,I don't know if it's a good idea...I mean I have so much -"

Leaning his head towards her ear so the taxi driver wouldn't hear what he was about to say, he fought a smile seeing Naomi shiver at his proximity. "You smell Naomi, come to my room and use the shower at least."

Letting out an embarrassed laugh, Naomi shifted further away in her seat and abruptly lifted her arms and ducked her head side to side to smell her armpits which Saint found hilarious to watch.

"Oh my gosh, do I smell that bad? I've been so busy getting everything ready for tomorrow, I haven't had a bath in two days."

"You need to wash out that chatte, madmoiselle," he said feigning disgust, which Naomi let out a loud snort to.

Judging by the driver's face, he could tell he was becoming impatient withthe couple so opening the car door he let himself out before nodding his head to the side for Naomi to follow suit.

Saint hid a smile at having got his way – even the so-called 'body odour' that he'd used as bait to spend a little bit more time with his wife, appealed to him in a sexy, feminine way.

When they finally entered his hotel suite, Saint carelessly dumped both their suitcases by the door and led Naomi to the king-sized bed. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he pulled Naomi towards him and got her to straddle him before touching, kissing, caressing her some more.

Displeased by the lack-lustre way in which his wife was returning his affections, Saint detached his lips from hers. Trying not to let his frustrations get the best of him, that it had been an overly long pause since he'd had his wife and that being in her presence only heightened his need, he let out a deep sigh to calm himself down.

"I'm sorry Saint, I'm just feeling all over the place right now," Naomi said whilst bringing up her hands to massage her temples.

Knowing the answer already, but still taking his chances, he asked her if there was anything he could help her with.

"Saint, it's your money that's funding the whole thing. You've done enough," she replied with a tired smile.

"You've only been relying on the 10K I give you. How have you even been able to afford materials, sewing machines, models, licensing permits forthe location you're using, your make-up artists, photographers?That's a lot to depend on 10K for."

It slightly irritated Saint he was in a position to help but she refused it.

"Well that's what you, Saint-Luc, are going to find out tomorrow."

Despite their regular correspondence over the phone, Naomi decided best to leave the finer details of the fashion show out.

"You're so stubborn. I love it and I hate it."

Not saying anything, a playful smile crossed her face as she tendered a finger to a faint wrinkle line sprouting from the corner of his eyes."It's time you started investing in some anti-aging cream monsieur."

"I've missed receiving facials from you madmoiselle, it's all the anti-aging cream I ever need," he replied in a deeply arousing way whilst penetrating her with just his eyes.

Laughing uneasily but unable to hide her want from him, Naomi pulled herself up from his lap, giving the excuse of needing to go and have ashower. Unable to hold it in, Saint laughed out loud at her awkwardness whenever it came to them being intimate.

Twenty minutes later, intent on not allowing things to get too out of hand again, Naomi was shutting the door to the room, much to Saint's disappointment.

He now stood staring at the three-button, velvet black tuxedo with a shiny satin lapel, with the words 'ADE' stiched in small bold letters on the breast pocket, laying on the bed along with the fitted trousers.

"Now do you have a white shirt?" he had recalled her asking as he still tried to figure out how he didn't see her carrying the small suitcase and still at the same time in complete awe of his wife.

"Actually why am I asking, of course you have a white shirt, you always carry awhite shirt with you, wherever you go," she'd rambled again, a capital sign of her nervousness.

"How did you know my measurements?"

"You're my husband it's my job to know. I made this for you and I want you to wear it tommorow please."

Saint couldn't forget the way she had looked at him, her dark gaze had pierced the deepest level of his soul and with one peck on his cheek she had gone on his way.

Fanning herself with a Japanese paper hand fan she'd bought at the market a few days ago, Naomi prayed for fresh air amongst the flurry of activity that was going on half an hour before the show commenced.

Her nerves were shot to the roof. She'd only been sipping on lemon iced tea and chewing a piece of gum for the whole day because she didn't have the stomach to eat.

She'd called in the favour of so many people, and she only had one chance to make it work or many people would be left disappointed in her.

Everyone was tired and everyone was giving their all and this is why she could not afford to mess up, so every detail, every slight, every turn ,counted massively.

The market traders were still about their business and because of all the noise she'd needed to use a megaphone to communicate, which wasn't the easiest. For a brief moment she silenced the anxieties in her heart and the commotion going on around her by closing her eyes and lifting her head up towards the sun and letting its radiant heat bathe her soul with renewed energy.

Nobody could ever understand why this show was of such great importance toher, except herself...and the priest.

Opening her eyes again, seconds later, she felt calm and in control. It was going to be a glorious occasion whatever may happen.

Tears swelled in her eyes, watching the first of the models wearing her art on their body. Something that was just a figment of her imagination,and then a sketch on paper, and now was tactile.

Am I really about to have my own fashion show? She thought to herself.

Something that she hadn't given thought of was the challenge brought on by having hundreds of wooden fruit racks serving as the stage. It was only during dress rehearsals whilst the models were practising their catwalks and several of them had tripped and fallen due to them having their heels stuck between the gaps of the racks did she realise there would have to be a slight change of plan.

Naomi had had no choice but to buy very cheap sandals for everyone to wear as her budget was barely enough, which had only added more stress to her.

Small canopy tents lined the backstage – it was all the money she could afford. One of the university undergrads that had turned to a friend along with some of her friends were applying the last touches of makeup to the models.

But the moment was finally here. The moment that she'd told her husband in sheer randomness was now a living reality.

With few minutes left before the show started she called everyone to hold hands and pray to centre everyone's hearts into the present.

When they prayer was done, everyone clapped, took a group picture and once again she was overcome by emotion just at the sheer thought of all the people standing before her who were here solely to support her dreams.

A large white stretchy material served as the divider from the chaos that was happening backstage and the eager audience and curious market traders. Wiping the corners of her eye, she walked infront of the first of her models to have a peak through – the atmosphere was just how she had envisoned it.

Finding her husband sitting in the first row, Naomi made a head gesure to her music technician to press play.

Saint watched as the words, "Proggetto: Amore," were sprayed inred on to the white backdrop, by two children, a boy and a girl, who couldn't be more than ten years old before escaping back behind the stage as the tarantella music began to play.

Saint looked around feeling nervous for Naomi, as on both sides of thestage, there were still people selling in the market, but admittedly seemed pretty distracted by the action on stage.

Even though Saint thought it was due to financial reasons that Naomi decided to do the show in the market square, he also thought there was something authentic to the whole thing. Still, he wished she'dcome to him to ask for the money, so he could have paid for a better venue, but he knew his wife was way too stubborn and proud to have done so.

He could notice some people murmuring in Italian about the heat whilst fanning themselves and wiping their brows and foreheads with theirhands, but nevertheless were too intrigued as to what was occuring to go on their way.

A few seconds later about seven young girls, with beautifully decorated headbands and above the knees lace dress, with a white cotton underlay and a crewneck, held baskets on one arm and started throwing soft white petals on the stage floor.

Everybody clapped as the children all looked adorable and were clearly loving the attention. Saint guessed that there were many parents in the audience as he heard some women and men call some of the children by name before waving back at them.

With their gold sandals, they all walked in a straight line to the centre of the stage before walking round back again in a straight line off the stage.

Next came Saint's awe as teenaged boys and girls paired themselves up and walked the runway.

All around him, people were awwing and oohing, like "ma guarda quella bella vestito!" People even started clapping along to the beat of the tarantella as two at a time the models continued walking down the runway.

Of course, the young people were capturing all the action, noise, celebration, on their phones that were taking the place of thepaparazzi. At this thought, Saint wished Naomi had been more forthcoming with information to do with the show so that he could have hired press people to promote her. Yet, everytime he tried to find about the progress of the show she said it was a surprise and couldn't divulge any details.

Her designs deserved a place in department stores like Harrods and between all the designer shops that trailed down Champs Elysee oreven by Milan's Duomo – they were that good.

Feeding on from those thoughts, Saint's head was filled with ideas on how he was going to have a prompt business meeting with his wife to maybe buy her a shop space.

He observed that for the men, just like the suit he'd made for her, it was the perfect fit and minimalist, whilst for the women she chose vibrant colours and the styles that brought attention to but didn't over-sexify their bodies.

Before Saint was really made aware of, as his mind was reeling with names of creative directors and tailors in the industry that could help spin off his wife's fashion career, the show had come to a close and there was an uproar of applause and standing ovation. All the models started coming out, first the females and then the males joined their partners again at their side.

Instead of seeing Naomi coming out from the backstage to take the final bow and credit as the designer and creative director, it was the priest, in his full get-up, holding a cordless microphone.

Saint's Italian wasn't great, if good at all, so he tried guessing at certain words but instead grew increasingly frustrated when he couldn't understand what was being said.

He decided that if his wife didn't make an appearance soon enough he would have to go backstage to see what was going on.

At something that the priest said, the crowd started oohing and aahing again, as if something about to happen was going to be even more thrilling and exciting than the success that was Naomi's couture collection showcasing.

Then what Saint didn't expect, was for the priest to turn and set his gaze at him and speaking in what seemd practised but still awkward English, "Saint-Luc would you please come onstage?"

Saint-Luc hardly ever felt out of place but the heated gaze of the sun and the pairs of eyes staring at him was starting to make him feel not so comfortable and he wished then he brought his security detail along.

But afterall the man who had called him was a priest, Saint thought, he couldn't be in any danger. And it must have been his wife who must have informed the priest of his name so he was most likely in good hands. The priest probably wanted him to present his wife with a recognition award for her contribution in the community, which Saint thought would be well deserved.

But still for some reason Saint felt a little nervous and he seldom did so. Masking his somewhat uneasiness he took off his sunshades, buttoning his suit jacket, he walked up to the stage.

The priest gave him a gentle smile, but the words that came out of the priest next, had him completely bewildered.

Addressing him only, the priest said as a small smile uncurled from his lips,"Dear beloved, we are gathered here today for the holy matrimony of Saint-Luc Roux and Naomi Adebayo-Roux."

And that's when the music started and he finally saw her.