Twenty Years Later
My adrenaline shot sky-highas I bustled behind the curtain that led to the runway. I lived for moments like this. Each model paused before their turn on the catwalk so I could make last-minute adjustments to their look, ensuring it matched my vision. After years of paying my dues, I earned my own show during fashion week. This was my dream come true.
From the time I was ten years old, I had a sketchbook in my hands, drawing dresses on paper during every free moment. When I turned twelve, my parents bought me a sewing machine, which took my obsession with creating fashion to a new level. By fourteen, I knew for certain that fashion was my future. It gave me a creative outlet when so much of my world was rigid.
Maybe now would be a good time to mention that I was not your typical fashion designer.
I was born Princess Lucette Arabella Grace, the third child and only daughter of the Crown Prince and Princess of Belleston, but everyone called me Lucy. Our tiny country of five million people was nestled in the southeastern corner of the Alps, with Italy, Austria, and Switzerland being our closest neighbors.
Having a “real” career for a royal was unheard of, but I’d leveraged my position as the baby of the family to branch out on my own. That didn’t mean I was free. I was still expected to make a required number of yearly royal appearances. If you asked my grandfather, King Victor, he would tell you that my work in fashion was just a hobby before I became a full-time working royal—a woman’s version of sowing my wild oats.
Fashion was my life.
After attending fashion school in Paris, I searched for investors to start my own line. That’s where the family name came in handy, as much as I hated to admit it. My royal status could open doors that might take years to unlock otherwise, and while I had my pride, I was driven by a need to have my designs showcased to the world.
Acquiring capital was only the first step. My vision and skill would need to take me the rest of the way. I decided early on to deviate from the norm, setting myself apart from the thousands of other designers looking to make a splash in a competitive and ever-evolving field.
My evening wear label, Addy June—named for my mother—was completely body-positive. I made it my mission to create a brand that celebrated our differences instead of body-shaming those who didn’t fit the mold fabricated by society. Unlike most brands claiming to be “body-positive,” we went beyond offering a broad range of sizes. Our models, both in print advertisements and on the runway, came in every shape and size.
For too long, the definition of “plus-sized” had shifted to the point where you were considered fat if you wore a size featuring double digits. People needed to put their blinders on and focus on themselves instead of judging others. Who cared what number was inside your clothing label if you were healthy?
The inspiration came from the women in my life. While I was petite, I was strongly influenced by my two sisters-in-law.
Natalie married my oldest brother Leo, and while she fit into society’s definition of “thin,” I’d watched her struggle with an eating disorder. She’d wasted away to almost nothing because the tabloids criticized her size. It came out later that Leo had helped the press destroy her self-image, and eventually, she found the strength to divorce his sorry ass. Yes, he was my brother, but he wasn’t my favorite person.
Amy only recently married my brother, Liam, but I'd had the pleasure of getting to know her over the years as they helped Natalie—she and Amy were best friends—raise her kids, living together as a sitcom-worthy blended family. While she was a full-figured, plus-sized woman, she didn’t apologize for it. I enjoyed the confidence she had in her body, not hiding her curves behind baggy clothes. She inspired my vision to showcase all women in my designs. I wanted every woman to have the opportunity to feel as comfortable in their own skin as Amy did.
My progressive approach was criticized by some within the industry, but the public's overwhelming praise drowned that out—finally, someone was acknowledging real women. Success had been swift, but there was always doubt in the back of my mind that my name and status had driven it.
Grandfather was right in one regard—my passion was a hobby. It was unseemly for a royal to earn their own money, so once I took care of investors and employees, all profits were donated to charity. That only fueled the popularity of my brand, but the fire in my belly kept pushing for more.
I knew my designs were amazing and my approach unique, but my internal drive demanded I prove to myself that I could truly stand on my own in the fashion world. My second label was created with an anonymous LLC to hide my identity. But we’ll talk about that later.
Right now, I was riding high as the music pumped through the venue and models disappeared through the curtain one by one. It was mayhem behind the scenes. Each model had at least four outfit changes during the show and was assigned a team to strip and redress them before my final approval. There was no time to think. I was running purely on instinct and adrenaline.
This was what I was meant to do with my life. I wanted people to hear the name Lucy Remington and not immediately think of a spoiled princess with everything she wanted in life handed to her on a silver platter. I wanted to share my vision for women’s fashion with the world, to make an impact through my creativity. While I’d gained a foothold earning my own show, I wasn’t quite there yet.
The last model passed through the curtain, and then it would be time for me to show my face as the designer. She returned, and all the models followed me onto the runway. Dressed in all black, my jet-black hair knotted at the nape of my neck, I stepped out to face my critics, whether they were good or bad.
Everyone applauded, but I knew the real test would come tomorrow when the fashion bloggers posted their reviews. My first show was a big deal, but I knew my continued success was reliant on the opinions of others.
Being judged by strangers was nothing new for me. It had been occurring since the day I was born.
Clasping my hands and bowing my head in a silent show of gratitude, I retreated backstage, where the rest of my design team awaited. The excitement was palpable. We were showing alongside the biggest brands in the world; this was huge. Wewere playing with the big boys now, and while it was frightening, it was also exhilarating.
My associate fashion designer, Sophie, pushed through the crowd to hug me tight, squealing, “We did it!”
My arms tightened around her body. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Soph.” I meant it. She kept the ship afloat when I had to take time away to be a “proper” princess. In my absence, having trusted support at the helm was invaluable.
Pulling back, her brown eyes sparkled, her smile wide. “We need to go out to celebrate!”
For my team, the night was over, but I couldn’t rest yet. “I’ve got tickets to the Arabella Reign show, but I’ll meet you guys later.”
Eyes widening, she shoved at my shoulder playfully. “No, you don’t! That’s the hottest ticket this week! Who did you have to sleep with to score that?”
Trying my best to avoid her questions, I shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”
“Ugh. I’m so jealous! Promise you’ll tell me all about it when you meet us for drinks?”
