Two men are standing just outside my door. One of them pulls on someone’s arm and only then I see Vanessa. Holy shit!
I open the door with a jerk and all three pairs of eyes turn to me. The men look irritated, while Vanessa’s face, with a fresh bruise close to her eye, has a hint of relief.
Warning bells start to ring in my head as the man’s grasp on her arm loosens upon seeing me.
“Is everything alright, Vanessa?” I don’t know what exactly is going on, but the mark on Vanessa’s face is definitely not an insect bite. I look over my shoulder inside my room. My phone is on the nightstand. I can make a grab for it to call for help if needed.
But I also almost feel like an imposter. I never imagined myself being the one to rescue Vanessa. She is the toughest woman I know, even tougher than the mighty Irene Hawthorne.
“Oh, so you are an employee in Vanshionista?” The older man who had his hands on Vanessa asks, “Won’t you introduce me to your staff, daughter?”
Holy crap! He is Vanessa’s father.
“Father, meet Clementine, she is the lead designer at Vanshionista. Clementine, this is my father, Mathew Hilbert.”
“Lead designer? Aren’t you too young for that?” Her father makes no move to shake hands with me. Instead, he and the other man laugh in contempt.
“Maybe she can tell us the exact worth of Vanshionista,” the other man comments, his leery gaze making me uncomfortable.
“Leave the girls alone, Marcus.”
Thankfully, Vanessa’s father leads his friend to the elevator without throwing a second glance at us.
I turn to Vanessa, who visibly relaxes when the elevator door closes. Before I can ask anything, she hisses, “What the hell were you doing outside? Shouldn’t you be sleeping? I’ll hear no excuse if I don’t find you backstage at seven in the morning.”
Mercurial falls short to describe Vanessa’s mood swings. One minute she has profound fear in her eyes and the next minute they are blazing with fire.
But this evening I’m too exhausted with my own heartbreak to care.
I turn around on my heels and just before closing the door, whisper, “If you ever need a friend to just spend an evening with, I’m here.”
32
CLEMENTINE
Today’s our day. Third day of the fashion week and the one we have all been waiting for. We have less than an hour to showcase all the work we’ve put in over the past few months.
Less than an hour!
Though I’m still the same pale and bony girl, there is a spring in my step today. We worked till three in the morning, making sure everything is perfect. After some two hours of sleep, I’m back in front of the mirror, getting ready for probably one of the biggest days of my life.
I look hesitantly at the dress bag Vanessa handed me last evening. We haven’t talked about that night. If not for her heavy eye makeup or the sunglasses, which I now know are not just a fashion statement, I’d believe it never happened.
My hands glide again over the garment bag. I still can’t believe she designed a dress for me to wear today!
I pull the zipper down as my breath hitches at the sight of the dark-blue velvet ball gown, off the shoulder, with a matching velvet shrug and opera gloves.
My insides quiver in nervousness as I put it on. Tightening the wide silk, light-blue belt around my waist, I look in the mirror.
The first thing I notice is I don’t look like me. The person who stares back at me is a grown woman, someone like my elegant sister, Florence.
My phone rings, bringing a smile to my face at the sight of Merida’s video call.
“Oh my God, Clem! You look so pretty,” she screams in excitement.
“Thank you. It’s a big day and I have to look my best.” I return from the bathroom to my room.
“I know and that’s why I called you to wish you the best of luck. Did I interrupt something?”