Page 43 of Vengeful Vows
Amelia points to the corner where a woman is desperately waving to me. She’s in charge of organizing the procession, and she evidently takes her job seriously.
“Go,” Amelia says. “Get in line behind Gabrielle. Watch what she does and how long it takes her. You can peek, but make sure you stay behind the curtain so the audience can’t see you.”
Earlier she’d made me practice the walk, but I’d been terrible. “You know I can’t breathe, right?”
“You’re not supposed to,” Amelia fires back. “If you pull out any of those stitches, I’ll murder you.”
This side of my friend, focused and fierce, terrifies me, and I believe every word she says.
“You’re going to do fine.”
I wish I could convince myself.
Someone calls her name, but before she moves off to deal with the crisis, she adjusts my diamond pendant and says, “Thank you. This show would have fallen apart without you.”
Once I mess up, I’m sure she’ll take back her words.
Gabrielle is gorgeous and is working her way through med school by modeling. She makes all of it look ridiculously easy.
When she returns backstage, the emcee lifts a note card and says, “Next is Bella wearing a tailored black sheath from the Maison Étoile collection.”
The organizer gives me a push. “Keep a fierce look on your face.”
I’m not sure how to do that, but it’s too late to ask further questions.
Suddenly I’m on the runway, and I’m unprepared for the spotlights and how closely people are crowded together.
Channeling Amelia’s reassurances that the crowd is studying the dress, not me, I roll through my heel onto my toe, trying to make my hips sway.
The emcee continues to talk about the garment, and how adding a small leather belt and pearl earrings would make it suitable attire for the office, but diamonds and the addition of a small clutch make it perfect for an evening on the town or an upcoming holiday party.
Thank God, I reach the end of the runway and pop my hip without falling over.
The next model is announced, and I finally relax once I’m backstage and an assistant snips the stitching that Amelia added.
Then the dress is pulled up and off before my jewelry is removed.
There’s no modesty here, and before I can protest, I’m in a formal, figure-hugging silk dress that has an off-the-shoulder neckline.
This one requires no alterations at all.
Amelia hurries over and takes me in with a critical eye. “Luminara Couture was made for you.”
But the price tag certainly was not.
The shoes that I’m helped into are more comfortable than the last, and the pumps are definitely more my style.
“You did well, but this time, spend a couple more seconds at the end of the runway so that the photographers have enough time to get their shots.”
As if I need to be reminded that my picture might be online tonight.
With that, Amelia vanishes once more.
I’ll never again underestimate the amount of work she does to make her shows look effortless and beautiful.
“Let your arms sway a little more,” the coordinator advises.
I exhale as I nod. When I step onto the runway a second time, it’s with slightly more confidence.